diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:32:52 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:32:52 -0700 |
| commit | 8cbc6db13450ff93bd47cbdf7b1635462b3a97ef (patch) | |
| tree | 3d9774a0ad62538d45a3a5811f52f4af3be5aff1 /9170-0.txt | |
Diffstat (limited to '9170-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 9170-0.txt | 63486 |
1 files changed, 63486 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/9170-0.txt b/9170-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bc3db20 --- /dev/null +++ b/9170-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,63486 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Three Cities Trilogy, Complete, by Émile Zola + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Three Cities Trilogy, Complete + Lourdes, Rome and Paris + +Author: Émile Zola + +Release Date: September 10, 2003 [eBook #9170] +[Most recently updated: March 9, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Dagny and David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THREE CITIES TRILOGY *** + + + + +THE THREE CITIES + +LOURDES, ROME, PARIS + + +By Émile Zola + + +Translated By Ernest A. Vizetelly + + + + +PREFACE + + +BEFORE perusing this work, it is as well that the reader should +understand M. Zola’s aim in writing it, and his views--as distinct from +those of his characters--upon Lourdes, its Grotto, and its cures. A short +time before the book appeared M. Zola was interviewed upon the subject by +his friend and biographer, Mr. Robert H. Sherard, to whom he spoke as +follows: + + +“‘Lourdes’ came to be written by mere accident. In 1891 I happened to be +travelling for my pleasure, with my wife, in the Basque country and by +the Pyrenees, and being in the neighbourhood of Lourdes, included it in +my tour. I spent fifteen days there, and was greatly struck by what I +saw, and it then occurred to me that there was material here for just the +sort of novel that I like to write--a novel in which great masses of men +can be shown in motion--_un grand mouvement de foule_--a novel the +subject of which stirred up my philosophical ideas. + +“It was too late then to study the question, for I had visited Lourdes +late in September, and so had missed seeing the best pilgrimage, which +takes place in August, under the direction of the Pères de la +Miséricorde, of the Rue de l’Assomption in Paris--the National +Pilgrimage, as it is called. These Fathers are very active, enterprising +men, and have made a great success of this annual national pilgrimage. +Under their direction thirty thousand pilgrims are transported to +Lourdes, including over a thousand sick persons. + +“So in the following year I went in August, and saw a national +pilgrimage, and followed it during the three days which it lasts, in +addition to the two days given to travelling. After its departure, I +stayed on ten or twelve days, working up the subject in every detail. My +book is the story of such a national pilgrimage, and is, accordingly, the +story of five days. It is divided into five parts, each of which parts is +limited to one day. + +“There are from ninety to one hundred characters in the story: sick +persons, pilgrims, priests, nuns, hospitallers, nurses, and peasants; and +the book shows Lourdes under every aspect. There are the piscinas, the +processions, the Grotto, the churches at night, the people in the +streets. It is, in one word, Lourdes in its entirety. In this canvas is +worked out a very delicate central intrigue, as in ‘Dr. Pascal,’ and +around this are many little stories or subsidiary plots. There is the +story of the sick person who gets well, of the sick person who is not +cured, and so on. The philosophical idea which pervades the whole book is +the idea of human suffering, the exhibition of the desperate and +despairing sufferers who, abandoned by science and by man, address +themselves to a higher Power in the hope of relief; as where parents have +a dearly loved daughter dying of consumption, who has been given up, and +for whom nothing remains but death. A sudden hope, however, breaks in +upon them: ‘supposing that after all there should be a Power greater than +that of man, higher than that of science.’ They will haste to try this +last chance of safety. It is the instinctive hankering after the lie +which creates human credulity. + +“I will admit that I came across some instances of real cure. Many cases +of nervous disorders have undoubtedly been cured, and there have also +been other cures which may, perhaps be attributed to errors of diagnosis +on the part of doctors who attended the patients so cured. Often a +patient is described by his doctor as suffering from consumption. He goes +to Lourdes, and is cured. However, the probability is that the doctor +made a mistake. In my own case I was at one time suffering from a violent +pain 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 to +Lourdes come from the country, and that the country doctors are not +usually men of either great skill or great experience. But all doctors +mistake symptoms. Put three doctors together to discuss a case, and in +nine cases out of ten they will disagree in their diagnosis. Look at the +quantities of tumours, swellings, and sores, which cannot be properly +classified. These cures are based on the ignorance of the medical +profession. The sick pretend, believe, that they suffer from such and +such a desperate malady, whereas it is from some other malady that they +are suffering. And so the legend forms itself. And, of course, there must +be cures out of so large a number of cases. Nature often cures without +medical aid. Certainly, many of the workings of Nature are wonderful, but +they are not supernatural. The Lourdes miracles can neither be proved nor +denied. The miracle is based on human ignorance. And so the doctor who +lives at Lourdes, and who is commissioned to register the cures and to +tabulate 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 the +case. They will disagree as to what was the disease from which the +patient suffered, and the only explanation left which will be acceptable +to the public, with its hankering after the lie, is that a miracle has +been vouchsafed. + +“I interviewed a number of people at Lourdes, and could not find one who +would declare that he had witnessed a miracle. All the cases which I +describe in my book are real cases, in which I have only changed the +names of the persons concerned. In none of these instances was I able to +discover any real proof for or against the miraculous nature of the cure. +Thus, in the case of Clementine Trouve, who figures in my story as +Sophie--the patient who, after suffering for a long time from a horrid +open sore on her foot, was suddenly cured, according to current report, +by bathing her foot in the piscina, where the bandages fell off, and her +foot was entirely restored to a healthy condition--I investigated that +case thoroughly. I was told that there were three or four ladies living +in Lourdes who could guarantee the facts as stated by little Clementine. +I looked up those ladies. The first said No, she could not vouch for +anything. She had seen nothing. I had better consult somebody else. The +next answered in the same way, and nowhere was I able to find any +corroboration of the girl’s story. Yet the little girl did not look like +a liar, and I believe that she was fully convinced of the miraculous +nature of her cure. It is the facts themselves which lie. + +“Lourdes, the Grotto, the cures, the miracles, are, indeed, the creation +of that need of the Lie, that necessity for credulity, which is a +characteristic of human nature. At first, when little Bernadette came +with her strange story of what she had witnessed, everybody was against +her. The Prefect of the Department, the Bishop, the clergy, objected to +her story. But Lourdes grew up in spite of all opposition, just as the +Christian religion did, because suffering humanity in its despair must +cling to something, must have some hope; and, on the other hand, because +humanity thirsts after illusions. In a word, it is the story of the +foundation of all religions.” + + +To the foregoing account of “Lourdes” as supplied by its author, it may +be added that the present translation, first made from early proofs of +the French original whilst the latter was being completed, has for the +purposes of this new American edition been carefully and extensively +revised by Mr. E. A. Vizetelly,--M. Zola’s representative for all +English-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 a +third-class carriage, were just finishing the “Ave maris Stella,” which +they had begun to chant on leaving the terminus of the Orleans line, when +Marie, slightly raised on her couch of misery and restless with feverish +impatience, caught sight of the Paris fortifications through the window +of the moving train. + +“Ah, the fortifications!” she exclaimed, in a tone which was joyous +despite 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 in +front of her, whilst Abbé Pierre Froment, who was looking at her with +fraternal affection, was so carried away by his compassionate anxiety as +to say aloud: “And now we are in for it till to-morrow morning. We shall +only reach Lourdes at three-forty. We have more than two-and-twenty +hours’ journey before us.” + +It was half-past five, the sun had risen, radiant in the pure sky of a +delightful morning. It was a Friday, the 19th of August. On the horizon, +however, some small, heavy clouds already presaged a terrible day of +stormy heat. And the oblique sunrays were enfilading the compartments of +the railway carriage, filling them with dancing, golden dust. + +“Yes, two-and-twenty hours,” murmured Marie, relapsing into a state of +anguish. “_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 of +wooden gutter, in which she had been living for seven years past. Making +an exception in her favour, the railway officials had consented to take +as 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 place +to place. Packed between the sides of this movable coffin, she occupied +the room of three passengers on the carriage seat; and for a moment she +lay there with eyes closed. Although she was three-and-twenty; her ashen, +emaciated face was still delicately infantile, charming despite +everything, in the midst of her marvellous fair hair, the hair of a +queen, which illness had respected. Clad with the utmost simplicity in a +gown of thin woollen stuff, she wore, hanging from her neck, the card +bearing her name and number, which entitled her to _hospitalisation_, or +free treatment. She herself had insisted on making the journey in this +humble fashion, not wishing to be a source of expense to her relatives, +who little by little had fallen into very straitened circumstances. And +thus it was that she found herself in a third-class carriage of the +“white train,” the train which carried the greatest sufferers, the most +woeful of the fourteen trains going to Lourdes that day, the one in +which, in addition to five hundred healthy pilgrims, nearly three hundred +unfortunate wretches, weak to the point of exhaustion, racked by +suffering, were heaped together, and borne at express speed from one to +the other end of France. + +Sorry that he had saddened her, Pierre continued to gaze at her with the +air of a compassionate elder brother. He had just completed his thirtieth +year, and was pale and slight, with a broad forehead. After busying +himself with all the arrangements for the journey, he had been desirous +of accompanying her, and, having obtained admission among the +Hospitallers of Our Lady of Salvation as an auxiliary member, wore on his +cassock the red, orange-tipped cross of a bearer. M. de Guersaint on his +side had simply pinned the little scarlet cross of the pilgrimage on his +grey cloth jacket. The idea of travelling appeared to delight him; +although he was over fifty he still looked young, and, with his eyes ever +wandering over the landscape, he seemed unable to keep his head still--a +bird-like head it was, with an expression of good nature and +absent-mindedness. + +However, in spite of the violent shaking of the train, which constantly +drew sighs from Marie, Sister Hyacinthe had risen to her feet in the +adjoining compartment. She noticed that the sun’s rays were streaming in +the girl’s face. + +“Pull down the blind, Monsieur l’Abbé,” she said to Pierre. “Come, come, +we must install ourselves properly, and set our little household in +order.” + +Clad in the black robe of a Sister of the Assumption, enlivened by a +white coif, a white wimple, and a large white apron, Sister Hyacinthe +smiled, the picture of courageous activity. Her youth bloomed upon her +small, fresh lips, and in the depths of her beautiful blue eyes, whose +expression was ever gentle. She was not pretty, perhaps, still she was +charming, slender, and tall, the bib of her apron covering her flat chest +like that of a young man; one of good heart, displaying a snowy +complexion, and overflowing with health, gaiety, and innocence. + +“But this sun is already roasting us,” said she; “pray pull down your +blind as well, madame.” + +Seated in the corner, near the Sister, was Madame de Jonquière, who had +kept 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 she +had placed in the charge of two lady-hospitallers, Madame Désagneaux and +Madame Volmar, in a first-class carriage. For her part, directress as she +was of a ward of the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours at Lourdes, she did +not quit her patients; and outside, swinging against the door of her +compartment, was the regulation placard bearing under her own name those +of the two Sisters of the Assumption who accompanied her. The widow of a +ruined man, she lived with her daughter on the scanty income of four or +five thousand francs a year, at the rear of a courtyard in the Rue +Vanneau. But her charity was inexhaustible, and she gave all her time to +the work of the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation, an institution +whose red cross she wore on her gown of carmelite poplin, and whose aims +she furthered with the most active zeal. Of a somewhat proud disposition, +fond of being flattered and loved, she took great delight in this annual +journey, from which both her heart and her passion derived contentment. + +“You are right, Sister,” she said, “we will organise matters. I really +don’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-can +between 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 for +a day and a night they might live with their patients as comfortably as +possible. The worry was that they had not been able to take Marie into +their 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 seats +each, formed but one moving chamber, a common room as it were which the +eye took in at a glance from end to end. Between its wooden walls, bare +and yellow, under its white-painted panelled roof, it showed like a +hospital ward, with all the disorder and promiscuous jumbling together of +an improvised ambulance. Basins, brooms, and sponges lay about, +half-hidden by the seats. Then, as the train only carried such luggage as +the pilgrims could take with them, there were valises, deal boxes, bonnet +boxes, and bags, a wretched pile of poor worn-out things mended with bits +of string, heaped up a little bit everywhere; and overhead the litter +began again, what with articles of clothing, parcels, and baskets hanging +from brass pegs and swinging to and fro without a pause. + +Amidst all this frippery the more afflicted patients, stretched on their +narrow mattresses, which took up the room of several passengers, were +shaken, carried along by the rumbling gyrations of the wheels; whilst +those who were able to remain seated, leaned against the partitions, +their faces pale, their heads resting upon pillows. According to the +regulations there should have been one lady-hospitaller to each +compartment. However, at the other end of the carriage there was but a +second Sister of the Assumption, Sister Claire des Anges. Some of the +pilgrims who were in good health were already getting up, eating and +drinking. One compartment was entirely occupied by women, ten pilgrims +closely pressed together, young ones and old ones, all sadly, pitifully +ugly. And as nobody dared to open the windows on account of the +consumptives in the carriage, the heat was soon felt and an unbearable +odour arose, set free as it were by the jolting of the train as it went +its way at express speed. + +They had said their chaplets at Juvisy; and six o’clock was striking, and +they were rushing like a hurricane past the station of Bretigny, when +Sister 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 maternal +air which her great youth rendered very charming and sweet. + +Then the “Aves” again followed one another, and were drawing to an end +when Pierre and Marie began to feel interested in two women who occupied +the other corner seats of their compartment. One of them, she who sat at +Marie’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. She +shrank back, scarcely occupying any room, wearing a dark dress, and +showing colourless hair, and a long grief-stricken face which expressed +unlimited 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 belonged +to the working classes. She wore a black cap and displayed a face ravaged +by wretchedness and anxiety, whilst on her lap she held a little girl of +seven, who was so pale, so wasted by illness, that she scarcely seemed +four. With her nose contracted, her eyelids lowered and showing blue in +her waxen face, the child was unable to speak, unable to give utterance +to more than a low plaint, a gentle moan, which rent the heart of her +mother, leaning over her, each time that she heard it. + +“Would she eat a few grapes?” timidly asked the lady, who had hitherto +preserved silence. “I have some in my basket.” + +“Thank you, madame,” replied the woman, “she only takes milk, and +sometimes not even that willingly. I took care to bring a bottleful with +me.” + +Then, giving way to the desire which possesses the wretched to confide +their woes to others, she began to relate her story. Her name was +Vincent, and her husband, a gilder by trade, had been carried off by +consumption. Left alone with her little Rose, who was the passion of her +heart, she had worked by day and night at her calling as a dressmaker in +order to bring the child up. But disease had come, and for fourteen +months now she had had her in her arms like that, growing more and more +woeful and wasted until reduced almost to nothingness. She, the mother, +who never went to mass, entered a church, impelled by despair to pray for +her daughter’s cure; and there she had heard a voice which had told her +to take the little one to Lourdes, where the Blessed Virgin would have +pity on her. Acquainted with nobody, not knowing even how the pilgrimages +were organised, she had had but one idea--to work, save up the money +necessary for the journey, take a ticket, and start off with the thirty +sous remaining to her, destitute of all supplies save a bottle of milk +for the child, not having even thought of purchasing a crust of bread for +herself. + +“What is the poor little thing suffering from?” resumed the lady. + +“Oh, it must be consumption of the bowels, madame! But the doctors have +names 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! it +made one cry to see her. Her stomach has gone down now, only she’s worn +out; she has got so thin that she has no legs left her, and she’s wasting +away with continual sweating.” + +Then, as Rose, raising her eyelids, began to moan, her mother leant over +her, distracted and turning pale. “What is the matter, my jewel, my +treasure?” she asked. “Are you thirsty?” + +But the little girl was already closing her dim eyes of a hazy sky-blue +hue, and did not even answer, but relapsed into her torpor, quite white +in 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 be +more 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: “And +you, 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 should +suffer 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 had +found herself deserted at the end of a twelvemonth’s honeymoon. Ever +travelling, 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 even +carrying creatures about with him. And she worshipped him; she suffered +so frightfully from it all that she had sought a remedy in religion, and +had at last made up her mind to repair to Lourdes, in order to pray the +Virgin to restore her husband to her and make him amend his ways. + +Although Madame Vincent did not understand the other’s words, she +realised that she was a prey to great mental affliction, and they +continued looking at one another, the mother, whom the sight of her dying +daughter was killing, and the abandoned wife, whom her passion cast into +throes 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 free +treatment for her little patient. The Association of Our Lady of +Salvation had been founded by the Augustine Fathers of the Assumption +after the Franco-German war, with the object of contributing to the +salvation of France and the defence of the Church by prayer in common and +the practice of charity; and it was this association which had promoted +the great pilgrimage movement, in particular initiating and unremittingly +extending the national pilgrimage which every year, towards the close of +August, set out for Lourdes. An elaborate organisation had been gradually +perfected, donations of considerable amounts were collected in all parts +of the world, sufferers were enrolled in every parish, and agreements +were signed with the railway companies, to say nothing of the active help +of the Little Sisters of the Assumption and the establishment of the +Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation, a widespread brotherhood of the +benevolent, in which one beheld men and women, mostly belonging to +society, who, under the orders of the pilgrimage managers, nursed the +sick, helped to transport them, and watched over the observance of good +discipline. A written request was needed for the sufferers to obtain +hospitalisation, which dispensed them from making the smallest payment in +respect either of their journey or their sojourn; they were fetched from +their homes and conveyed back thither; and they simply had to provide a +few provisions for the road. By far the greater number were recommended +by priests or benevolent persons, who superintended the inquiries +concerning 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 so +much suffering flesh, food for miracles, in the hands of the hospitallers +of either sex. + +“But you need only have applied to your parish priest, madame,” Pierre +explained. “This poor child is deserving of all sympathy. She would have +been immediately admitted.” + +“I did not know it, monsieur l’Abbé.” + +“Then how did you manage?” + +“Why, Monsieur l’Abbé, I went to take a ticket at a place which one of my +neighbours, who reads the newspapers, told me about.” + +She was referring to the tickets, at greatly reduced rates, which were +issued to the pilgrims possessed of means. And Marie, listening to her, +felt great pity for her, and also some shame; for she who was not +entirely destitute of resources had succeeded in obtaining +_hospitalisation_, thanks to Pierre, whereas that mother and her sorry +child, after exhausting their scanty savings, remained without a copper. + +However, a more violent jolt of the carriage drew a cry of pain from the +girl. “Oh, father,” she said, “pray raise me a little! I can’t stay on my +back any longer.” + +When M. de Guersaint had helped her into a sitting posture, she gave a +deep sigh of relief. They were now at Etampes, after a run of an hour and +a half from Paris, and what with the increased warmth of the sun, the +dust, and the noise, weariness was becoming apparent already. Madame de +Jonquière had got up to speak a few words of kindly encouragement to +Marie over the partition; and Sister Hyacinthe moreover again rose, and +gaily clapped her hands that she might be heard and obeyed from one to +the other end of the carriage. + +“Come, come!” said she, “we mustn’t think of our little troubles. Let us +pray and sing, and the Blessed Virgin will be with us.” + +She herself then began the rosary according to the rite of Our Lady of +Lourdes, and all the patients and pilgrims followed her. This was the +first chaplet--the five joyful mysteries, the Annunciation, the +Visitation, the Nativity, the Purification, and Jesus found in the +Temple. Then they all began to chant the canticle: “Let us contemplate +the heavenly Archangel!” Their voices were lost amid the loud rumbling of +the wheels; you heard but the muffled surging of that human wave, +stifling within the closed carriage which rolled on and on without a +pause. + +Although M. de Guersaint was a worshipper, he could never follow a hymn +to the end. He got up, sat down again, and finished by resting his elbow +on the partition and conversing in an undertone with a patient who sat +against this same partition in the next compartment. The patient in +question was a thick-set man of fifty, with a good-natured face and a +large head, completely bald. His name was Sabathier, and for fifteen +years he had been stricken with ataxia. He only suffered pain by fits and +starts, but he had quite lost the use of his legs, which his wife, who +accompanied 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-class +professor at the Lycée Charlemagne. At first I thought that it was mere +sciatica, but afterwards I was seized with sharp, lightning-like pains, +red-hot sword thrusts, you know, in the muscles. For nearly ten years the +disease kept on mastering me more and more. I consulted all the doctors, +tried every imaginable mineral spring, and now I suffer less, but I can +no longer move from my seat. And then, after long living without a +thought of religion, I was led back to God by the idea that I was too +wretched, and that Our Lady of Lourdes could not do otherwise than take +pity on me.” + +Feeling interested, Pierre in his turn had leant over the partition and +was listening. + +“Is it not so, Monsieur l’Abbé?” continued M. Sabathier. “Is not +suffering the best awakener of souls? This is the seventh year that I am +going to Lourdes without despairing of cure. This year the Blessed Virgin +will cure me, I feel sure of it. Yes, I expect to be able to walk about +again; I now live solely in that hope.” + +M. Sabathier paused, he wished his wife to push his legs a little more to +the left; and Pierre looked at him, astonished to find such obstinate +faith in a man of intellect, in one of those university professors who, +as a rule, are such Voltairians. How could the belief in miracles have +germinated and taken root in this man’s brain? As he himself said, great +suffering alone explained this need of illusion, this blossoming of +eternal and consolatory hope. + +“And my wife and I,” resumed the ex-professor, “are dressed, you see, as +poor folks, for I wished to go as a mere pauper this year, and applied +for _hospitalisation_ in a spirit of humility in order that the Blessed +Virgin might include me among the wretched, her children--only, as I did +not wish to take the place of a real pauper, I gave fifty francs to the +Hospitalite, and this, as you are aware, gives one the right to have a +patient of one’s own in the pilgrimage. I even know my patient. He was +introduced to me at the railway station. He is suffering from +tuberculosis, 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 shall +be so happy; she will have loaded me with favours.” + +Then the three men, isolating themselves from the others, went on +conversing together, at first on medical subjects, and at last diverging +into a discussion on romanesque architecture, _à propos_ of a steeple +which they had perceived on a hillside, and which every pilgrim had +saluted with a sign of the cross. Swayed once more by the habits of +cultivated intellect, the young priest and his two companions forgot +themselves together in the midst of their fellow-passengers, all those +poor, suffering, simple-minded folk, whom wretchedness stupefied. Another +hour went by, two more canticles had just been sung, and the stations of +Toury and Les Aubrais had been left behind, when, at Beaugency, they at +last ceased their chat, on hearing Sister Hyacinthe clap her hands and +intonate in her fresh, sonorous voice: + +“_Parce, Domine, parce populo tuo_.” + +And then the chant went on; all voices became mingled in that +ever-surging wave of prayer which stilled pain, excited hope, and little +by little penetrated the entire being, harassed by the haunting thought +of 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, and +had her eyes closed. By the painful contraction of her features he could +tell 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 this +incessant jolting.” + +She moaned, raised her eyelids, and, half-fainting, remained in a sitting +posture, her eyes turned on the other sufferers. In the adjoining +compartment, La Grivotte, hitherto stretched out, scarce breathing, like +a corpse, had just raised herself up in front of M. Sabathier. She was a +tall, slip-shod, singular-looking creature of over thirty, with a round, +ravaged face, which her frizzy hair and flaming eyes rendered almost +pretty. She had reached the third stage of phthisis. + +“Eh, mademoiselle,” she said, addressing herself in a hoarse, indistinct +voice 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 and +round 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, and +with one of her aunts had long gone from yard to yard at Bercy to comb +and sew up mattresses. And, indeed, it was to the pestilential wool which +she had combed in her youth that she ascribed her malady. For five years +she had been making the round of the hospitals of Paris, and she spoke +familiarly of all the great doctors. It was the Sisters of Charity, at +the Lariboisiere hospital, who, finding that she had a passion for +religious ceremonies, had completed her conversion, and convinced her +that the Virgin awaited her at Lourdes to cure her. + +“I certainly need it,” said she. “The doctors say that I have one lung +done for, and that the other one is scarcely any better. There are great +big holes you know. At first I only felt bad between the shoulders and +spat up some froth. But then I got thin, and became a dreadful sight. And +now I’m always in a sweat, and cough till I think I’m going to bring my +heart 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 Brother +in the compartment behind you. He has the same complaint as I have, but +he is in a worse state that I am.” + +She was mistaken. In the farther compartment, beyond Marie, there was +indeed a young missionary, Brother Isidore, who was lying on a mattress +and could not be seen, since he was unable to raise even a finger. But he +was not suffering from phthisis. He was dying of inflammation of the +liver, contracted in Senegal. Very long and lank, he had a yellow face, +with skin as dry and lifeless as parchment. The abscess which had formed +in his liver had ended by breaking out externally, and amidst the +continuous shivering of fever, vomiting, and delirium, suppuration was +exhausting him. His eyes alone were still alive, eyes full of +unextinguishable love, whose flame lighted up his expiring face, a +peasant 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 had +left 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 had +been in service in Paris, an insignificant maid-of-all-work, but withal +so 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 in +the carriage. There were four men carrying him--” + +But she was unable to speak any further, for just then an attack of +coughing 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 linen +cloth, which became spotted with blood. At the same time Madame de +Jonquière gave her attention to a patient in front of her, who had just +fainted. She was called Madame Vetu, and was the wife of a petty +clockmaker of the Mouffetard district, who had not been able to shut up +his shop in order to accompany her to Lourdes. And to make sure that she +would be cared for she had sought and obtained _hospitalisation_. The +fear of death was bringing her back to religion, although she had not set +foot 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 the +haggard, orange-hued mark of the cancerous patient. Since the beginning +of the journey she had not spoken a word, but, suffering terribly, had +remained with her lips tightly closed. Then all at once, she had swooned +away after an attack of vomiting. + +“It is unbearable!” murmured Madame de Jonquière, 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. But +not 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 were +stifling in that heavy evil-smelling atmosphere. The pure air which came +in when the window was opened brought relief however. For a moment there +were other duties to be attended to, a clearance and cleansing. The +Sister emptied the basins out of the window, whilst the lady-hospitaller +wiped the shaking floor with a sponge. Next, things had to be set in +order; and then came a fresh anxiety, for the fourth patient, a slender +girl whose face was entirely covered by a black fichu, and who had not +yet moved, was saying that she felt hungry. + +With quiet devotion Madame de Jonquière immediately tendered her +services. “Don’t you trouble, Sister,” she said, “I will cut her bread +into little bits for her.” + +Marie, with the need she felt of diverting her mind from her own +sufferings, had already begun to take an interest in that motionless +sufferer whose countenance was so thickly veiled, for she not unnaturally +suspected that it was a case of some distressing facial sore. She had +merely been told that the patient was a servant, which was true, but it +happened that the poor creature, a native of Picardy, named Elise +Rouquet, had been obliged to leave her situation, and seek a home with a +sister who ill-treated her, for no hospital would take her in. Extremely +devout, she had for many months been possessed by an ardent desire to go +to Lourdes. + +While Marie, with dread in her heart, waited for the fichu to be moved +aside, Madame de Jonquière, having cut some bread into small pieces, +inquired maternally: “Are they small enough? Can you put them into your +mouth?” + +Thereupon a hoarse voice growled confused words under the black fichu: +“Yes, yes, madame.” And at last the veil fell and Marie shuddered with +horror. + +It was a case of lupus which had preyed upon the unhappy woman’s nose and +mouth. Ulceration had spread, and was hourly spreading--in short, all the +hideous peculiarities of this terrible disease were in full process of +development, almost obliterating the traces of what once were pleasing +womanly lineaments. + +“Oh, look, Pierre!” Marie murmured, trembling. The priest in his turn +shuddered as he beheld Elise Rouquet cautiously slipping the tiny pieces +of bread into her poor shapeless mouth. Everyone in the carriage had +turned pale at sight of the awful apparition. And the same thought +ascended from all those hope-inflated souls. Ah! Blessed Virgin, Powerful +Virgin, 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 sorrowful +mysteries: Jesus in the Garden of Olives, Jesus scourged, Jesus crowned +with thorns, Jesus carrying the cross, and Jesus crucified. Afterwards +came the canticle: “In thy help, Virgin, do I put my trust.” + +They had just passed through Blois; for three long hours they had been +rolling onward; and Marie, who had averted her eyes from Elise Rouquet, +now turned them upon a man who occupied a corner seat in the compartment +on her left, that in which Brother Isidore was lying. She had noticed +this man several times already. Poorly clad in an old black frock-coat, +he looked still young, although his sparse beard was already turning +grey; and, short and emaciated, he seemed to experience great suffering, +his fleshless, livid face being covered with sweat. However, he remained +motionless, ensconced in his corner, speaking to nobody, but staring +straight before him with dilated eyes. And all at once Marie noticed that +his 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 Jonquière to call to Marthe, Brother +Isidore’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 eyes +remained 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 to +the other end of the carriage. Nobody knew the man. He had certainly not +obtained _hospitalisation_, for no white card was hanging from his neck. +Somebody related, however, that he had seen him arrive, dragging himself +along, but three minutes or so before the train started; and that he had +remained quite motionless, scarce breathing, ever since he had flung +himself with an air of intense weariness into that corner, where he was +now apparently dying. His ticket was at last seen protruding from under +the 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 to +a low plaint, an exclamation scarcely articulated, “Oh, how I suffer!” + +And thenceforward that was the only answer that could be obtained from +him. 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 gave +no information, but still and ever continued moaning, “Oh, how I +suffer--how I suffer!” + +Sister Hyacinthe grew restless with impatience. Ah, if she had only been +in the same compartment with him! And she resolved that she would change +her seat at the first station they should stop at. Only there would be no +stoppage for a long time. The position was becoming terrible, the more so +as 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 the +Fathers of the Assumption, Father Massias, was in the train with the Holy +Oils, ready to administer extreme unction to the dying; for every year +some of the patients passed away during the journey. But she did not dare +to have recourse to the alarm signal. Moreover, in the _cantine_ van +where Sister Saint François officiated, there was a doctor with a little +medicine chest. If the sufferer should survive until they reached +Poitiers, where there would be half an hour’s stoppage, all possible help +might be given to him. + +But on the other hand he might suddenly expire. However, they ended by +becoming somewhat calmer. The man, though still unconscious, began to +breathe in a more regular manner, and seemed to fall asleep. + +“To think of it, to die before getting there,” murmured Marie with a +shudder, “to die in sight of the promised land!” And as her father sought +to reassure her she added: “I am suffering--I am suffering dreadfully +myself.” + +“Have confidence,” said Pierre; “the Blessed Virgin is watching over +you.” + +She could no longer remain seated, and it became necessary to replace her +in a recumbent position in her narrow coffin. Her father and the priest +had to take every precaution in doing so, for the slightest hurt drew a +moan from her. And she lay there breathless, like one dead, her face +contracted by suffering, and surrounded by her regal fair hair. They had +now been rolling on, ever rolling on for nearly four hours. And if the +carriage was so greatly shaken, with an unbearable spreading tendency, it +was from its position at the rear part of the train. The coupling irons +shrieked, the wheels growled furiously; and as it was necessary to leave +the windows partially open, the dust came in, acrid and burning; but it +was especially the heat which grew terrible, a devouring, stormy heat +falling 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 her +despairing mother, who gazed at her with large, tear-blurred eyes, little +Rose had ceased to stir, and had grown so pale that Madame Maze had twice +leant 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, for +their weight was so great, said he, that it seemed as if his hips were +being torn from him. Brother Isidore too had just begun to cry out, +emerging from his wonted torpor; and his sister had only been able to +assuage his sufferings by raising him, and clasping him in her arms. La +Grivotte seemed to be asleep, but a continuous hiccoughing shook her, and +a tiny streamlet of blood dribbled from her mouth. Madame Vetu had again +vomited, Elise Rouquet no longer thought of hiding the frightful sore +open on her face. And from the man yonder, breathing hard, there still +came a lugubrious rattle, as though he were at every moment on the point +of expiring. In vain did Madame de Jonquière and Sister Hyacinthe lavish +their attentions on the patients, they could but slightly assuage so much +suffering. At times it all seemed like an evil dream--that carriage of +wretchedness and pain, hurried along at express speed, with a continuous +shaking and jolting which made everything hanging from the pegs--the old +clothes, the worn-out baskets mended with bits of string--swing to and +fro incessantly. And in the compartment at the far end, the ten female +pilgrims, some old, some young, and all pitifully ugly, sang on without a +pause in cracked voices, shrill and dreary. + +Then Pierre began to think of the other carriages of the train, that +white train which conveyed most, if not all, of the more seriously +afflicted patients; these carriages were rolling along, all displaying +similar scenes of suffering among the three hundred sick and five hundred +healthy pilgrims crowded within them. And afterwards he thought of the +other trains which were leaving Paris that day, the grey train and the +blue train* which had preceded the white one, the green train, the yellow +train, the pink train, the orange train which were following it. From +hour to hour trains set out from one to the other end of France. And he +thought, too, of those which that same morning had started from Orleans, +Le Mans, Poitiers, Bordeaux, Marseilles, and Carcassonne. Coming from all +parts, trains were rushing across that land of France at the same hour, +all directing their course yonder towards the holy Grotto, bringing +thirty thousand patients and pilgrims to the Virgin’s feet. And he +reflected that other days of the year witnessed a like rush of human +beings, that not a week went by without Lourdes beholding the arrival of +some pilgrimage; that it was not merely France which set out on the +march, but all Europe, the whole world; that in certain years of great +religious fervour there had been three hundred thousand, and even five +hundred 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 from +everywhere, all converging towards the same rocky cavity where the tapers +were blazing. They all rumbled loudly amid the cries of pain and snatches +of hymns wafted from their carriages. They were the rolling hospitals of +disease at its last stage, of human suffering rushing to the hope of +cure, furiously seeking consolation between attacks of increased +severity, with the ever-present threat of death--death hastened, +supervening under awful conditions, amidst the mob-like scramble. They +rolled on, they rolled on again and again, they rolled on without a +pause, carrying the wretchedness of the world on its way to the divine +illusion, the health of the infirm, the consolation of the afflicted. + +And immense pity overflowed from Pierre’s heart, human compassion for all +the suffering and all the tears that consumed weak and naked men. He was +sad unto death and ardent charity burnt within him, the unextinguishable +flame 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, the +five glorious mysteries, the Resurrection of Our Lord, the Ascension of +Our Lord, the Mission of the Holy Ghost, the Assumption of the Most +Blessed Virgin, the Crowning of the Most Blessed Virgin. And afterwards +they sang the canticle of Bernadette, that long, long chant, composed of +six times ten couplets, to which the ever recurring Angelic Salutation +serves as a refrain--a prolonged lullaby slowly besetting one until it +ends by penetrating one’s entire being, transporting one into ecstatic +sleep, in delicious expectancy of a miracle. + + + + +II. PIERRE AND MARIE + +THE green landscapes of Poitou were now defiling before them, and Abbé +Pierre Froment, gazing out of the window, watched the trees fly away +till, little by little, he ceased to distinguish them. A steeple appeared +and then vanished, and all the pilgrims crossed themselves. They would +not reach Poitiers until twelve-thirty-five, and the train was still +rolling on amid the growing weariness of that oppressive, stormy day. +Falling into a deep reverie, the young priest no longer heard the words +of the canticle, which sounded in his ears merely like a slow, wavy +lullaby. + +Forgetfulness of the present had come upon him, an awakening of the past +filled his whole being. He was reascending the stream of memory, +reascending it to its source. He again beheld the house at Neuilly, where +he 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 quickset +hedge and palisade from the garden of the neighbouring house, which was +similar to his own. He was again three, perhaps four, years old, and +round a table, shaded by the big horse-chestnut tree he once more beheld +his father, his mother, and his elder brother at _déjeuner_. To his +father, Michel Froment, he could give no distinct lineaments; he pictured +him but faintly, vaguely, renowned as an illustrious chemist, bearing the +title of Member of the Institute, and leading a cloistered life in the +laboratory which he had installed in that secluded, deserted suburb. +However he could plainly see his first brother Guillaume, then fourteen +years of age, whom some holiday had brought from college that morning, +and then and even more vividly his mother, so gentle and so quiet, with +eyes so full of active kindliness. Later on he learnt what anguish had +racked that religious soul, that believing woman who, from esteem and +gratitude, had resignedly accepted marriage with an unbeliever, her +senior by fifteen years, to whom her relatives were indebted for great +services. He, Pierre, the tardy offspring of this union, born when his +father was already near his fiftieth year, had only known his mother as a +respectful, conquered woman in the presence of her husband, whom she had +learnt to love passionately, with the frightful torment of knowing, +however, that he was doomed to perdition. And, all at once, another +memory flashed upon the young priest, the terrible memory of the day when +his father had died, killed in his laboratory by an accident, the +explosion of a retort. He, Pierre, had then been five years old, and he +remembered the slightest incidents--his mother’s cry when she had found +the shattered body among the remnants of the chemical appliances, then +her terror, her sobs, her prayers at the idea that God had slain the +unbeliever, damned him for evermore. Not daring to burn his books and +papers, she had contented herself with locking up the laboratory, which +henceforth nobody entered. And from that moment, haunted by a vision of +hell, she had had but one idea, to possess herself of her second son, who +was still so young, to give him a strictly religious training, and +through him to ransom her husband--secure his forgiveness from God. +Guillaume, her elder boy, had already ceased to belong to her, having +grown up at college, where he had been won over by the ideas of the +century; but she resolved that the other, the younger one, should not +leave 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 eternity +tortured. + +Then between green, leafy boughs, flecked with sunlight, another figure +rose vividly before Pierre’s eyes. He suddenly beheld Marie de Guersaint +as he had seen her one morning through a gap in the hedge dividing the +two gardens. M. de Guersaint, who belonged to the petty Norman +_noblesse_, was a combination of architect and inventor; and he was at +that time busy with a scheme of model dwellings for the poor, to which +churches and schools were to be attached; an affair of considerable +magnitude, planned none too well, however, and in which, with his +customary impetuosity, the lack of foresight of an imperfect artist, he +was risking the three hundred thousand francs that he possessed. A +similarity of religious faith had drawn Madame de Guersaint and Madame +Froment together; but the former was altogether a superior woman, +perspicuous and rigid, with an iron hand which alone prevented her +household from gliding to a catastrophe; and she was bringing up her two +daughters, Blanche and Marie, in principles of narrow piety, the elder +one already being as grave as herself, whilst the younger, albeit very +devout, was still fond of play, with an intensity of life within her +which found vent in gay peals of sonorous laughter. From their early +childhood Pierre and Marie played together, the hedge was ever being +crossed, the two families constantly mingled. And on that clear sunshiny +morning, when he pictured her parting the leafy branches she was already +ten years old. He, who was sixteen, was to enter the seminary on the +following Tuesday. Never had she seemed to him so pretty. Her hair, of a +pure golden hue, was so long that when it was let down it sufficed to +clothe her. Well did he remember her face as it had been, with round +cheeks, blue eyes, red mouth, and skin of dazzling, snowy whiteness. She +was indeed as gay and brilliant as the sun itself, a transplendency. Yet +there were tears at the corners of her eyes, for she was aware of his +coming departure. They sat down together at the far end of the garden, in +the shadow cast by the hedge. Their hands mingled, and their hearts were +very heavy. They had, however, never exchanged any vows amid their +pastimes, for their innocence was absolute. But now, on the eve of +separation, their mutual tenderness rose to their lips, and they spoke +without knowing, swore that they would ever think of one another, and +find one another again, some day, even as one meets in heaven to be very, +very happy. Then, without understanding how it happened, they clasped +each other tightly, to the point of suffocation, and kissed each other’s +face, weeping, the while, hot tears. And it was that delightful memory +which Pierre had ever carried with him, which he felt alive within him +still, after so many years, and after so many painful renunciations. + +Just then a more violent shock roused him from his reverie. He turned his +eyes upon the carriage and vaguely espied the suffering beings it +contained--Madame Maze motionless, overwhelmed with grief; little Rose +gently moaning in her mother’s lap; La Grivotte, whom a hoarse cough was +choking. For a moment Sister Hyacinthe’s gay face shone out amidst the +whiteness of her coif and wimple, dominating all the others. The painful +journey was continuing, with a ray of divine hope still and ever shining +yonder. Then everything slowly vanished from Pierre’s eyes as a fresh +wave of memory brought the past back from afar; and nothing of the +present remained save the lulling hymn, the indistinct voices of +dreamland, emerging from the invisible. + +Henceforth he was at the seminary. The classrooms, the recreation ground +with its trees, rose up clearly before him. But all at once he only +beheld, as in a mirror, the youthful face which had then been his, and he +contemplated it and scrutinised it, as though it had been the face of a +stranger. Tall and slender, he had an elongated visage, with an unusually +developed forehead, lofty and straight like a tower; whilst his jaws +tapered, ending in a small refined chin. He seemed, in fact, to be all +brains; his mouth, rather large, alone retained an expression of +tenderness. Indeed, when his usually serious face relaxed, his mouth and +eyes acquired an exceedingly soft expression, betokening an unsatisfied, +hungry desire to love, devote oneself, and live. But immediately +afterwards, the look of intellectual passion would come back again, that +intellectuality which had ever consumed him with an anxiety to understand +and know. And it was with surprise that he now recalled those years of +seminary life. How was it that he had so long been able to accept the +rude discipline of blind faith, of obedient belief in everything without +the slightest examination? It had been required of him that he should +absolutely surrender his reasoning faculties, and he had striven to do +so, had succeeded indeed in stifling his torturing need of truth. +Doubtless he had been softened, weakened by his mother’s tears, had been +possessed by the sole desire to afford her the great happiness she dreamt +of. Yet now he remembered certain quiverings of revolt; he found in the +depths of his mind the memory of nights which he had spent in weeping +without knowing why, nights peopled with vague images, nights through +which galloped the free, virile life of the world, when Marie’s face +incessantly returned to him, such as he had seen it one morning, dazzling +and bathed in tears, while she embraced him with her whole soul. And that +alone now remained; his years of religious study with their monotonous +lessons, their ever similar exercises and ceremonies, had flown away into +the same haze, into a vague half-light, full of mortal silence. + +Then, just as the train had passed though a station at full speed, with +the sudden uproar of its rush there arose within him a succession of +confused visions. He had noticed a large deserted enclosure, and fancied +that he could see himself within it at twenty years of age. His reverie +was wandering. An indisposition of rather long duration had, however, at +one time interrupted his studies, and led to his being sent into the +country. He had remained for a long time without seeing Marie; during his +vacations spent at Neuilly he had twice failed to meet her, for she was +almost always travelling. He knew that she was very ill, in consequence +of a fall from a horse when she was thirteen, a critical moment in a +girl’s life; and her despairing mother, perplexed by the contradictory +advice of medical men, was taking her each year to a different +watering-place. Then he learnt the startling news of the sudden tragical +death of that mother, who was so severe and yet so useful to her kin. She +had been carried off in five days by inflammation of the lungs, which she +had contracted one evening whilst she was out walking at La Bourboule, +through having taken off her mantle to place it round the shoulders of +Marie, who had been conveyed thither for treatment. It had been necessary +that the father should at once start off to fetch his daughter, who was +mad with grief, and the corpse of his wife, who had been so suddenly torn +from him. And unhappily, after losing her, the affairs of the family went +from 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 manage +the household, and she had matters of her own to attend to, being busy +with the last examinations which she had to pass, the diplomas which she +was obstinately intent on securing, foreseeing as she did that she would +someday 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, he +remembered, had again compelled him to take a holiday. He had just +completed his twenty-fourth year, he was greatly behindhand, having so +far only secured the four minor orders; but on his return a +sub-deaconship would be conferred on him, and an inviolable vow would +bind him for evermore. And the Guersaints’ little garden at Neuilly, +whither he had formerly so often gone to play, again distinctly appeared +before him. Marie’s couch had been rolled under the tall trees at the far +end of the garden near the hedge, they were alone together in the sad +peacefulness of an autumnal afternoon, and he saw Marie, clad in deep +mourning 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 garden +chair. For five years she had been suffering. She was now eighteen, paler +and thinner than formerly, but still adorable with her regal golden hair, +which illness respected. He believed from what he had heard that she was +destined to remain infirm, condemned never to become a woman, stricken +even in her sex. The doctors, who failed to agree respecting her case, +had abandoned her. Doubtless it was she who told him these things that +dreary afternoon, whilst the yellow withered leaves rained upon them. +However, he could not remember the words that they had spoken; her pale +smile, her young face, still so charming though already dimmed by +regretfulness for life, alone remained present with him. But he realised +that 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 as +though dead--their tears, their embrace, their promise to find one +another some day with a certainty of happiness. For although they had +found one another again, what availed it, since she was but a corpse, and +he was about to bid farewell to the life of the world? As the doctors +condemned her, as she would never be woman, nor wife, nor mother, he, on +his side, might well renounce manhood, and annihilate himself, dedicate +himself to God, to whom his mother gave him. And he still felt within him +the soft bitterness of that last interview: Marie smiling painfully at +memory of their childish play and prattle, and speaking to him of the +happiness which he would assuredly find in the service of God; so +penetrated indeed with emotion at this thought, that she had made him +promise that he would let her hear him say his first mass. + +But the train was passing the station of Sainte-Maure, and just then a +sudden uproar momentarily brought Pierre’s attention back to the carriage +and its occupants. He fancied that there had been some fresh seizure or +swooning, but the suffering faces that he beheld were still the same, +ever contracted by the same expression of anxious waiting for the divine +succour which was so slow in coming. M. Sabathier was vainly striving to +get his legs into a comfortable position, whilst Brother Isidore raised a +feeble continuous moan like a dying child, and Madame Vetu, a prey to +terrible agony, devoured by her disease, sat motionless, and kept her +lips tightly closed, her face distorted, haggard, and almost black. The +noise which Pierre had heard had been occasioned by Madame de Jonquière, +who whilst cleansing a basin had dropped the large zinc water-can. And, +despite their torment, this had made the patients laugh, like the simple +souls they were, rendered puerile by suffering. However, Sister +Hyacinthe, who rightly called them her children, children whom she +governed with a word, at once set them saying the chaplet again, pending +the Angelus, which would only be said at Chatellerault, in accordance +with the predetermined programme. And thereupon the “Aves” followed one +after the other, spreading into a confused murmuring and mumbling amidst +the rattling of the coupling irons and noisy growling of the wheels. + +Pierre had meantime relapsed into his reverie, and beheld himself as he +had been at six-and-twenty, when ordained a priest. Tardy scruples had +come to him a few days before his ordination, a semi-consciousness that +he was binding himself without having clearly questioned his heart and +mind. But he had avoided doing so, living in the dizzy bewilderment of +his decision, fancying that he had lopped off all human ties and feelings +with a voluntary hatchet-stroke. His flesh had surely died with his +childhood’s innocent romance, that white-skinned girl with golden hair, +whom now he never beheld otherwise than stretched upon her couch of +suffering, her flesh as lifeless as his own. And he had afterwards made +the sacrifice of his mind, which he then fancied even an easier one, +hoping as he did that determination would suffice to prevent him from +thinking. Besides, it was too late, he could not recoil at the last +moment, and if when he pronounced the last solemn vow he felt a secret +terror, an indeterminate but immense regret agitating him, he forgot +everything, saving a divine reward for his efforts on the day when he +afforded his mother the great and long-expected joy of hearing him say +his first mass. + +He could still see the poor woman in the little church of Neuilly, which +she herself had selected, the church where the funeral service for his +father had been celebrated; he saw her on that cold November morning, +kneeling almost alone in the dark little chapel, her hands hiding her +face as she continued weeping whilst he raised the Host. It was there +that she had tasted her last happiness, for she led a sad and lonely +life, no longer seeing her elder son, who had gone away, swayed by other +ideas than her own, bent on breaking off all family intercourse since his +brother intended to enter the Church. It was said that Guillaume, a +chemist of great talent, like his father, but at the same time a +Bohemian, addicted to revolutionary dreams, was living in a little house +in the suburbs, where he devoted himself to the dangerous study of +explosive substances; and folks added that he was living with a woman who +had come no one knew whence. This it was which had severed the last tie +between himself and his mother, all piety and propriety. For three years +Pierre had not once seen Guillaume, whom in his childhood he had +worshipped as a kind, merry, and fatherly big brother. + +But there came an awful pang to his heart--he once more beheld his mother +lying dead. This again was a thunderbolt, an illness of scarce three +days’ duration, a sudden passing away, as in the case of Madame de +Guersaint. One evening, after a wild hunt for the doctor, he had found +her motionless and quite white. She had died during his absence; and his +lips had ever retained the icy thrill of the last kiss that he had given +her. Of everything else--the vigil, the preparations, the funeral--he +remembered nothing. All that had become lost in the black night of his +stupor and grief, grief so extreme that he had almost died of it--seized +with shivering on his return from the cemetery, struck down by a fever +which during three weeks had kept him delirious, hovering between life +and death. His brother had come and nursed him and had then attended to +pecuniary matters, dividing the little inheritance, leaving him the house +and a modest income and taking his own share in money. And as soon as +Guillaume had found him out of danger he had gone off again, once more +vanishing into the unknown. But then through what a long convalescence +he, Pierre, had passed, buried as it were in that deserted house. He had +done nothing to detain Guillaume, for he realised that there was an abyss +between them. At first the solitude had brought him suffering, but +afterwards it had grown very pleasant, whether in the deep silence of the +rooms which the rare noises of the street did not disturb, or under the +screening, shady foliage of the little garden, where he could spend whole +days without seeing a soul. His favourite place of refuge, however, was +the old laboratory, his father’s cabinet, which his mother for twenty +years had kept carefully locked up, as though to immure within it all the +incredulity and damnation of the past. And despite the gentleness, the +respectful submissiveness which she had shown in former times, she would +perhaps have some day ended by destroying all her husband’s books and +papers, had not death so suddenly surprised her. Pierre, however, had +once more had the windows opened, the writing-table and the bookcase +dusted; and, installed in the large leather arm-chair, he now spent +delicious hours there, regenerated as it were by his illness, brought +back to his youthful days again, deriving a wondrous intellectual delight +from the perusal of the books which he came upon. + +The only person whom he remembered having received during those two +months of slow recovery was Doctor Chassaigne, an old friend of his +father, a medical man of real merit, who, with the one ambition of curing +disease, modestly confined himself to the _rôle_ of the practitioner. It +was in vain that the doctor had sought to save Madame Froment, but he +flattered himself that he had extricated the young priest from grievous +danger; and he came to see him from time to time, to chat with him and +cheer him, talking with him of his father, the great chemist, of whom he +recounted many a charming anecdote, many a particular, still glowing with +the flame of ardent friendship. Little by little, amidst the weak languor +of convalescence, the son had thus beheld an embodiment of charming +simplicity, affection, and good nature rising up before him. It was his +father such as he had really been, not the man of stern science whom he +had pictured whilst listening to his mother. Certainly she had never +taught him aught but respect for that dear memory; but had not her +husband been the unbeliever, the man who denied, and made the angels +weep, the artisan of impiety who sought to change the world that God had +made? And so he had long remained a gloomy vision, a spectre of damnation +prowling 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 never +desired anything but the love and happiness of all. For his part, Doctor +Chassaigne, a Pyrenean by birth, born in a far-off secluded village where +folks still believed in sorceresses, inclined rather towards religion, +although he had not set his foot inside a church during the forty years +he had been living in Paris. However, his conviction was absolute: if +there were a heaven somewhere, Michel Froment was assuredly there, and +not merely there, but seated upon a throne on the Divinity’s right hand. + +Then Pierre, in a few minutes, again lived through the frightful torment +which, during two long months, had ravaged him. It was not that he had +found controversial works of an anti-religious character in the bookcase, +or that his father, whose papers he sorted, had ever gone beyond his +technical 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 which +as a priest he should have believed. It seemed, in fact, as though +illness had renewed him, as though he were again beginning to live and +learn amidst the physical pleasantness of convalescence, that still +subsisting weakness which lent penetrating lucidity to his brain. At the +seminary, by the advice of his masters, he had always kept the spirit of +inquiry, his thirst for knowledge, in check. Much of that which was +taught him there had surprised him; however, he had succeeded in making +the sacrifice of his mind required of his piety. But now, all the +laboriously raised scaffolding of dogmas was swept away in a revolt of +that sovereign mind which clamoured for its rights, and which he could no +longer silence. Truth was bubbling up and overflowing in such an +irresistible stream that he realised he would never succeed in lodging +error in his brain again. It was indeed the total and irreparable ruin of +faith. Although he had been able to kill his flesh by renouncing the +romance of his youth, although he felt that he had altogether mastered +carnal passion, he now knew that it would be impossible for him to make +the sacrifice of his intelligence. And he was not mistaken; it was indeed +his father again springing to life in the depths of his being, and at +last obtaining the mastery in that dual heredity in which, during so many +years, his mother had dominated. The upper part of his face, his +straight, towering brow, seemed to have risen yet higher, whilst the +lower part, the small chin, the affectionate mouth, were becoming less +distinct. However, he suffered; at certain twilight hours when his +kindliness, his need of love awoke, he felt distracted with grief at no +longer believing, distracted with desire to believe again; and it was +necessary that the lighted lamp should be brought in, that he should see +clearly around him and within him, before he could recover the energy and +calmness of reason, the strength of martyrdom, the determination to +sacrifice everything to the peace of his conscience. + +Then came the crisis. He was a priest and he no longer believed. This had +suddenly dawned before him like a bottomless abyss. It was the end of his +life, the collapse of everything. What should he do? Did not simple +rectitude require that he should throw off the cassock and return to the +world? But he had seen some renegade priests and had despised them. A +married priest with whom he was acquainted filled him with disgust. All +this, no doubt, was but a survival of his long religious training. He +retained the notion that a priest cannot, must not, weaken; the idea that +when one has dedicated oneself to God one cannot take possession of +oneself again. Possibly, also, he felt that he was too plainly branded, +too different from other men already, to prove otherwise than awkward and +unwelcome among them. Since he had been cut off from them he would remain +apart in his grievous pride; And, after days of anguish, days of struggle +incessantly renewed, in which his thirst for happiness warred with the +energies of his returning health, he took the heroic resolution to remain +a priest, and an honest one. He would find the strength necessary for +such abnegation. Since he had conquered the flesh, albeit unable to +conquer the brain, he felt sure of keeping his vow of chastity, and that +would be unshakable; therein lay the pure, upright life which he was +absolutely certain of living. What mattered the rest if he alone +suffered, if nobody in the world suspected that his heart was reduced to +ashes, that nothing remained of his faith, that he was agonising amidst +fearful falsehood? His rectitude would prove a firm prop; he would follow +his priestly calling like an honest man, without breaking any of the vows +he had taken; he would, in due accordance with the rites, discharge his +duties as a minister of the Divinity, whom he would praise and glorify at +the 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 if +this great misfortune should some day become known? And what more could +be asked of him than lifelong devotion to his vow, regard for his +ministry, and the practice of every charity without the hope of any +future reward? In this wise he ended by calming himself, still upright, +still bearing his head erect, with the desolate grandeur of the priest +who himself no longer believes, but continues watching over the faith of +others. And he certainly was not alone; he felt that he had many +brothers, priests with ravaged minds, who had sunk into incredulity, and +who yet, like soldiers without a fatherland, remained at the altar, and, +despite, everything, found the courage to make the divine illusion shine +forth above the kneeling crowds. + +On recovering his health Pierre had immediately resumed his service at +the little church of Neuilly. He said his mass there every morning. But +he had resolved to refuse any appointment, any preferment. Months and +years went by, and he obstinately insisted on remaining the least known +and the most humble of those priests who are tolerated in a parish, who +appear and disappear after discharging their duty. The acceptance of any +appointment would have seemed to him an aggravation of his falsehood, a +theft from those who were more deserving than himself. And he had to +resist frequent offers, for it was impossible for his merits to remain +unnoticed. Indeed, his obstinate modesty provoked astonishment at the +archbishop’s palace, where there was a desire to utilise the power which +could be divined in him. Now and again, it is true, he bitterly regretted +that he was not useful, that he did not co-operate in some great work, in +furthering the purification of the world, the salvation and happiness of +all, in accordance with his own ardent, torturing desire. Fortunately his +time was nearly all his own, and to console himself he gave rein to his +passion for work by devouring every volume in his father’s bookcase, and +then again resuming and considering his studies, feverishly preoccupied +with regard to the history of nations, full of a desire to explore the +depths of the social and religious crisis so that he might ascertain +whether it were really beyond remedy. + +It was at this time, whilst rummaging one morning in one of the large +drawers in the lower part of the bookcase, that he discovered quite a +collection of papers respecting the apparitions of Lourdes. It was a very +complete set of documents, comprising detailed notes of the +interrogatories to which Bernadette had been subjected, copies of +numerous official documents, and police and medical reports, in addition +to many private and confidential letters of the greatest interest. This +discovery had surprised Pierre, and he had questioned, Doctor Chassaigne +concerning it. The latter thereupon remembered that his friend, Michel +Froment, had at one time passionately devoted himself to the study of +Bernadette’s case; and he himself, a native of the village near Lourdes, +had procured for the chemist a portion of the documents in the +collection. Pierre, in his turn, then became impassioned, and for a whole +month continued studying the affair, powerfully attracted by the +visionary’s pure, upright nature, but indignant with all that had +subsequently sprouted up--the barbarous fetishism, the painful +superstitions, and the triumphant simony. In the access of unbelief which +had come upon him, this story of Lourdes was certainly of a nature to +complete the collapse of his faith. However, it had also excited his +curiosity, and he would have liked to investigate it, to establish beyond +dispute what scientific truth might be in it, and render pure +Christianity the service of ridding it of this scoria, this fairy tale, +all touching and childish as it was. But he had been obliged to +relinquish his studies, shrinking from the necessity of making a journey +to the Grotto, and finding that it would be extremely difficult to obtain +the information which he still needed; and of it all there at last only +remained within him a tender feeling for Bernadette, of whom he could not +think without a sensation of delightful charm and infinite pity. + +The days went by, and Pierre led a more and more lonely life. Doctor +Chassaigne had just left for the Pyrenees in a state of mortal anxiety. +Abandoning his patients, he had set out for Cauterets with his ailing +wife, who was sinking more and more each day, to the infinite distress of +both his charming daughter and himself. From that moment the little house +at Neuilly fell into deathlike silence and emptiness. Pierre had no other +distraction than that of occasionally going to see the Guersaints, who +had long since left the neighbouring house, but whom he had found again +in a small lodging in a wretched tenement of the district. And the memory +of his first visit to them there was yet so fresh within him, that he +felt a pang at his heart as he recalled his emotion at sight of the +hapless Marie. + +That pang roused him from his reverie, and on looking round he perceived +Marie stretched on the seat, even as he had found her on the day which he +recalled, already imprisoned in that gutter-like box, that coffin to +which 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 of +inaction and immobility in that box. Of her old-time beauty she had +retained 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, to +have become once more a child. And what was most distressing was the +expression on her pale face, the blank, frigid stare of her eyes which +did not see, the ever haunting absent look, as of one whom suffering +overwhelmed. However, she noticed that Pierre was gazing at her, and at +once desired to smile at him; but irresistible moans escaped her, and +when she did at last smile, it was like a poor smitten creature who is +convinced that she will expire before the miracle takes place. He was +overcome by it, and, amidst all the sufferings with which the carriage +abounded, hers were now the only ones that he beheld and heard, as though +one and all were summed up in her, in the long and terrible agony of her +beauty, gaiety, and youth. + +Then by degrees, without taking his eyes from Marie, he again reverted to +former days, again lived those hours, fraught with a mournful and bitter +charm, which he had often spent beside her, when he called at the sorry +lodging to keep her company. M. de Guersaint had finally ruined himself +by trying to improve the artistic quality of the religious prints so +widely sold in France, the faulty execution of which quite irritated him. +His last resources had been swallowed up in the failure of a +colour-printing firm; and, heedless as he was, deficient in foresight, +ever trusting in Providence, his childish mind continually swayed by +illusions, he did not notice the awful pecuniary embarrassment of the +household; but applied himself to the study of aerial navigation, without +even realising what prodigious activity his elder daughter, Blanche, was +forced to display, in order to earn the living of her two children, as +she was wont to call her father and her sister. It was Blanche who, by +running about Paris in the dust or the mud from morning to evening in +order to give French or music lessons, contrived to provide the money +necessary for the unremitting attentions which Marie required. And Marie +often experienced attacks of despair--bursting into tears and accusing +herself of being the primary cause of their ruin, as for years and years +now it had been necessary to pay for medical attendance and for taking +her to almost every imaginable spring--La Bourboule, Aix, Lamalou, +Amelie-les-Bains, and others. And the outcome of ten years of varied +diagnosis and treatment was that the doctors had now abandoned her. Some +thought her illness to be due to the rupture of certain ligaments, others +believed in the presence of a tumour, others again to paralysis due to +injury to the spinal cord, and as she, with maidenly revolt, refused to +undergo any examination, and they did not even dare to address precise +questions to her, they each contented themselves with their several +opinions and declared that she was beyond cure. Moreover, she now solely +relied upon the divine help, having grown rigidly pious since she had +been suffering, and finding her only relief in her ardent faith. Every +morning she herself read the holy offices, for to her great sorrow she +was 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 place +her food in her mouth. + +Pierre was thinking of this when all at once he recalled an evening he +had spent with her. The lamp had not yet been lighted, he was seated +beside her in the growing obscurity, and she suddenly told him that she +wished to go to Lourdes, feeling certain that she would return cured. He +had experienced an uncomfortable sensation on hearing her speak in this +fashion, and quite forgetting himself had exclaimed that it was folly to +believe in such childishness. He had hitherto made it a rule never to +converse with her on religious matters, having not only refused to be her +confessor, but even to advise her with regard to the petty uncertainties +of her pietism. In this respect he was influenced by feelings of mingled +shame and compassion; to lie to her of all people would have made him +suffer, and, moreover, he would have deemed himself a criminal had he +even by a breath sullied that fervent pure faith which lent her such +strength against pain. And so, regretting that he had not been able to +restrain his exclamation, he remained sorely embarrassed, when all at +once 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, to +tell him that she already knew his secret, his misfortune, that +wretchedness, 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 read +his conscience. She felt terribly distressed on his account; she deemed +him, with that mortal moral malady, to be more deserving of pity than +herself. And then as he, thunderstruck, was still unable to find an +answer, acknowledging the truth of her words by his very silence, she +again began to speak to him of Lourdes, adding in a low whisper that she +wished to confide him as well as herself to the protection of the Blessed +Virgin, whom she entreated to restore him to faith. And from that evening +forward she did not cease speaking on the subject, repeating again and +again, that if she went to Lourdes she would be surely cured. But she was +prevented from making the journey by lack of means and she did not even +dare to speak to her sister of the pecuniary question. So two months went +by, and day by day she grew weaker, exhausted by her longing dreams, her +eyes ever turned towards the flashing light of the miraculous Grotto far +away. Pierre then experienced many painful days. He had at first told +Marie that he would not accompany her. But his decision was somewhat +shaken by the thought that if he made up his mind to go, he might profit +by the journey to continue his inquiries with regard to Bernadette, whose +charming image lingered in his heart. And at last he even felt penetrated +by a delightful feeling, an unacknowledged hope, the hope that Marie was +perhaps right, that the Virgin might take pity on him and restore to him +his former blind faith, the faith of the child who loves and does not +question. Oh! to believe, to believe with his whole soul, to plunge into +faith for ever! Doubtless there was no other possible happiness. He +longed for faith with all the joyousness of his youth, with all the love +that he had felt for his mother, with all his burning desire to escape +from the torment of understanding and knowing, and to slumber forever in +the 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 supreme +experiment. + +A week later the journey to Lourdes was decided upon. Pierre, however, +had insisted on a final consultation of medical men in order to ascertain +if it were really possible for Marie to travel; and this again was a +scene which rose up before him, with certain incidents which he ever +beheld whilst others were already fading from his mind. Two of the +doctors who had formerly attended the patient, and one of whom believed +in the rupture of certain ligaments, whilst the other asserted the case +to be one of medullary paralysis, had ended by agreeing that this +paralysis existed, and that there was also, possibly, some ligamentary +injury. In their opinion all the symptoms pointed to this diagnosis, and +the nature of the case seemed to them so evident that they did not +hesitate to give certificates, each his own, agreeing almost word for +word with one another, and so positive in character as to leave no room +for doubt. Moreover, they thought that the journey was practicable, +though it would certainly prove an exceedingly painful one. Pierre +thereupon 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 confused +recollection of the third medical man who had been called in, a distant +cousin of his named De Beauclair, who was young, extremely intelligent, +but little known as yet, and said by some to be rather strange in his +theories. This doctor, after looking at Marie for a long time, had asked +somewhat anxiously about her parents, and had seemed greatly interested +by what was told him of M. de Guersaint, this architect and inventor with +a weak and exuberant mind. Then he had desired to measure the sufferer’s +visual field, and by a slight discreet touch had ascertained the locality +of the pain, which, under certain pressure, seemed to ascend like a heavy +shifting mass towards the breast. He did not appear to attach importance +to the paralysis of the legs; but on a direct question being put to him +he exclaimed that the girl ought to be taken to Lourdes and that she +would 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 in +radiant health. He even predicted how the miracle would come about; it +would be like a lightning stroke, an awakening, an exaltation of the +entire being, whilst the evil, that horrid, diabolical weight which +stifled the poor girl would once more ascend and fly away as though +emerging by her mouth. But at the same time he flatly declined to give a +certificate. He had failed to agree with his two _confrères_, who treated +him coldly, as though they considered him a wild, adventurous young +fellow. Pierre confusedly remembered some shreds of the discussion which +had begun again in his presence, some little part of the diagnosis framed +by Beauclair. First, a dislocation of the organ, with a slight laceration +of the ligaments, resulting from the patient’s fall from her horse; then +a slow healing, everything returning to its place, followed by +consecutive nervous symptoms, so that the sufferer was now simply beset +by her original fright, her attention fixed on the injured part, arrested +there amidst increasing pain, incapable of acquiring fresh notions unless +it were under the lash of some violent emotion. Moreover, he also +admitted the probability of accidents due to nutrition, as yet +unexplained, and on the course and importance of which he himself would +not venture to give an opinion. However, the idea that Marie _dreamt_ her +disease, that the fearful sufferings torturing her came from an injury +long since healed, appeared such a paradox to Pierre when he gazed at her +and saw her in such agony, her limbs already stretched out lifeless on +her bed of misery, that he did not even pause to consider it; but at that +moment felt simply happy in the thought that all three doctors agreed in +authorising the journey to Lourdes. To him it was sufficient that she +_might_ be cured, and to attain that result he would have followed her to +the end of the world. + +Ah! those last days of Paris, amid what a scramble they were spent! The +national pilgrimage was about to start, and in order to avoid heavy +expenses, it had occurred to him to obtain _hospitalisation_ for Marie. +Then he had been obliged to run about in order to obtain his own +admission, as a helper, into the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation. M. +de Guersaint was delighted with the prospect of the journey, for he was +fond of nature, and ardently desired to become acquainted with the +Pyrenees. Moreover, he did not allow anything to worry him, but was +perfectly willing that the young priest should pay his railway fare, and +provide for him at the hotel yonder as for a child; and his daughter +Blanche, having slipped a twenty-franc piece into his hand at the last +moment, he had even thought himself rich again. That poor brave Blanche +had a little hidden store of her own, savings to the amount of fifty +francs, which it had been absolutely necessary to accept, for she became +quite 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 which +she had to give in Paris, whose hard pavements she must continue pacing, +whilst her dear ones were kneeling yonder, amidst the enchantments of the +Grotto. And so the others had started on, and were now rolling, ever +rolling along. + +As they passed the station of Chatellerault a sudden burst of voices made +Pierre start, and drove away the torpor into which his reverie had +plunged him. What was the matter? Were they reaching Poitiers? But it was +only half-past twelve o’clock, and it was simply Sister Hyacinthe who had +roused him, by making her patients and pilgrims say the Angelus, the +three “Aves” thrice repeated. Then the voices burst forth, and the sound +of a fresh canticle arose, and continued like a lamentation. Fully five +and twenty minutes must elapse before they would reach Poitiers, where it +seemed as if the half-hour’s stoppage would bring relief to every +suffering! They were all so uncomfortable, so roughly shaken in that +malodorous, burning carriage! Such wretchedness was beyond endurance. Big +tears coursed down the cheeks of Madame Vincent, a muttered oath escaped +M. Sabathier usually so resigned, and Brother Isidore, La Grivotte, and +Madame Vetu seemed to have become inanimate, mere waifs carried along by +a torrent. Moreover, Marie no longer answered, but had closed her eyes +and would not open them, pursued as she was by the horrible vision of +Elise Rouquet’s face, that face with its gaping cavities which seemed to +her to be the image of death. And whilst the train increased its speed, +bearing all this human despair onward, under the heavy sky, athwart the +burning plains, there was yet another scare in the carriage. The strange +man had apparently ceased to breathe, and a voice cried out that he was +expiring. + + + + +III. POITIERS + +AS soon as the train arrived at Poitiers, Sister Hyacinthe alighted in +all haste, amidst the crowd of porters opening the carriage doors, and of +pilgrims darting forward to reach the platform. “Wait a moment, wait a +moment,” 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’s +head, and seeing him so pale, with such blank eyes, she did at first +think him already dead. At last, however, she detected a faint breathing. +“No, no,” she then exclaimed, “he still breathes. Quick! there is no time +to be lost.” And, perceiving the other Sister, she added: “Sister Claire +des Anges, will you go and fetch Father Massias, who must be in the third +or fourth carriage of the train? Tell him that we have a patient in very +great danger here, and ask him to bring the Holy Oils at once.” + +Without answering, the other Sister at once plunged into the midst of the +scramble. She was small, slender, and gentle, with a meditative air and +mysterious eyes, but withal extremely active. + +Pierre, who was standing in the other compartment watching the scene, now +ventured to make a suggestion: “And would it not be as well to fetch the +doctor?” said he. + +“Yes, I was thinking of it,” replied Sister Hyacinthe, “and, Monsieur +l’Abbé, it would be very kind of you to go for him yourself.” + +It so happened that Pierre intended going to the cantine carriage to +fetch some broth for Marie. Now that she was no longer being jolted she +felt somewhat relieved, and had opened her eyes, and caused her father to +raise her to a sitting posture. Keenly thirsting for fresh air, she would +have 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 too +troublesome a task to place her inside the carriage again. So M. de +Guersaint remained by himself on the platform, near the open door, +smoking a cigarette, whilst Pierre hastened to the cantine van, where he +knew he would find the doctor on duty, with his travelling pharmacy. + +Some other patients, whom one could not think of removing, also remained +in the carriage. Amongst them was La Grivotte, who was stifling and +almost delirious, in such a state indeed as to detain Madame de +Jonquière, who had arranged to meet her daughter Raymonde, with Madame +Volmar and Madame Désagneaux, in the refreshment-room, in order that they +might all four lunch together. But that unfortunate creature seemed on +the point of expiring, so how could she leave her all alone, on the hard +seat of that carriage? On his side, M. Sabathier, likewise riveted to his +seat, was waiting for his wife, who had gone to fetch a bunch of grapes +for 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 were +to escape for a moment from that cage of wretchedness where their limbs +had been quite numbed by the seven hours’ journey which they had so far +gone. Madame Maze had at once drawn apart, straying with melancholy face +to the far end of the platform, where she found herself all alone; Madame +Vetu, stupefied by her sufferings, had found sufficient strength to take +a few steps, and sit down on a bench, in the full sunlight, where she did +not even feel the burning heat; whilst Elise Rouquet, who had had the +decency to cover her face with a black wrap, and was consumed by a desire +for fresh water, went hither and thither in search of a drinking +fountain. And meantime Madame Vincent, walking slowly, carried her little +Rose about in her arms, trying to smile at her, and to cheer her by +showing her some gaudily coloured picture bills, which the child gravely +gazed at, but did not see. + +Pierre had the greatest possible difficulty in making his way through the +crowd inundating the platform. No effort of imagination could enable one +to picture the living torrent of ailing and healthy beings which the +train had here set down--a mob of more than a thousand persons just +emerging from suffocation, and bustling, hurrying hither and thither. +Each carriage had contributed its share of wretchedness, like some +hospital ward suddenly evacuated; and it was now possible to form an idea +of the frightful amount of suffering which this terrible white train +carried along with it, this train which disseminated a legend of horror +wheresoever it passed. Some infirm sufferers were dragging themselves +about, others were being carried, and many remained in a heap on the +platform. There were sudden pushes, violent calls, innumerable displays +of distracted eagerness to reach the refreshment-room and the _buvette_. +Each and all made haste, going wheresoever their wants called them. This +stoppage of half an hour’s duration, the only stoppage there would be +before reaching Lourdes, was, after all, such a short one. And the only +gay note, amidst all the black cassocks and the threadbare garments of +the poor, never of any precise shade of colour, was supplied by the +smiling whiteness of the Little Sisters of the Assumption, all bright and +active 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 a +small supply of cooking utensils. The broth prepared from concentrated +meat-extract was being warmed in wrought-iron pans, whilst the preserved +milk in tins was diluted and supplied as occasion required. There were +some other provisions, such as biscuits, fruit, and chocolate, on a few +shelves. But Sister Saint-François, to whom the service was entrusted, a +short, stout woman of five-and-forty, with a good-natured fresh-coloured +face, was somewhat losing her head in the presence of all the hands so +eagerly stretched towards her. Whilst continuing her distribution, she +lent ear to Pierre, as he called the doctor, who with his travelling +pharmacy occupied another corner of the van. Then, when the young priest +began 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 another +Sister to take her place. + +“Oh! I wished to ask you, Sister, for some broth for a passenger who is +ill,” said Pierre, at that moment turning towards her. + +“Very well, Monsieur l’Abbé, I will bring some. Go on in front.” + +The doctor and the abbé went off in all haste, rapidly questioning and +answering one another, whilst behind them followed Sister Saint-François, +carrying the bowl of broth with all possible caution amidst the jostling +of 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 of +Provence. As soon as Sister Hyacinthe caught sight of him, she raised an +exclamation 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 Assumption +to 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 lives +among the wretched, installing themselves beside the sufferer’s pallet in +his tiny lodging, and ministering to every want, attending alike to +cooking and cleaning, and living there as servants and relatives, until +either cure or death supervenes. And it was in this wise that Sister +Hyacinthe, young as she was, with her milky face, and her blue eyes which +ever laughed, had installed herself one day in the abode of this young +fellow, Ferrand, then a medical student, prostrated by typhoid fever, and +so 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 his +side, but had remained with him until she cured him, with the passion of +one who lived only for others, one who when an infant had been found in a +church porch, and who had no other family than that of those who +suffered, to whom she devoted herself with all her ardently affectionate +nature. And what a delightful month, what exquisite comradeship, fraught +with 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 a +mother also, a mother who helped him to rise, and who put him to bed as +though he were her child, without aught springing up between them save +supreme pity, the divine, gentle compassion of charity. She ever showed +herself gay, sexless, devoid of any instinct excepting that which +prompted her to assuage and to console. And he worshipped her, venerated +her, and had retained of her the most chaste and passionate of +recollections. + +“O Sister Hyacinthe!” he murmured in delight. + +Chance alone had brought them face to face again, for Ferrand was not a +believer, and if he found himself in that train it was simply because he +had at the last moment consented to take the place of a friend who was +suddenly prevented from coming. For nearly a twelvemonth he had been a +house-surgeon at the Hospital of La Pitie. However, this journey to +Lourdes, in such peculiar circumstances, greatly interested him. + +The joy of the meeting was making them forget the ailing stranger. And so +the Sister resumed: “You see, Monsieur Ferrand, it is for this man that +we want you. At one moment we thought him dead. Ever since we passed +Amboise he has been filling us with fear, and I have just sent for the +Holy Oils. Do you find him so very low? Could you not revive him a +little?” + +The doctor was already examining the man, and thereupon the sufferers who +had remained in the carriage became greatly interested and began to look. +Marie, to whom Sister Saint-François had given the bowl of broth, was +holding it with such an unsteady hand that Pierre had to take it from +her, and endeavour to make her drink; but she could not swallow, and she +left the broth scarce tasted, fixing her eyes upon the man waiting to see +what would happen like one whose own existence is at stake. + +“Tell me,” again asked Sister Hyacinthe, “how do you find him? What is +his illness?” + +“What is his illness!” muttered Ferrand; “he has every illness.” + +Then, drawing a little phial from his pocket, he endeavoured to introduce +a few drops of the contents between the sufferer’s clenched teeth. The +man heaved a sigh, raised his eyelids and let them fall again; that was +all, he gave no other sign of life. + +Sister Hyacinthe, usually so calm and composed, so little accustomed to +despair, became impatient. + +“But it is terrible,” said she, “and Sister Claire des Anges does not +come back! Yet I told her plainly enough where she would find Father +Massias’s carriage. _Mon Dieu!_ what will become of us?” + +Sister Saint-François, seeing that she could render no help, was now +about to return to the cantine van. Before doing so, however, she +inquired if the man were not simply dying of hunger; for such cases +presented themselves, and indeed she had only come to the compartment +with the view of offering some of her provisions. At last, as she went +off, she promised that she would make Sister Claire des Anges hasten her +return should she happen to meet her; and she had not gone twenty yards +when she turned round and waved her arm to call attention to her +colleague, who with discreet short steps was coming back alone. + +Leaning out of the window, Sister Hyacinthe kept on calling to her, “Make +haste, 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 was +not possible to get there quickly. When I reached the carriage Father +Massias had already alighted, and gone out of the station, no doubt.” + +She thereupon explained, that according to what she had heard, Father +Massias and the priest of Sainte-Radegonde had some appointment together. +In other years the national pilgrimage halted at Poitiers for +four-and-twenty hours, and after those who were ill had been placed in +the town hospital the others went in procession to Sainte-Radegonde.* +That year, however, there was some obstacle to this course being +followed, so the train was going straight on to Lourdes; and Father +Massias was certainly with his friend the priest, talking with him on +some 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 soon +as they found him,” added Sister Claire. + +However, this was quite a disaster for Sister Hyacinthe. Since Science +was powerless, perhaps the Holy Oils would have brought the sufferer some +relief. She had often seen that happen. + +“O Sister, Sister, how worried I am!” she said to her companion. “Do you +know, I wish you would go back and watch for Father Massias and bring him +to 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 she +went again with that grave, mysterious air of hers, wending her way +through the crowd like a gliding shadow. + +Ferrand, meantime, was still looking at the man, sorely distressed at his +inability to please Sister Hyacinthe by reviving him. And as he made a +gesture expressive of his powerlessness she again raised her voice +entreatingly: “Stay with me, Monsieur Ferrand, pray stay,” she said. +“Wait till Father Massias comes--I shall be a little more at ease with +you here.” + +He remained and helped her to raise the man, who was slipping down upon +the seat. Then, taking a linen cloth, she wiped the poor fellow’s face +which a dense perspiration was continually covering. And the spell of +waiting continued amid the uneasiness of the patients who had remained in +the carriage, and the curiosity of the folks who had begun to assemble on +the platform in front of the compartment. + +All at once however a girl hastily pushed the crowd aside, and, mounting +on the footboard, addressed herself to Madame de Jonquière: “What is the +matter, mamma?” she said. “They are waiting for you in the +refreshment-room.” + +It was Raymonde de Jonquière, who, already somewhat ripe for her +four-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 Désagneaux and +Madame Volmar were looking forward with so much pleasure to this little +lunch together.” + +“Well, it can’t be helped, my dear. At all events, you can begin without +waiting for me. Tell the ladies that I will come and join them as soon as +I can.” Then, an idea occurring to her, Madame de Jonquière added: “Wait +a moment, the doctor is here. I will try to get him to take charge of my +patient. Go back, I will follow you. As you can guess, I am dying of +hunger.” + +Raymonde briskly returned to the refreshment-room whilst her mother +begged Ferrand to come into her compartment to see if he could do +something to relieve La Grivotte. At Marthe’s request he had already +examined Brother Isidore, whose moaning never ceased; and with a +sorrowful gesture he had again confessed his powerlessness. However, he +hastened to comply with Madame de Jonquière’s appeal, and raised the +consumptive woman to a sitting posture in the hope of thus stopping her +cough, which indeed gradually ceased. And then he helped the +lady-hospitaller to make her swallow a spoonful of some soothing draught. +The doctor’s presence in the carriage was still causing a stir among the +ailing ones. M. Sabathier, who was slowly eating the grapes which his +wife had been to fetch him, did not, however, question Ferrand, for he +knew full well what his answer would be, and was weary, as he expressed +it, of consulting all the princes of science; nevertheless he felt +comforted as it were at seeing him set that poor consumptive woman on her +feet again. And even Marie watched all that the doctor did with +increasing interest, though not daring to call him herself, certain as +she also was that he could do nothing for her. + +Meantime, the crush on the platform was increasing. Only a quarter of an +hour now remained to the pilgrims. Madame Vetu, whose eyes were open but +who saw nothing, sat like an insensible being in the broad sunlight, in +the hope possibly that the scorching heat would deaden her pains; whilst +up and down, in front of her, went Madame Vincent ever with the same +sleep-inducing step and ever carrying her little Rose, her poor ailing +birdie, whose weight was so trifling that she scarcely felt her in her +arms. Many people meantime were hastening to the water tap in order to +fill their pitchers, cans, and bottles. Madame Maze, who was of refined +tastes and careful of her person, thought of going to wash her hands +there; but just as she arrived she found Elise Rouquet drinking, and she +recoiled at sight of that disease-smitten face, so terribly disfigured +and robbed of nearly all semblance of humanity. And all the others +likewise 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 the +platform. You could hear the rhythmical taps of the crutches carried by a +woman who incessantly wended her way through the groups. On the ground, a +legless cripple was painfully dragging herself about in search of nobody +knew what. Others, seated there in heaps, no longer stirred. All these +sufferers, momentarily unpacked as it were, these patients of a +travelling hospital emptied for a brief half-hour, were taking the air +amidst the bewilderment and agitation of the healthy passengers; and the +whole throng had a frightfully woeful, poverty-stricken appearance in the +broad noontide light. + +Pierre no longer stirred from the side of Marie, for M. de Guersaint had +disappeared, attracted by a verdant patch of landscape which could be +seen at the far end of the station. And, feeling anxious about her, since +she had not been able to finish her broth, the young priest with a +smiling air tried to tempt her palate by offering to go and buy her a +peach; but she refused it; she was suffering too much, she cared for +nothing. She was gazing at him with her large, woeful eyes, on the one +hand impatient at this stoppage which delayed her chance of cure, and on +the other terrified at the thought of again being jolted along that hard +and endless railroad. + +Just then a stout gentleman whose full beard was turning grey, and who +had a broad, fatherly kind of face, drew near and touched Pierre’s arm: +“Excuse me, Monsieur l’Abbé,” said he, “but is it not in this carriage +that there is a poor man dying?” + +And on the priest returning an affirmative answer, the gentleman became +quite affable and familiar. + +“My name is Vigneron,” he said; “I am the head clerk at the Ministry of +Finances, and applied for leave in order that I might help my wife to +take our son Gustave to Lourdes. The dear lad places all his hope in the +Blessed Virgin, to whom we pray morning and evening on his behalf. We are +in 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 the +last throes.” + +Madame Vigneron was a little woman with the correct bearing of a +respectable _bourgeoise_, but her long, livid face denoted impoverished +blood, terrible evidence of which was furnished by her son Gustave. The +latter, who was fifteen years of age, looked scarcely ten. Twisted out of +shape, 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, somewhat +awry, in which one saw little excepting his eyes, clear eyes, sparkling +with intelligence, sharpened as it were by suffering, and doubtless well +able to dive into the human soul. + +An old puffy-faced lady followed the others, dragging her legs along with +difficulty; 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. She +also wished to accompany Gustave, whom she is very fond of.” And then, +leaning forward, he added in a whisper, with a confidential air: “She is +the widow of Chaise, the silk merchant, you know, who left such an +immense fortune. She is suffering from a heart complaint which causes her +much anxiety.” + +The whole family, grouped together, then gazed with lively curiosity at +what was taking place in the railway carriage. People were incessantly +flocking to the spot; and so that the lad might be the better able to +see, his father took him up in his arms for a moment whilst his aunt held +the 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 still +stiffly seated in his corner, his head resting against the hard wood. He +was livid, his eyes were closed, and his mouth was twisted by suffering; +and every now and then Sister Hyacinthe with her linen cloth wiped away +the cold sweat which was constantly covering his face. She no longer +spoke, no longer evinced any impatience, but had recovered her serenity +and relied on Heaven. From time to time she would simply glance towards +the platform to see if Father Massias were coming. + +“Look at him, Gustave,” said M. Vigneron to his son; “he must be +consumptive.” + +The lad, whom scrofula was eating away, whose hip was attacked by an +abscess, and in whom there were already signs of necrosis of the +vertebrae, seemed to take a passionate interest in the agony he thus +beheld. It did not frighten him, he smiled at it with a smile of infinite +sadness. + +“Oh! how dreadful!” muttered Madame Chaise, who, living in continual +terror of a sudden attack which would carry her off, turned pale with the +fear of death. + +“Ah! well,” replied M. Vigneron, philosophically, “it will come to each +of us in turn. We are all mortal.” + +Thereupon, a painful, mocking expression came over Gustave’s smile, as +though he had heard other words than those--perchance an unconscious +wish, the hope that the old aunt might die before he himself did, that he +would inherit the promised half-million of francs, and then not long +encumber his family. + +“Put the boy down now,” said Madame Vigneron to her husband. “You are +tiring him, holding him by the legs like that.” + +Then both she and Madame Chaise bestirred themselves in order that the +lad might not be shaken. The poor darling was so much in need of care and +attention. At each moment they feared that they might lose him. Even his +father was of opinion that they had better put him in the train again at +once. And as the two women went off with the child, the old gentleman +once more turned towards Pierre, and with evident emotion exclaimed: “Ah! +Monsieur l’Abbé, if God should take him from us, the light of our life +would be extinguished--I don’t speak of his aunt’s fortune, which would +go to other nephews. But it would be unnatural, would it not, that he +should go off before her, especially as she is so ill? However, we are +all in the hands of Providence, and place our reliance in the Blessed +Virgin, who will assuredly perform a miracle.” + +Just then Madame de Jonquière, having been reassured by Doctor Ferrand, +was able to leave La Grivotte. Before going off, however, she took care +to say to Pierre: “I am dying of hunger and am going to the +refreshment-room for a moment. But if my patient should begin coughing +again, pray come and fetch me.” + +When, after great difficulty, she had managed to cross the platform and +reach the refreshment-room, she found herself in the midst of another +scramble. The better-circumstanced pilgrims had taken the tables by +assault, and a great many priests were to be seen hastily lunching amidst +all the clatter of knives, forks, and crockery. The three or four waiters +were not able to attend to all the requirements, especially as they were +hampered in their movements by the crowd purchasing fruit, bread, and +cold meat at the counter. It was at a little table at the far end of the +room that Raymonde was lunching with Madame Désagneaux and Madame Volmar. + +“Ah! here you are at last, mamma!” the girl exclaimed, as Madame de +Jonquière approached. “I was just going back to fetch you. You certainly +ought to be allowed time to eat!” + +She was laughing, with a very animated expression on her face, quite +delighted as she was with the adventures of the journey and this +indifferent scrambling meal. “There,” said she, “I have kept you some +trout with green sauce, and there’s a cutlet also waiting for you. We +have already got to the artichokes.” + +Then everything became charming. The gaiety prevailing in that little +corner rejoiced the sight. + +Young Madame Désagneaux 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 rich +marriage, and for three years past had been wont to leave her husband at +Trouville in the fine August weather, in order to accompany the national +pilgrimage as a lady-hospitaller. This was her great passion, an access +of quivering pity, a longing desire to place herself unreservedly at the +disposal of the sick for five days, a real debauch of devotion from which +she returned tired to death but full of intense delight. Her only regret +was that she as yet had no children, and with comical passion, she +occasionally 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 for +being so much taken up with her patients. She, at all events, has +something to occupy her.” And addressing herself to Madame de Jonquière, +she added: “If you only knew how long we find the time in our fine +first-class carriage. We cannot even occupy ourselves with a little +needlework, 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 try +to sleep tonight.” + +She began to laugh, and then resumed: “Yes, Madame Volmar, we will try to +sleep, won’t we, since talking seems to tire you?” Madame Volmar, who +looked over thirty, was very dark, with a long face and delicate but +drawn features. Her magnificent eyes shone out like brasiers, though +every now and then a cloud seemed to veil and extinguish them. At the +first glance she did not appear beautiful, but as you gazed at her she +became more and more perturbing, till she conquered you and inspired you +with passionate admiration. It should be said though that she shrank from +all self-assertion, comporting herself with much modesty, ever keeping in +the background, striving to hide her lustre, invariably clad in black and +unadorned by a single jewel, although she was the wife of a Parisian +diamond-merchant. + +“Oh! for my part,” she murmured, “as long as I am not hustled too much I +am well pleased.” + +She had been to Lourdes as an auxiliary lady-helper already on two +occasions, though but little had been seen of her there--at the hospital +of Our Lady of Dolours--as, on arriving, she had been overcome by such +great fatigue that she had been forced, she said, to keep her room. + +However, Madame de Jonquière, who managed the ward, treated her with +good-natured tolerance. “Ah! my poor friends,” said she, “there will be +plenty of time for you to exert yourselves. Get to sleep if you can, and +your turn will come when I can no longer keep up.” Then addressing her +daughter, she resumed: “And you would do well, darling, not to excite +yourself 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, thoughtless +air, the air of one who simply feels happy in living, there appeared in +her grey eyes an expression of firm resolution, a resolution to shape her +life for herself. + +“It is true,” the mother confessed with a little confusion, “this little +girl is at times more sensible than I am myself. Come, pass me the +cutlet--it is welcome, I assure you. Lord! how hungry I was!” + +The meal continued, enlivened by the constant laughter of Madame +Désagneaux and Raymonde. The latter was very animated, and her face, +which was already growing somewhat yellow through long pining for a +suitor, again assumed the rosy bloom of twenty. They had to eat very +fast, for only ten minutes now remained to them. On all sides one heard +the growing tumult of customers who feared that they would not have time +to take their coffee. + +All at once, however, Pierre made his appearance; a fit of stifling had +again come over La Grivotte; and Madame de Jonquière hastily finished her +artichoke and returned to her compartment, after kissing her daughter, +who wished her “good-night” in a facetious way. The priest, however, had +made a movement of surprise on perceiving Madame Volmar with the red +cross of the lady-hospitallers on her black bodice. He knew her, for he +still called at long intervals on old Madame Volmar, the +diamond-merchant’s mother, who had been one of his own mother’s friends. +She was the most terrible woman in the world, religious beyond all +reason, so harsh and stern, moreover, as to close the very window +shutters in order to prevent her daughter-in-law from looking into the +street. And he knew the young woman’s story, how she had been imprisoned +on the very morrow of her marriage, shut up between her mother-in-law, +who tyrannised over her, and her husband, a repulsively ugly monster who +went so far as to beat her, mad as he was with jealousy, although he +himself kept mistresses. The unhappy woman was not allowed out of the +house excepting it were to go to mass. And one day, at La Trinité, Pierre +had surprised her secret, on seeing her behind the church exchanging a +few hasty words with a well-groomed, distinguished-looking man. + +The priest’s sudden appearance in the refreshment-room had somewhat +disconcerted Madame Volmar. + +“What an unexpected meeting, Monsieur l’Abbé!” she said, offering him her +long, warm hand. “What a long time it is since I last saw you!” And +thereupon she explained that this was the third year she had gone to +Lourdes, her mother-in-law having required her to join the Association of +Our Lady of Salvation. “It is surprising that you did not see her at the +station when we started,” she added. “She sees me into the train and +comes to meet me on my return.” + +This was said in an apparently simple way, but with such a subtle touch +of irony that Pierre fancied he could guess the truth. He knew that she +really had no religious principles at all, and that she merely followed +the rites and ceremonies of the Church in order that she might now and +again obtain an hour’s freedom; and all at once he intuitively realised +that someone must be waiting for her yonder, that it was for the purpose +of meeting him that she was thus hastening to Lourdes with her shrinking +yet ardent air and flaming eyes, which she so prudently shrouded with a +veil 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; you +shall nurse her.” + +Thereupon she faintly blushed, and he no longer doubted the truth of his +surmise. However, Raymonde was just then settling the bill with the easy +assurance of a girl who is expert in figures; and immediately afterwards +Madame Désagneaux led Madame Volmar away. The waiters were now growing +more distracted and the tables were fast being vacated; for, on hearing a +bell ring, everybody had begun to rush towards the door. + +Pierre, on his side, was hastening back to his carriage, when he was +stopped by an old priest. “Ah! Monsieur le Curé,” he said, “I saw you +just before we started, but I was unable to get near enough to shake +hands with you.” + +Thereupon he offered his hand to his brother ecclesiastic, who was +looking and smiling at him in a kindly way. The Abbé Judaine was the +parish 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 mass +of white, curly hair, and it could be divined by his appearance that he +was a worthy man whom neither the flesh nor the spirit had ever +tormented. He believed indeed firmly and absolutely, with a tranquil +godliness, never having known a struggle, endowed as he was with the +ready faith of a child who is unacquainted with human passions. And ever +since the Virgin at Lourdes had cured him of a disease of the eyes, by a +famous miracle which folks still talked about, his belief had become yet +more absolute and tender, as though impregnated with divine gratitude. + +“I am pleased that you are with us, my friend,” he gently said; “for +there is much in these pilgrimages for young priests to profit by. I am +told 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 will +make you weep. How can one do otherwise than place oneself in God’s +hands, on seeing so much suffering cured or consoled?” + +The old priest himself was accompanying a patient; and he pointed to a +first-class compartment, at the door of which hung a placard bearing the +inscription: “M. l’Abbé Judaine, Reserved.” Then lowering his voice, he +said: “It is Madame Dieulafay, you know, the great banker’s wife. Their +château, a royal domain, is in my parish, and when they learned that the +Blessed Virgin had vouchsafed me such an undeserved favour, they begged +me to intercede for their poor sufferer. I have already said several +masses, and most sincerely pray for her. There, you see her yonder on the +ground. She insisted on being taken out of the carriage, in spite of all +the 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 the +old priest said, a woman whose beautiful, perfectly oval face, lighted up +by splendid eyes, denoted no greater age than six-and-twenty. She was +suffering from a frightful disease. The disappearance from her system of +the calcareous salts had led to a softening of the osseous framework, the +slow destruction of her bones. Three years previously, after the advent +of a stillborn child, she had felt vague pains in the spinal column. And +then, little by little, her bones had rarefied and lost shape, the +vertebrae had sunk, the bones of the pelvis had flattened, and those of +the arms and legs had contracted. Thus shrunken, melting away as it were, +she had become a mere human remnant, a nameless, fluid thing, which could +not be set erect, but had to be carried hither and thither with infinite +care, for fear lest she should vanish between one’s fingers. Her face, a +motionless face, on which sat a stupefied imbecile expression, still +retained its beauty of outline, and yet it was impossible to gaze at this +wretched shred of a woman without feeling a heart-pang, the keener on +account of all the luxury surrounding her; for not only was the box in +which she lay lined with blue quilted silk, but she was covered with +valuable lace, and a cap of rare valenciennes was set upon her head, her +wealth thus being proclaimed, displayed, in the midst of her awful agony. + +“Ah! how pitiable it is,” resumed the Abbé Judaine in an undertone. “To +think 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 is +still surrounded. That tall gentleman near her is her husband, that +elegantly dressed lady is her sister, Madame Jousseur.” + +Pierre remembered having often noticed in the newspapers the name of +Madame Jousseur, wife of a diplomatist, and a conspicuous member of the +higher spheres of Catholic society in Paris. People had even circulated a +story of some great passion which she had fought against and vanquished. +She also was very prettily dressed, with marvellously tasteful +simplicity, and she ministered to the wants of her sorry sister with an +air of perfect devotion. As for the unhappy woman’s husband, who at the +age of five-and-thirty had inherited his father’s colossal business, he +was a clear-complexioned, well-groomed, handsome man, clad in a closely +buttoned frock-coat. His eyes, however, were full of tears, for he adored +his 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 in +that woeful white train. But none had so distressed his soul as did that +wretched female skeleton, slowly liquefying in the midst of its lace and +its millions. “The unhappy woman!” he murmured with a shudder. + +The Abbé Judaine, however, made a gesture of serene hope. “The Blessed +Virgin 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 for +starting. Only two minutes remained. There was a last rush, and folks +hurried back towards the train carrying eatables wrapped in paper, and +bottles and cans which they had filled with water. Several of them quite +lost their heads, and in their inability to find their carriages, ran +distractedly from one to the other end of the train; whilst some of the +infirm ones dragged themselves about amidst the precipitate tapping of +crutches, and others, only able to walk with difficulty, strove to hasten +their steps whilst leaning on the arms of some of the lady-hospitallers. +It was only with infinite difficulty that four men managed to replace +Madame Dieulafay in her first-class compartment. The Vignerons, who were +content with second-class accommodation, had already reinstalled +themselves in their quarters amidst an extraordinary heap of baskets, +boxes, and valises which scarcely allowed little Gustave enough room to +stretch his poor puny limbs--the limbs as it were of a deformed insect. +And then all the women appeared again: Madame Maze gliding along in +silence; Madame Vincent raising her dear little girl in her outstretched +arms and dreading lest she should hear her cry out; Madame Vetu, whom it +had been necessary to push into the train, after rousing her from her +stupefying torment; and Elise Rouquet, who was quite drenched through her +obstinacy in endeavouring to drink from the tap, and was still wiping her +monstrous face. Whilst each returned to her place and the carriage filled +once more, Marie listened to her father, who had come back delighted with +his stroll to a pointsman’s little house beyond the station, whence a +really pleasant stretch of landscape could be discerned. + +“Shall we lay you down again at once?” asked Pierre, sorely distressed by +the pained expression on Marie’s face. + +“Oh no, no, by-and-by!” she replied. “I shall have plenty of time to hear +those 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 man +before he went off. She was still waiting for Father Massias, astonished +at the inexplicable delay in his arrival, but not yet without hope, as +Sister Claire des Anges had not returned. + +“Pray, Monsieur Ferrand,” said she, “tell me if this unfortunate man is +in any immediate danger.” + +The young doctor again looked at the sufferer, felt him, and listened to +his breathing. Then with a gesture of discouragement he answered in a low +voice, “I feel convinced that you will not get him to Lourdes alive.” + +Every head was still anxiously stretched forward. If they had only known +the man’s name, the place he had come from, who he was! But it was +impossible to extract a word from this unhappy stranger, who was about to +die there, in that carriage, without anybody being able to give his face +a name! + +It suddenly occurred to Sister Hyacinthe to have him searched. Under the +circumstances there could certainly be no harm in such a course. “Feel in +his pockets, Monsieur Ferrand,” she said. + +The doctor thereupon searched the man in a gentle, cautious way, but the +only things that he found in his pockets were a chaplet, a knife, and +three sous. And nothing more was ever learnt of the man. + +At that moment, however, a voice announced that Sister Claire des Anges +was at last coming back with Father Massias. All this while the latter +had simply been chatting with the priest of Sainte-Radegonde in one of +the waiting-rooms. Keen emotion attended his arrival; for a moment all +seemed saved. But the train was about to start, the porters were already +closing the carriage doors, and it was necessary that extreme unction +should be administered in all haste in order to avoid too long a delay. + +“This way, reverend Father!” exclaimed Sister Hyacinthe; “yes, yes, pray +come in; our unfortunate patient is here.” + +Father Massias, who was five years older than Pierre, whose +fellow-student however he had been at the seminary, had a tall, spare +figure with an ascetic countenance, framed round with a light-coloured +beard and vividly lighted up by burning eyes, He was neither the priest +harassed by doubt, nor the priest with childlike faith, but an apostle +carried away by his passion, ever ready to fight and vanquish for the +pure glory of the Blessed Virgin. In his black cloak with its large hood, +and his broad-brimmed flossy hat, he shone resplendently with the +perpetual ardour of battle. + +He immediately took from his pocket the silver case containing the Holy +Oils, and the ceremony began whilst the last carriage doors were being +slammed and belated pilgrims were rushing back to the train; the +station-master, meantime, anxiously glancing at the clock, and realising +that 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 the +carriage. + +Those who had been able to do so, had knelt upon the seats, whilst the +others joined their hands, or repeatedly made the sign of the cross; and +when the murmured prayers were followed by the Litanies of the ritual, +every voice rose, an ardent desire for the remission of the man’s sins +and for his physical and spiritual cure winging its flight heavenward +with each successive _Kyrie eleison_. Might his whole life, of which they +knew nought, be forgiven him; might he enter, stranger though he was, in +triumph 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 of +Holy Oil. In the midst of such a scramble, with the whole train +waiting--many people now thrusting their heads out of the carriage +windows in surprise at the delay in starting--he could not think of +following the usual practice, of anointing in turn all the organs of the +senses, those portals of the soul which give admittance to evil. + +He must content himself, as the rules authorised him to do in pressing +cases, with one anointment; and this he made upon the man’s lips, those +livid parted lips from between which only a faint breath escaped, whilst +the rest of his face, with its lowered eyelids, already seemed +indistinct, again merged into the dust of the earth. + +“_Per istam sanctam unctionem_,” said the Father, “_et suam piissimam +misericordiam 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 the +departure. Father Massias scarcely had time to wipe off the oil with the +little piece of cotton-wool which Sister Hyacinthe held in readiness, +before he had to leave the compartment and get into his own as fast as +possible, setting the case containing the Holy Oils in order as he did +so, whilst the pilgrims finished repeating the final prayer. + +“We cannot wait any longer! It is impossible!” repeated the +station-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 Jonquière, however, had +changed her place, in order to be nearer La Grivotte, whose condition +still worried her, and she was now seated in front of M. Sabathier, who +remained waiting with silent resignation. Moreover, Sister Hyacinthe had +not returned to her compartment, having decided to remain near the +unknown man so that she might watch over him and help him. By following +this course, too, she was able to minister to Brother Isidore, whose +sufferings his sister Marthe was at a loss to assuage. And Marie, turning +pale, felt the jolting of the train in her ailing flesh, even before it +had resumed its journey under the heavy sun, rolling onward once more +with its load of sufferers stifling in the pestilential atmosphere of the +over-heated carriages. + +At last a loud whistle resounded, the engine puffed, and Sister Hyacinthe +rose up to say: The _Magnificat_, my children! + + + + +IV. MIRACLES + +JUST as the train was beginning to move, the door of the compartment in +which Pierre and Marie found themselves was opened and a porter pushed a +girl 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 are +going back to see the Blessed Virgin who cured you last year!” + +And at the same time Madame de Jonquière remarked: “Ah! Sophie, my little +friend, 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 necessary +that they should accept the presence of this new pilgrim who had fallen +from heaven as it were at the very moment when the train, which she had +almost missed, was starting off again. She was a slender damsel and would +not take up much room. Moreover these ladies knew her, and all the +patients had turned their eyes upon her on hearing that the Blessed +Virgin 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, my +children, the _Magnificat_.” + +Whilst the joyful chant arose amidst the jolting of the train, Pierre +gazed at Sophie. She was evidently a young peasant girl, the daughter of +some 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 a +miracle, one of the elect, whom the priests of the district flocked to +see. She wore a straw hat with pink ribbons, and a grey woollen dress +trimmed with a flounce. Her round face although not pretty was a very +pleasant one, with a beautifully fresh complexion and clear, intelligent +eyes which lent her a smiling, modest air. + +When the _Magnificat_ had been sung, Pierre was unable to resist his +desire to question Sophie. A child of her age, with so candid an air, so +utterly 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’Abbé,” she replied. +“I had been at the station since twelve o’clock. And all at once I saw +his reverence, the priest of Sainte-Radegonde, who knows me well and who +called me to him, to kiss me and tell me that it was very good of me to +go back to Lourdes. But it seems the train was starting and I only just +had time to run on to the platform. Oh! I ran so fast!” + +She paused, laughing, still slightly out of breath, but already repenting +that she had been so giddy. + +“And what is your name, my child?” asked Pierre. + +“Sophie Couteau, Monsieur l’Abbé.” + +“You do not belong to the town of Poitiers?” + +“Oh no! certainly not. We belong to Vivonne, which is seven kilometres +away. My father and mother have a little land there, and things would not +be so bad if there were not eight children at home--I am the +fifth,--fortunately the four older ones are beginning to work.” + +“And you, my child, what do you do?” + +“I, Monsieur l’Abbé! Oh! I am no great help. Since last year, when I came +home cured, I have not been left quiet a single day, for, as you can +understand, so many people have come to see me, and then too I have been +taken to Monseigneur’s,* and to the convents and all manner of other +places. And before all that I was a long time ill. I could not walk +without a stick, and each step I took made me cry out, so dreadfully did +my 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 was +listening, intervened: “Of caries of the bones of the left heel, which +had been going on for three years,” said she. “The foot was swollen and +quite deformed, and there were fistulas giving egress to continual +suppuration.” + +On hearing this, all the sufferers in the carriage became intensely +interested. They no longer took their eyes off this little girl on whom a +miracle had been performed, but scanned her from head to foot as though +seeking for some sign of the prodigy. Those who were able to stand rose +up in order that they might the better see her, and the others, the +infirm ones, stretched on their mattresses, strove to raise themselves +and turn their heads. Amidst the suffering which had again come upon them +on leaving Poitiers, the terror which filled them at the thought that +they must continue rolling onward for another fifteen hours, the sudden +advent of this child, favoured by Heaven, was like a divine relief, a ray +of hope whence they would derive sufficient strength to accomplish the +remainder of their terrible journey. The moaning had abated somewhat +already, and every face was turned towards the girl with an ardent desire +to believe. + +This was especially the case with Marie, who, already reviving, joined +her trembling hands, and in a gentle supplicating voice said to Pierre, +“Question her, pray question her, ask her to tell us everything--cured, O +God! cured of such a terrible complaint!” + +Madame de Jonquière, who was quite affected, had leant over the partition +to kiss the girl. “Certainly,” said she, “our little friend will tell you +all about it. Won’t you, my darling? You will tell us what the Blessed +Virgin did for you?” + +“Oh, certainly! madame--as much as you like,” answered Sophie with her +smiling, modest air, her eyes gleaming with intelligence. Indeed, she +wished 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 already +acquired the habit of speaking in public. + +She could not be seen, however, from some parts of the carriage, and an +idea came to Sister Hyacinthe, who said: “Get up on the seat, Sophie, and +speak loudly, on account of the noise which the train makes.” + +This amused the girl, and before beginning she needed time to become +serious again. “Well, it was like this,” said she; “my foot was past +cure, I couldn’t even go to church any more, and it had to be kept +bandaged, 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 see +inside it, said that he should be obliged to take out a piece of the +bone; and that, sure enough, would have made me lame for life. But when I +got to Lourdes and had prayed a great deal to the Blessed Virgin, I went +to dip my foot in the water, wishing so much that I might be cured that I +did not even take the time to pull the bandage off. And everything +remained in the water, there was no longer anything the matter with my +foot when I took it out.” + +A murmur of mingled surprise, wonder, and desire arose and spread among +those who heard this marvellous tale, so sweet and soothing to all who +were in despair. But the little one had not yet finished. She had simply +paused. And now, making a fresh gesture, holding her arms somewhat apart, +she concluded: “When I got back to Vivonne and Monsieur Rivoire saw my +foot again, he said: ‘Whether it be God or the Devil who has cured this +child, 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 recitative +a way, having repeated her story so many times already that she knew it +by heart. The doctor’s remark was sure to produce an effect, and she +herself laughed at it in advance, certain as she was that the others +would laugh also. However, she still retained her candid, touching air. + +But she had evidently forgotten some particular, for Sister Hyacinthe, a +glance from whom had foreshadowed the doctor’s jest, now softly prompted +her “And what was it you said to Madame la Comtesse, the superintendent +of your ward, Sophie?” + +“Ah! yes. I hadn’t brought many bandages for my foot with me, and I said +to 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 de +Jonquière, she also had to tell the story of her boots, a pair of +beautiful new boots which Madame la Comtesse had given her, and in which +she 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 a +slipper. + +Pierre, who had become grave, waxing pale with the secret uneasiness +which was penetrating him, continued to look at her. And he also asked +her other questions. She was certainly not lying, and he merely suspected +a slow distortion of the actual truth, an easily explained embellishment +of the real facts amidst all the joy she felt at being cured and becoming +an important little personage. Who now knew if the cicatrisation of her +injuries, effected, so it was asserted, completely, instantaneously, in a +few seconds, had not in reality been the work of days? Where were the +witnesses? + +Just then Madame de Jonquière began to relate that she had been at the +hospital 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 foot +before and after the immersion?” + +“No, no! I don’t think that anybody was able to see it, for it was bound +round with bandages. She told you that the bandages had fallen into the +piscina.” And, turning towards the child, Madame de Jonquière added, “But +she will show you her foot--won’t you, Sophie? Undo your shoe.” + +The girl took off her shoe, and pulled down her stocking, with a +promptness and ease of manner which showed how thoroughly accustomed she +had become to it all. And she not only stretched out her foot, which was +very clean and very white, carefully tended indeed, with well-cut, pink +nails, but complacently turned it so that the young priest might examine +it at his ease. Just below the ankle there was a long scar, whose whity +seam, plainly defined, testified to the gravity of the complaint from +which the girl had suffered. + +“Oh! take hold of the heel, Monsieur l’Abbé,” said she. “Press it as hard +as you like. I no longer feel any pain at all.” + +Pierre made a gesture from which it might have been thought that he was +delighted with the power exercised by the Blessed Virgin. But he was +still tortured by doubt. What unknown force had acted in this case? Or +rather what faulty medical diagnosis, what assemblage of errors and +exaggerations, had ended in this fine tale? + +All the patients, however, wished to see the miraculous foot, that +outward and visible sign of the divine cure which each of them was going +in search of. And it was Marie, sitting up in her box, and already +feeling less pain, who touched it first. Then Madame Maze, quite roused +from her melancholy, passed it on to Madame Vincent, who would have +kissed it for the hope which it restored to her. M. Sabathier had +listened to all the explanations with a beatific air; Madame Vetu, La +Grivotte, and even Brother Isidore opened their eyes, and evinced signs +of interest; whilst the face of Elise Rouquet had assumed an +extraordinary expression, transfigured by faith, almost beatified. If a +sore had thus disappeared, might not her own sore close and disappear, +her face retaining no trace of it save a slight scar, and again becoming +such a face as other people had? Sophie, who was still standing, had to +hold 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, but +felt exceedingly happy and proud at the many exclamations which were +raised, the quivering admiration and religious respect which were +bestowed on that little piece of her person, that little foot which had +now, 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. de +Guersaint, she added: “Father, I feel that I should get well if I were +ten 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 little +girl of ten years old could not have a more spotless soul.” + +Possessed of a mind prone to chimeras, M. de Guersaint was fond of +hearing tales of miracles. As for the young priest, profoundly affected +by the ardent purity which the young girl evinced, he no longer sought to +discuss the question, but let her surrender herself to the consoling +illusions which Sophie’s tale had wafted through the carriage. + +The temperature had become yet more oppressive since their departure from +Poitiers, a storm was rising in the coppery sky, and it seemed as though +the train were rushing through a furnace. The villages passed, mournful +and solitary under the burning sun. At Couhe-Verac they had again said +their chaplets, and sung another canticle. At present, however, there was +some slight abatement of the religious exercises. Sister Hyacinthe, who +had not yet been able to lunch, ventured to eat a roll and some fruit in +all haste, whilst still ministering to the strange man whose faint, +painful breathing seemed to have become more regular. And it was only on +passing Ruffec at three o’clock that they said the vespers of the Blessed +Virgin. + +“_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 while +she put on her shoe and stocking, turned towards M. de Guersaint. + +“This child’s case is interesting, no doubt,” he remarked. “But it is a +mere nothing, monsieur, for there have been far more marvellous cures +than that. Do you know the story of Pierre de Rudder, a Belgian +working-man?” + +Everybody had again begun to listen. + +“This man,” continued M. Sabathier, “had his leg broken by the fall of a +tree. Eight years afterwards the two fragments of the bone had not yet +joined together again--the two ends could be seen in the depths of a sore +which was continually suppurating; and the leg hung down quite limp, +swaying in all directions. Well, it was sufficient for this man to drink +a glassful of the miraculous water, and his leg was made whole again. He +was able to walk without crutches, and the doctor said to him: ‘Your leg +is 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 Louis +Bouriette, a quarryman, one of the first of the Lourdes miracles. Do you +know it? Bouriette had been injured by an explosion during some blasting +operations. The sight of his right eye was altogether destroyed, and he +was even threatened with the loss of the left one. Well, one day he sent +his daughter to fetch a bottleful of the muddy water of the source, which +then scarcely bubbled up to the surface. He washed his eye with this +muddy 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 was +attending him drew up a detailed narrative of the case, and there cannot +be 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 François Macary, the carpenter of Lavaur. During eighteen years +he had suffered from a deep varicose ulcer, with considerable enlargement +of the tissues in the mesial part of the left leg. He had reached such a +point that he could no longer move, and science decreed that he would +forever remain infirm. Well, one evening he shuts himself up with a +bottle 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 to +bed and falls asleep; and when he awakes, he feels his legs and looks at +them. There is nothing left; the varicose enlargement, the ulcers, have +all disappeared. The skin of his knee, monsieur, had become as smooth, as +fresh as it had been when he was twenty.” + +This time there was an explosion of surprise and admiration. The patients +and the pilgrims were entering into the enchanted land of miracles, where +impossibilities are accomplished at each bend of the pathways, where one +marches on at ease from prodigy to prodigy. And each had his or her story +to tell, burning with a desire to contribute a fresh proof, to fortify +faith and hope by yet another example. + +That silent creature, Madame Maze, was so transported that she spoke the +first. “I have a friend,” said she, “who knew the Widow Rizan, that lady +whose cure also created so great a stir. For four-and-twenty years her +left side had been entirely paralysed. Her stomach was unable to retain +any solid food, and she had become an inert bag of bones which had to be +turned over in bed, The friction of the sheets, too, had ended by rubbing +her skin away in parts. Well, she was so low one evening that the doctor +announced 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 go +and fetch her a glass of Lourdes water from a neighbour’s. But she was +only able to obtain this glass of water on the following morning; and she +cried out to her daughter: ‘Oh! it is life that I am drinking--rub my +face with it, rub my arm and my leg, rub my whole body with it!’ And when +her daughter obeyed her, she gradually saw the huge swelling subside, and +the paralysed, tumefied limbs recover their natural suppleness and +appearance. Nor was that all, for Madame Rizan cried out that she was +cured and felt hungry, and wanted bread and meat--she who had eaten none +for four-and-twenty years! And she got out of bed and dressed herself, +whilst her daughter, who was so overpowered that the neighbours thought +she had become an orphan, replied to them: ‘No, no, mamma isn’t dead, she +has come to life again!’” + +This narrative had brought tears to Madame Vincent’s eyes. Ah! if she had +only been able to see her little Rose recover like that, eat with a good +appetite, and run about again! At the same time, another case, which she +had been told of in Paris and which had greatly influenced her in +deciding 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. Her +name was Lucie Druon, and she was an inmate of an orphan asylum. She was +quite young and could not even kneel down. Her limbs were bent like +hoops. Her right leg, the shorter of the two, had ended by becoming +twisted round the left one; and when any of the other girls carried her +about you saw her feet hanging down quite limp, like dead ones. Please +notice that she did not even go to Lourdes. She simply performed a +novena; but she fasted during the nine days, and her desire to be cured +was so great that she spent her nights in prayer. At last, on the ninth +day, whilst she was drinking a little Lourdes water, she felt a violent +commotion in her legs. She picked herself up, fell down, picked herself +up again and walked. All her little companions, who were astonished, +almost frightened at the sight, began to cry out ‘Lucie can walk! Lucie +can walk!’ It was quite true. In a few seconds her legs had become +straight and strong and healthy. She crossed the courtyard and was able +to 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 pale +face 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 Heaven +invariably triumphed over human reality, transported these childlike +souls to such a point that those who were suffering the most grievously +sat up in their turn, and recovered the power of speech. And with the +narratives of one and all was blended a thought of the sufferer’s own +ailment, a belief that he or she would also be cured, since a malady of +the same description had vanished like an evil dream beneath the breath +of the Divinity. + +“Ah!” stammered Madame Vetu, her articulation hindered by her sufferings, +“there was another one, Antoinette Thardivail, whose stomach was being +eaten 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 for +eight months she brought up blood. And she also was at the point of +death, 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 stomach +washed with it. Three minutes afterwards, her doctor, who on the previous +day had left her almost in the last throes, scarce breathing, found her +up and sitting by the fireside, eating a tender chicken’s wing with a +good appetite. She had no more tumours, she laughed as she had laughed +when 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 cease +suffering!” + +“And the cure of Sister Julienne!” then exclaimed La Grivotte, raising +herself on one of her elbows, her eyes glittering with fever. “In her +case it commenced with a bad cold as it did with me, and then she began +to spit blood. And every six months she fell ill again and had to take to +her bed. The last time everybody said that she wouldn’t leave it alive. +The doctors had vainly tried every remedy, iodine, blistering, and +cauterising. In fact, hers was a real case of phthisis, certified by half +a dozen medical men. Well, she comes to Lourdes, and Heaven alone knows +amidst what awful suffering--she was so bad, indeed, that at Toulouse +they thought for a moment that she was about to die! The Sisters had to +carry her in their arms, and on reaching the piscina the +lady-hospitallers wouldn’t bathe her. She was dead, they said. No matter! +she was undressed at last, and plunged into the water, quite unconscious +and covered with perspiration. And when they took her out she was so pale +that they laid her on the ground, thinking that it was certainly all over +with her at last. But, all at once, colour came back to her cheeks, her +eyes opened, and she drew a long breath. She was cured; she dressed +herself without any help and made a good meal after she had been to the +Grotto to thank the Blessed Virgin. There! there’s no gainsaying it, that +was a real case of phthisis, completely cured as though by medicine!” + +Thereupon Brother Isidore in his turn wished to speak; but he was unable +to do so at any length, and could only with difficulty manage to say to +his sister: “Marthe, tell them the story of Sister Dorothée which the +priest of Saint-Sauveur related to us.” + +“Sister Dorothée,” began the peasant girl in an awkward way, “felt her +leg quite numbed when she got up one morning, and from that time she lost +the use of it, for it got as cold and as heavy as a stone. Besides which +she 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 her +skin with a lot of drugs. But it was just as if they had sung to her. +Sister Dorothée had well understood that only the Blessed Virgin could +find the right remedy for her, and so she went off to Lourdes, and had +herself dipped in the piscina. She thought at first that the water was +going to kill her, for it was so bitterly cold. But by-and-by it became +so soft that she fancied it was warm, as nice as milk. She had never felt +so nice before, it seemed to her as if her veins were opening and the +water were flowing into them. As you will understand, life was returning +into her body since the Blessed Virgin was concerning herself in the +case. 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 all +night 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 she +was acquainted with. Only she spoke with so much difficulty owing to the +deformity 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, which +concealed the horror of her sore, slightly on one side, she profited by +the opportunity to begin. + +“For my part, I wasn’t told anything about a great illness, but it was a +very funny case at all events,” she said. “It was about a woman, +Célestine Dubois, as she was called, who had run a needle right into her +hand while she was washing. It stopped there for seven years, for no +doctor was able to take it out. Her hand shrivelled up, and she could no +longer open it. Well, she got to Lourdes, and dipped her hand into the +piscina. But as soon as she did so she began to shriek, and took it out +again. Then they caught hold of her and put her hand into the water by +force, and kept it there while she continued sobbing, with her face +covered with sweat. Three times did they plunge her hand into the +piscina, and each time they saw the needle moving along, till it came out +by the tip of the thumb. She shrieked, of course, because the needle was +moving though her flesh just as though somebody had been pushing it to +drive it out. And after that Célestine never suffered again, and only a +little scar could be seen on her hand as a mark of what the Blessed +Virgin had done.” + +This anecdote produced a greater effect than even the miraculous cures of +the most fearful illnesses. A needle which moved as though somebody were +pushing it! This peopled the Invisible, showed each sufferer his Guardian +Angel standing behind him, only awaiting the orders of Heaven in order to +render him assistance. And besides, how pretty and childlike the story +was--this needle which came out in the miraculous water after obstinately +refusing to stir during seven long years. Exclamations of delight +resounded from all the pleased listeners; they smiled and laughed with +satisfaction, radiant at finding that nothing was beyond the power of +Heaven, and that if it were Heaven’s pleasure they themselves would all +become healthy, young, and superb. It was sufficient that one should +fervently believe and pray in order that nature might be confounded and +that the Incredible might come to pass. Apart from that there was merely +a question of good luck, since Heaven seemed to make a selection of those +sufferers who should be cured. + +“Oh! how beautiful it is, father,” murmured Marie, who, revived by the +passionate interest which she took in the momentous subject, had so far +contented herself with listening, dumb with amazement as it were. “Do you +remember,” she continued, “what you yourself told me of that poor woman, +Joachine Dehaut, who came from Belgium and made her way right across +France with her twisted leg eaten away by an ulcer, the awful smell of +which drove everybody away from her? First of all the ulcer was healed; +you could press her knee and she felt nothing, only a slight redness +remained to mark where it had been. And then came the turn of the +dislocation. She shrieked while she was in the water, it seemed to her as +if 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 deformed +foot rise and extend into its natural shape with the regular movement of +a clock hand. Her leg also straightened itself, the muscles extended, the +knee replaced itself in its proper position, all amidst such acute pain +that Joachine ended by fainting. But as soon as she recovered +consciousness, she darted off, erect and agile, to carry her crutches to +the Grotto.” + +M. de Guersaint in his turn was laughing with wonderment, waving his hand +to confirm this story, which had been told him by a Father of the +Assumption. He could have related a score of similar instances, said he, +each more touching, more extraordinary than the other. He even invoked +Pierre’s testimony, and the young priest, who was unable to believe, +contented himself with nodding his head. At first, unwilling as he was to +afflict Marie, he had striven to divert his thoughts by gazing though the +carriage window at the fields, trees, and houses which defiled before his +eyes. They had just passed Angoulême, and meadows stretched out, and +lines 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, despite +himself, Pierre heard snatches of the various narratives, and grew +interested in these extravagant stories, which the rough jolting of the +wheels accompanied like a lullaby, as though the engine had been turned +loose and were wildly bearing them away to the divine land of dreams, +They were rolling, still rolling along, and Pierre at last ceased to gaze +at the landscape, and surrendered himself to the heavy, sleep-inviting +atmosphere of the carriage, where ecstasy was growing and spreading, +carrying everyone far from the world of reality across which they were so +rapidly rushing, The sight of Marie’s face with its brightened look +filled 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 her +fingers, with all the confidence which was reviving in her soul. And why +should he have saddened her by his doubts, since he was so desirous of +her cure? So he continued clasping her small, moist hand, feeling +infinite affection for her, a dolorous brotherly love which distracted +him, and made him anxious to believe in the pity of the spheres, in a +superior kindness which tempered suffering to those who were plunged in +despair, “Oh!” she repeated, “how beautiful it is, Pierre! How beautiful +it is! And what glory it will be if the Blessed Virgin deigns to disturb +herself 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 a +spotless soul as your father said; there are not enough good angels in +Paradise to form your escort.” + +But the narratives were not yet finished. Sister Hyacinthe and Madame de +Jonquière were now enumerating all the miracles with which they were +acquainted, the long, long series of miracles which for more than thirty +years had been flowering at Lourdes, like the uninterrupted budding of +the 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 sufferers +who listened to these marvellous stories with increasing feverishness +were like little children who, after hearing one fine fairy tale, ask for +another, and another, and yet another. Oh! that they might have more and +more of those stories in which evil reality was flouted, in which unjust +nature was cuffed and slapped, in which the Divinity intervened as the +supreme healer, He who laughs at science and distributes happiness +according to His own good pleasure. + +First of all there were the deaf and the dumb who suddenly heard and +spoke; such as Aurélie Bruneau, who was incurably deaf, with the drums of +both ears broken, and yet was suddenly enraptured by the celestial music +of a harmonium; such also as Louise Pourchet, who on her side had been +dumb for five-and-twenty years, and yet, whilst praying in the Grotto, +suddenly exclaimed, “Hail, Mary, full of grace!” And there were others and +yet others who were completely cured by merely letting a few drops of +water fall into their ears or upon their tongues. Then came the procession +of the blind: Father Hermann, who felt the Blessed Virgin’s gentle hand +removing the veil which covered his eyes; Mademoiselle de Pontbriant, who +was threatened with a total loss of sight, but after a simple prayer was +enabled to see better than she had ever seen before; then a child twelve +years 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 people +suddenly enabled to walk upright, of sufferers for long years powerless to +stir from their beds of misery and to whom the voice said: “Arise and +walk!” Delannoy,* afflicted with ataxia, vainly cauterised and burnt, +fifteen times an inmate of the Paris hospitals, whence he had emerged with +the concurring diagnosis of twelve doctors, feels a strange force raising +him up as the Blessed Sacrament goes by, and he begins to follow it, his +legs strong and healthy once more. Marie Louise Delpon, a girl of +fourteen, suffering from paralysis which had stiffened her legs, drawn +back her hands, and twisted her mouth on one side, sees her limbs loosen +and the distortion of her mouth disappear as though an invisible hand were +severing the fearful bonds which had deformed her. Marie Vachier, riveted +to her arm-chair during seventeen years by paraplegia, not only runs and +flies on emerging from the piscina, but finds no trace even of the sores +with which her long-enforced immobility had covered her body. And Georges +Hanquet, attacked by softening of the spinal marrow, passes without +transition from agony to perfect health; while Léonie Charton, likewise +afflicted with softening of the medulla, and whose vertebrae bulge out to +a considerable extent, feels her hump melting away as though by +enchantment, 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--a +great many more legs long incapable of service and made anew. There was +Margaret Gehier, who had suffered from coxalgia for seven-and-twenty +years, whose hip was devoured by the disease, whose left knee was +anchylosed, and who yet was suddenly able to fall upon her knees to thank +the Blessed Virgin for healing her. There was also Philomène Simonneau, +the young Vendéenne, whose left leg was perforated by three horrible +sores in the depths of which her carious bones were visible, and whose +bones, 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 whither +all the water had gone; Mademoiselle Montagnon, from whom, on various +occasions, nearly twenty quarts of water had been drawn, and who, on +again swelling, was entirely rid of the fluid by the application of a +bandage which had been dipped in the miraculous source. And, in her case +also, none of the water could be found, either in her bed or on the +floor. In the same way, not a complaint of the stomach resisted, all +disappeared with the first glass of water. There was Marie Souchet, who +vomited black blood, who had wasted to a skeleton, and who devoured her +food and recovered her flesh in two days’ time! There was Marie Jarlaud, +who had burnt herself internally through drinking a glass of a metallic +solution used for cleansing and brightening kitchen utensils, and who +felt 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 yet +greater wonderment was the manner in which ulcers, cancers, all sorts of +horrible, visible sores were cicatrised as by a breath from on high. A +Jew, an actor, whose hand was devoured by an ulcer, merely had to dip it +in the water and he was cured. A very wealthy young foreigner, who had a +wen 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 left +elbow, large enough to accommodate a walnut, was able to watch and follow +the prompt action of the new flesh in filling up this cavity! The Widow +Fromond, with a lip half decoyed by a cancerous formation, merely had to +apply the miraculous water to it as a lotion, and not even a red mark +remained. Marie Moreau, who experienced fearful sufferings from a cancer +in the breast, fell asleep, after laying on it a linen cloth soaked in +some water of Lourdes, and when she awoke, two hours later, the pain had +disappeared, and her flesh was once more smooth and pink and fresh. + +At last Sister Hyacinthe began to speak of the immediate and complete +cures of phthisis, and this was the triumph, the healing of that terrible +disease which ravages humanity, which unbelievers defied the Blessed +Virgin to cure, but which she did cure, it was said, by merely raising +her little finger. A hundred instances, more extraordinary one than the +other, pressed forward for citation. + +Marguerite Coupel, who had suffered from phthisis for three years, and +the upper part of whose lungs is destroyed by tuberculosis, rises up and +goes off, radiant with health. Madame de la Rivière, who spits blood, who +is ever covered with a cold perspiration, whose nails have already +acquired a violet tinge, who is indeed on the point of drawing her last +breath, requires but a spoonful of the water to be administered to her +between her teeth, and lo! the rattles cease, she sits up, makes the +responses to the litanies, and asks for some broth. Julie Jadot requires +four spoonfuls; but then she could no longer hold up her head, she was of +such a delicate constitution that disease had reduced her to nothing; and +yet, in a few days, she becomes quite fat. Anna Catry, who is in the most +advanced stage of the malady, with her left lung half destroyed by a +cavity, is plunged five times into the cold water, contrary to all the +dictates of prudence, and she is cured, her lung is healthy once more. +Another consumptive girl, condemned by fifteen doctors, has asked +nothing, has simply fallen on her knees in the Grotto, by chance as it +were, and is afterwards quite surprised at having been cured _au +passage_, through the lucky circumstance of having been there, no doubt, +at the hour when the Blessed Virgin, moved to pity, allows miracles to +fall from her invisible hands. + +Miracles and yet more miracles! They rained down like the flowers of +dreams from a clear and balmy sky. Some of them were touching, some of +them were childish. An old woman, who, having her hand anchylosed, had +been incapable of moving it for thirty years, washes it in the water and +is at once able to make the sign of the Cross. Sister Sophie, who barked +like a dog, plunges into the piscina and emerges from it with a clear, +pure voice, chanting a canticle. Mustapha, a Turk, invokes the White Lady +and recovers the use of his right eye by applying a compress to it. An +officer of Turcos was protected at Sedan; a cuirassier of Reichsoffen +would have died, pierced in the heart by a bullet, if this bullet after +passing though his pocket-book had not stayed its flight on reaching a +little picture of Our Lady of Lourdes! And, as with the men and women, so +did the children, the poor, suffering little ones, find mercy; a +paralytic boy of five rose and walked after being held for five minutes +under 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 the +piscina, shouting that he was cured; another one, but two years old, a +poor tiny fellow who had never been able to walk, remained for a quarter +of an hour in the cold water and then, invigorated and smiling, took his +first steps like a little man! And for all of them, the little ones as +well as the adults, the pain was acute whilst the miracle was being +accomplished; for the work of repair could not be effected without +causing an extraordinary shock to the whole human organism; the bones +grew again, new flesh was formed, and the disease, driven away, made its +escape in a final convulsion. But how great was the feeling of comfort +which followed! The doctors could not believe their eyes, their +astonishment burst forth at each fresh cure, when they saw the patients +whom they had despaired of run and jump and eat with ravenous appetites. +All these chosen ones, these women cured of their ailments, walked a +couple of miles, sat down to roast fowl, and slept the soundest of sleeps +for a dozen hours. Moreover, there was no convalescence, it was a sudden +leap from the death throes to complete health. Limbs were renovated, +sores were filled up, organs were reformed in their entirety, plumpness +returned to the emaciated, all with the velocity of a lightning flash! +Science was completely baffled. Not even the most simple precautions were +taken, women were bathed at all times and seasons, perspiring +consumptives were plunged into the icy water, sores were left to their +putrefaction without any thought of employing antiseptics. And then what +canticles of joy, what shouts of gratitude and love arose at each fresh +miracle! The favoured one falls upon her knees, all who are present weep, +conversions are effected, Protestants and Jews alike embrace +Catholicism--other miracles these, miracles of faith, at which Heaven +triumphs. And when the favoured one, chosen for the miracle, returns to +her village, all the inhabitants crowd to meet her, whilst the bells peal +merrily; and when she is seen springing lightly from the vehicle which +has brought her home, shouts and sobs of joy burst forth and all intonate +the _Magnificat_: Glory to the Blessed Virgin! Gratitude and love for +ever! + +Indeed, that which was more particularly evolved from the realisation of +all these hopes, from the celebration of all these ardent thanksgivings, +was gratitude--gratitude to the Mother most pure and most admirable. She +was the great passion of every soul, she, the Virgin most powerful, the +Virgin most merciful, the Mirror of Justice, the Seat of Wisdom.* All +hands were stretched towards her, Mystical Rose in the dim light of the +chapels, Tower of Ivory on the horizon of dreamland, Gate of Heaven +leading into the Infinite. Each day at early dawn she shone forth, bright +Morning Star, gay with juvenescent hope. And was she not also the Health +of the weak, the Refuge of sinners, the Comforter of the afflicted? +France had ever been her well-loved country, she was adored there with an +ardent worship, the worship of her womanhood and her motherhood, the +soaring of a divine affection; and it was particularly in France that it +pleased her to show herself to little shepherdesses. She was so good to +the little and the humble; she continually occupied herself with them; +and if she was appealed to so willingly it was because she was known to +be the intermediary of love betwixt Earth and Heaven. Every evening she +wept tears of gold at the feet of her divine Son to obtain favours from +Him, and these favours were the miracles which He permitted her to +work,--these beautiful, flower-like miracles, as sweet-scented as the +roses 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 passed +Contras, it was six o’clock, and Sister Hyacinthe, rising to her, feet, +clapped her hands together and once again repeated: “The Angelus, my +children!” + +Never had “Aves” impregnated with greater faith, inflamed with a more +fervent desire to be heard by Heaven, winged their flight on high. And +Pierre suddenly understood everything, clearly realised the meaning of +all these pilgrimages, of all these trains rolling along through every +country of the civilised world, of all these eager crowds, hastening +towards Lourdes, which blazed over yonder like the abode of salvation for +body and for mind. Ah! the poor wretches whom, ever since morning, he had +heard groaning with pain, the poor wretches who exposed their sorry +carcasses to the fatigues of such a journey! They were all condemned, +abandoned by science, weary of consulting doctors, of having tried the +torturing effects of futile remedies. And how well one could understand +that, burning with a desire to preserve their lives, unable to resign +themselves to the injustice and indifference of Nature, they should dream +of a superhuman power, of an almighty Divinity who, in their favour, +would perchance annul the established laws, alter the course of the +planets, and reconsider His creation! For if the world failed them, did +not the Divinity remain to them? In their cases reality was too +abominable, and an immense need of illusion and falsehood sprang up +within them. Oh! to believe that there is a supreme Justiciar somewhere, +one who rights the apparent wrongs of things and beings; to believe that +there is a Redeemer, a consoler who is the real master, who can carry the +torrents back to their source, who can restore youth to the aged, and +life to the dead! And when you are covered with sores, when your limbs +are twisted, when your stomach is swollen by tumours, when your lungs are +destroyed by disease, to be able to say that all this is of no +consequence, that everything may disappear and be renewed at a sign from +the 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 then +what a heavenly fount of hope appeared with the prodigious flow of those +beautiful stories of cure, those adorable fairy tales which lulled and +intoxicated the feverish imaginations of the sick and the infirm. Since +little Sophie Couteau, with her white, sound foot, had climbed into that +carriage, opening to the gaze of those within it the limitless heavens of +the Divine and the Supernatural, how well one could understand the breath +of resurrection that was passing over the world, slowly raising those who +despaired the most from their beds of misery, and making their eyes shine +since life was itself a possibility for them, and they were, perhaps, +about to begin it afresh. + +Yes, ’twas indeed that. If that woeful train was rolling, rolling on, if +that carriage was full, if the other carriages were full also, if France +and the world, from the uttermost limits of the earth, were crossed by +similar trains, if crowds of three hundred thousand believers, bringing +thousands of sick along with them, were ever setting out, from one end of +the year to the other, it was because the Grotto yonder was shining forth +in its glory like a beacon of hope and illusion, like a sign of the +revolt and triumph of the Impossible over inexorable materiality. Never +had a more impassionating romance been devised to exalt the souls of men +above the stern laws of life. To dream that dream, this was the great, +the ineffable happiness. If the Fathers of the Assumption had seen the +success of their pilgrimages increase and spread from year to year, it +was because they sold to all the flocking peoples the bread of +consolation and illusion, the delicious bread of hope, for which +suffering humanity ever hungers with a hunger that nothing will ever +appease. And it was not merely the physical sores which cried aloud for +cure, the whole of man’s moral and intellectual being likewise shrieked +forth its wretchedness, with an insatiable yearning for happiness. To be +happy, to place the certainty of life in faith, to lean till death should +come upon that one strong staff of travel--such was the desire exhaled by +every breast, the desire which made every moral grief bend the knee, +imploring a continuance of grace, the conversion of dear ones, the +spiritual salvation of self and those one loved. The mighty cry spread +from pole to pole, ascended and filled all the regions of space: To be +happy, happy for evermore, both in life and in death! + +And Pierre saw the suffering beings around him lose all perception of the +jolting and recover their strength as league by league they drew nearer +to the miracle. Even Madame Maze grew talkative, certain as she felt that +the Blessed Virgin would restore her husband to her. With a smile on her +face Madame Vincent gently rocked her little Rose in her arms, thinking +that 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. Sabathier +jested 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 to +Rome--a journey which he had been postponing for fifteen years and more. +Madame Vetu, quite calmed, feeling nothing but a slight twinge in the +stomach, imagined that she was hungry, and asked Madame de Jonquière to +let her dip some strips of bread in a glass of milk; whilst Elise +Rouquet, forgetting her sores, ate some grapes, with face uncovered. And +in La Grivotte who was sitting up and Brother Isidore who had ceased +moaning, all those fine stories had left a pleasant fever, to such a +point that, impatient to be cured, they grew anxious to know the time. +For a minute also the man, the strange man, resuscitated. Whilst Sister +Hyacinthe was again wiping the cold sweat from his brow, he raised his +eyelids, and a smile momentarily brightened his pallid countenance. Yet +once again he, also, had hoped. + +Marie was still holding Pierre’s fingers in her own small, warm hand. It +was 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, rushing +along 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 infinite +purity fell from the vast clear heavens. + +“Oh! how beautiful it is, Pierre--how beautiful it is!” Marie again +repeated, pressing his hand with tender affection. And leaning towards +him, she added in an undertone: “I beheld the Blessed Virgin a little +while ago, Pierre, and it was your cure that I implored and shall +obtain.” + +The priest, who understood her meaning, was thrown into confusion by the +divine light which gleamed in her eyes as she fixed them on his own. She +had forgotten her own sufferings; that which she had asked for was his +conversion; and that prayer of faith, emanating, pure and candid, from +that dear, suffering creature, upset his soul. Yet why should he not +believe some day? He himself had been distracted by all those +extraordinary narratives. The stifling heat of the carriage had made him +dizzy, the sight of all the woe heaped up there caused his heart to bleed +with pity. And contagion was doing its work; he no longer knew where the +real and the possible ceased, he lacked the power to disentangle such a +mass of stupefying facts, to explain such as admitted of explanation and +reject the others. At one moment, indeed, as a hymn once more resounded +and carried him off with its stubborn importunate rhythm, he ceased to be +master of himself, and imagined that he was at last beginning to believe +amidst the hallucinatory vertigo which reigned in that travelling +hospital, rolling, ever rolling onward at full speed. + + + + +V. BERNADETTE + +THE train left Bordeaux after a stoppage of a few minutes, during which +those 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, Sister +Hyacinthe clapped her hands, and exclaimed: “Come, let us make haste; the +evening prayer.” + +Thereupon, during a quarter of an hour came a confused murmuring, made up +of “Paters” and “Aves,” self-examinations, acts of contrition, and vows +of trustful reliance in God, the Blessed Virgin, and the Saints, with +thanksgiving for protection and preservation that day, and, at last, a +prayer 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 already +bedimming the landscape--a vast plain which the evening mist seemed to +prolong into the infinite, and where, far away, bright dots of light +shone out from the windows of lonely, scattered houses. In the carriage, +the lights of the lamps were flickering, casting a subdued yellow glow on +the luggage and the pilgrims, who were sorely shaken by the spreading +tendency of the train’s motion. + +“You know, my children,” resumed Sister Hyacinthe, who had remained +standing, “I shall order silence when we get to Lamothe, in about an +hour’s time. So you have an hour to amuse yourselves, but you must be +reasonable and not excite yourselves too much. And when we have passed +Lamothe, you hear me, there must not be another word, another sound, you +must all go to sleep.” + +This made them laugh. + +“Oh! but it is the rule, you know,” added the Sister, “and surely you +have too much sense not to obey me.” + +Since the morning they had punctually fulfilled the programme of +religious exercises specified for each successive hour. And now that all +the prayers had been said, the beads told, the hymns chanted, the day’s +duties were over, and a brief interval for recreation was allowed before +sleeping. They were, however, at a loss as to what they should do. + +“Sister,” suddenly said Marie, “if you would allow Monsieur l’Abbé to +read to us--he reads extremely well,--and as it happens I have a little +book with me--a history of Bernadette which is so interesting--” + +The others did nor let her finish, but with the suddenly awakened desire +of children to whom a beautiful story has been promised, loudly +exclaimed: “Oh! yes, Sister. Oh! yes, Sister--” + +“Of course I will allow it,” replied Sister Hyacinthe, “since it is a +question of reading something instructive and edifying.” + +Pierre was obliged to consent. But to be able to read the book he wished +to be under the lamp, and it was necessary that he should change seats +with M. de Guersaint, whom the promise of a story had delighted as much +as it did the ailing ones. And when the young priest, after changing +seats and declaring that he would be able to see well enough, at last +opened the little book, a quiver of curiosity sped from one end of the +carriage to the other, and every head was stretched out, lending ear with +rapt attention. Fortunately, Pierre had a clear, powerful voice and made +himself distinctly heard above the wheels, which, now that the train +travelled across a vast level plain, gave out but a subdued, rumbling +sound. + +Before beginning, however, the young priest had examined the book. It was +one of those little works of propaganda issued from the Catholic +printing-presses and circulated in profusion throughout all Christendom. +Badly printed, on wretched paper, it was adorned on its blue cover with a +little wood-cut of Our Lady of Lourdes, a naive design alike stiff and +awkward. The book itself was short, and half an hour would certainly +suffice to read it from cover to cover without hurrying. + +Accordingly, in his fine, clear voice, with its penetrating, musical +tones, 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 the +humble home of a poor but honest miller named François Soubirous there +was no wood to cook the dinner. The miller’s wife, Louise, said to her +younger daughter Marie, ‘Go and gather some wood on the bank of the Gave +or on the common-land.’ The Gave is a torrent which passes through +Lourdes. + +“Marie had an elder sister, named Bernadette, who had lately arrived from +the country, where some worthy villagers had employed her as a +shepherdess. She was a slender, delicate, extremely innocent child, and +knew nothing except her rosary. Louise Soubirous hesitated to send her +out with her sister, on account of the cold, but at last, yielding to the +entreaties of Marie and a young girl of the neighbourhood called Jeanne +Abadie, she consented to let her go. + +“Following the bank of the torrent and gathering stray fragments of dead +wood, 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 district +called Massabielle.” + +Pierre had reached this point and was turning the page when he suddenly +paused and let the little book fall on his knees. The childish character +of the narrative, its ready-made, empty phraseology, filled him with +impatience. He himself possessed quite a collection of documents +concerning this extraordinary story, had passionately studied even its +most trifling details, and in the depths of his heart retained a feeling +of tender affection and infinite pity for Bernadette. He had just +reflected, too, that on the very next day he would be able to begin that +decisive inquiry which he had formerly dreamt of making at Lourdes. In +fact, this was one of the reasons which had induced him to accompany +Marie on her journey. And he was now conscious of an awakening of all his +curiosity respecting the Visionary, whom he loved because he felt that +she had been a girl of candid soul, truthful and ill-fated, though at the +same time he would much have liked to analyse and explain her case. +Assuredly, she had not lied, she had indeed beheld a vision and heard +voices, like Joan of Arc; and like Joan of Arc also, she was now, in the +opinion of the devout, accomplishing the deliverance of France--from sin +if not from invaders. Pierre wondered what force could have produced +her--her and her work. How was it that the visionary faculty had become +developed in that lowly girl, so distracting believing souls as to bring +about a renewal of the miracles of primitive times, as to found almost a +new 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 exalted +in 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 all +that he knew, all that he had divined and reconstructed of that story +which is yet so obscure despite the vast rivers of ink which it has +already caused to flow. He knew the country and its manners and customs, +through his long conversations with his friend Doctor Chassaigne. And he +was endowed with charming fluency of language, an emotional power of +exquisite purity, many remarkable gifts well fitting him to be a pulpit +orator, which he never made use of, although he had known them to be +within him ever since his seminary days. When the occupants of the +carriage perceived that he knew the story, far better and in far greater +detail than it appeared in Marie’s little book, and that he related it +also in such a gentle yet passionate way, there came an increase of +attention, and all those afflicted souls hungering for happiness went +forth towards him. First came the story of Bernadette’s childhood at +Bartres, where she had grown up in the abode of her foster-mother, Madame +Lagues, who, having lost an infant of her own, had rendered those poor +folks, the Soubirouses, the service of suckling and keeping their child +for them. Bartres, a village of four hundred souls, at a league or so +from Lourdes, lay as it were in a desert oasis, sequestered amidst +greenery, and far from any frequented highway. The road dips down, the +few houses are scattered over grassland, divided by hedges and planted +with walnut and chestnut trees, whilst the clear rivulets, which are +never silent, follow the sloping banks beside the pathways, and nothing +rises on high save the small ancient romanesque church, which is perched +on a hillock, covered with graves. Wooded slopes undulate upon all sides. +Bartres lies in a hollow amidst grass of delicious freshness, grass of +intense greenness, which is ever moist at the roots, thanks to the +eternal subterraneous expanse of water which is fed by the mountain +torrents. And Bernadette, who, since becoming a big girl, had paid for +her keep by tending lambs, was wont to take them with her, season after +season, through all the greenery where she never met a soul. It was only +now and then, from the summit of some slope, that she saw the far-away +mountains, the Pic du Midi, the Pic de Viscos, those masses which rose +up, bright or gloomy, according to the weather, and which stretched away +to other peaks, lightly and faintly coloured, vaguely and confusedly +outlined, 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 with +pear and apple trees, and only separated from the open country by a +narrow stream which one could jump across, stretched out in front of the +house. Inside the latter, a low and damp abode, there were, on either +side 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 pictures +affixed to the walls, whilst the big clock in its pinewood case gravely +struck the hours in the midst of the deep silence. + +Ah! those years at Bartres; in what sweet peacefulness did Bernadette +live them! Yet she grew up very thin, always in bad health, suffering +from 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, nor +speak otherwise than in dialect, having remained quite infantile, +behindhand in mind as in body. She was a very good little girl, very +gentle and well behaved, and but little different from other children, +except that instead of talking she preferred to listen. Limited as was +her intelligence, she often evinced much natural common-sense, and at +times was prompt in her _réparties_, with a kind of simple gaiety which +made one smile. It was only with infinite trouble that she was taught her +rosary, and when she knew it she seemed bent on carrying her knowledge no +further, but repeated it all day long, so that whenever you met her with +her lambs, she invariably had her chaplet between her fingers, diligently +telling each successive “Pater” and “Ave.” For long, long hours she lived +like this on the grassy slopes of the hills, hidden away and haunted as +it were amidst the mysteries of the foliage, seeing nought of the world +save the crests of the distant mountains, which, for an instant, every +now and then, would soar aloft in the radiant light, as ethereal as the +peaks 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 naïvely infantile, no other companion and friend than the +Blessed Virgin. But what pleasant evenings she spent in the winter-time +in the room on the left, where a fire was kept burning! Her foster-mother +had a brother, a priest, who occasionally read some marvellous stories to +them--stories of saints, prodigious adventures of a kind to make one +tremble with mingled fear and joy, in which Paradise appeared upon earth, +whilst the heavens opened and a glimpse was caught of the splendour of +the angels. The books he brought with him were often full of +pictures--God the Father enthroned amidst His glory; Jesus, so gentle and +so handsome with His beaming face; the Blessed Virgin, who recurred again +and again, radiant with splendour, clad now in white, now in azure, now +in gold, and ever so amiable that Bernadette would see her again in her +dreams. 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 evening +Bernadette’s foster-father, the only member of the household who had +learnt to read, would take a pin, pass it at random between the leaves of +the book, open the latter, and then start reading from the top of the +right-hand page, amidst the deep attention of both the women and the +children, who ended by knowing the book by heart, and could have +continued reciting it without a single mistake. + +However, Bernadette, for her part, preferred the religious works in which +the Blessed Virgin constantly appeared with her engaging smile. True, one +reading of a different character amused her, that of the marvellous story +of 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 his +way in that remote region, there was a naive cut showing the four doughty +knights, Renaud and his brothers, all mounted on Bayard, their famous +battle charger, that princely present made to them by the fairy Orlanda. +And inside were narratives of bloody fights, of the building and +besieging of fortresses, of the terrible swordthrusts exchanged by Roland +and Renaud, who was at last about to free the Holy Land, without +mentioning the tales of Maugis the Magician and his marvellous +enchantments, and the Princess Clarisse, the King of Aquitaine’s sister, +who was more lovely than sunlight. Her imagination fired by such stories +as these, Bernadette often found it difficult to get to sleep; and this +was 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 was +very superstitious, and after sundown could never be prevailed upon to +pass near a tower in the vicinity, which was said to be haunted by the +fiend. For that matter, all the folks of the region were superstitious, +devout, and simple-minded, the whole countryside being peopled, so to +say, 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 carried +maidens off to perdition. And what a wealth of terrifying stories there +was! Hundreds of stories, so that there was no finishing on the evenings +when somebody started them. First came the wehrwolf adventures, the tales +of the unhappy men whom the demon forced to enter into the bodies of +dogs, the great white dogs of the mountains. If you fire a gun at the dog +and a single shot should strike him, the man will be delivered; but if +the shot should fall on the dog’s shadow, the man will immediately die. +Then came the endless procession of sorcerers and sorceresses. In one of +these tales Bernadette evinced a passionate interest; it was the story of +a clerk of the tribunal of Lourdes who, wishing to see the devil, was +conducted by a witch into an untilled field at midnight on Good Friday. +The devil arrived clad in magnificent scarlet garments, and at once +proposed to the clerk that he should buy his soul, an offer which the +clerk pretended to accept. It so happened that the devil was carrying +under his arm a register in which different persons of the town, who had +already sold themselves, had signed their names. However, the clerk, who +was a cunning fellow, pulled out of his pocket a pretended bottle of ink, +which in reality contained holy water, and with this he sprinkled the +devil, who raised frightful shrieks, whilst the clerk took to flight, +carrying the register off with him. Then began a wild, mad race, which +might last throughout the night, over the mountains, through the valleys, +across the forests and the torrents. “Give me back my register!” shouted +the fiend. “No, you sha’n’t have it!” replied the clerk. And again and +again it began afresh: “Give me back my register!”--“No, you sha’n’t have +it’!” And at last, finding himself out of breath, near the point of +succumbing, the clerk, who had his plan, threw himself into the cemetery, +which was consecrated ground, and was there able to deride the devil at +his ease, waving the register which he had purloined so as to save the +souls of all the unhappy people who had signed their names in it. On the +evening when this story was told, Bernadette, before surrendering herself +to sleep, would mentally repeat her rosary, delighted with the thought +that hell should have been baffled, though she trembled at the idea that +it would surely return to prowl around her, as soon as the lamp should +have been put out. + +Throughout one winter, the long evenings were spent in the church. Abbé +Ader, the village priest, had authorised it, and many families came, in +order to economise oil and candles. Moreover, they felt less cold when +gathered together in this fashion. The Bible was read, and prayers were +repeated, whilst the children ended by falling asleep. Bernadette alone +struggled on to the finish, so pleased she was at being there, in that +narrow nave whose slender nervures were coloured blue and red. At the +farther end was the altar, also painted and gilded, with its twisted +columns and its screens on which appeared the Virgin and Ste. Anne, and +the beheading of St. John the Baptist--the whole of a gaudy and somewhat +barbaric splendour. And as sleepiness grew upon her, the child must have +often seen a mystical vision as it were of those crudely coloured designs +rising before her--have seen the blood flowing from St. John’s severed +head, have seen the aureolas shining, the Virgin ever returning and +gazing at her with her blue, living eyes, and looking as though she were +on the point of opening her vermilion lips in order to speak to her. For +some months Bernadette spent her evenings in this wise, half asleep in +front of that sumptuous, vaguely defined altar, in the incipiency of a +divine 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 with +ardent faith, that Bernadette began to learn her catechism. She would +soon be fourteen now, and must think of her first communion. Her +foster-mother, who had the reputation of being avaricious, did not send +her to school, but employed her in or about the house from morning till +evening. M. Barbet, the schoolmaster, never saw her at his classes, +though one day, when he gave the catechism lesson, in the place of Abbé +Ader who was indisposed, he remarked her on account of her piety and +modesty. The village priest was very fond of Bernadette and often spoke +of her to the schoolmaster, saying that he could never look at her +without thinking of the children of La Salette, since they must have been +good, candid, and pious as she was, for the Blessed Virgin to have +appeared to them.* On another occasion whilst the two men were walking +one morning near the village, and saw Bernadette disappear with her +little flock under some spreading trees in the distance, the Abbé +repeatedly turned round to look for her, and again remarked “I cannot +account for it, but every time I meet that child it seems to me as if I +saw Mélanie, the young shepherdess, little Maximin’s companion.” He was +certainly beset by this singular idea, which became, so to say, a +prediction. Moreover, had he not one day after catechism, or one evening, +when the villagers were gathered in the church, related that marvellous +story which was already twelve years old, that story of the Lady in the +dazzling robes who walked upon the grass without even making it bend, the +Blessed Virgin who showed herself to Mélanie and Maximin on the banks of +a stream in the mountains, and confided to them a great secret and +announced the anger of her Son? Ever since that day a source had sprung +up 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 with +her into the desert of foliage where she spent her days, so that she +might live it over again as she walked along behind her lambs with her +rosary, 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 + Isère. The visionaries were Mélanie 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, Abbé Deleon and Abbé 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 in +this Bernadette, so poor-blooded, so slight of build, was her ecstatic +eyes, beautiful visionary eyes, from which dreams soared aloft like birds +winging their flight in a pure limpid sky. Her mouth was large, with lips +somewhat thick, expressive of kindliness; her square-shaped head had a +straight brow, and was covered with thick black hair, whilst her face +would have seemed rather common but for its charming expression of gentle +obstinacy. Those who did not gaze into her eyes, however, gave her no +thought. To them she was but an ordinary child, a poor thing of the +roads, a girl of reluctant growth, timidly humble in her ways. Assuredly +it was in her glance that Abbé Ader had with agitation detected the +stifling ailment which filled her puny, girlish form with suffering--that +ailment born of the greeny solitude in which she had grown up, the +gentleness of her bleating lambs, the Angelic Salutation which she had +carried with her, hither and thither, under the sky, repeating and +repeating it to the point of hallucination, the prodigious stories, too, +which she had heard folks tell at her foster-mother’s, the long evenings +spent before the living altar-screens in the church, and all the +atmosphere of primitive faith which she had breathed in that far-away +rural region, hemmed in by mountains. + +At last, on one seventh of January, Bernadette had just reached her +fourteenth birthday, when her parents, finding that she learnt nothing at +Bartres, resolved to bring her back to Lourdes for good, in order that +she might diligently study her catechism, and in this wise seriously +prepare herself for her first communion. And so it happened that she had +already 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 had +risen 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 dull +rumble across a sea of darkness--the endless plains of the Landes which +the night submerged. For ten minutes already not a sound ought to have +been heard in the carriage, one and all ought to have been sleeping or +suffering uncomplainingly. However, a mutiny broke out. + +“Oh! Sister!” exclaimed Marie, whose eyes were sparkling, “allow us just +another short quarter of an hour! We have got to the most interesting +part.” + +Ten, twenty voices took up the cry: “Oh yes, Sister, please do let us +have another short quarter of an hour!” + +They all wished to hear the continuation, burning with as much curiosity +as though they had not known the story, so captivated were they by the +touches of compassionate human feeling which Pierre introduced into his +narrative. Their glances never left him, all their heads were stretched +towards him, fantastically illumined by the flickering light of the +lamps. And it was not only the sick who displayed this interest; the ten +women occupying the compartment at the far end of the carriage had also +become impassioned, and, happy at not missing a single word, turned their +poor ugly faces now beautified by naive faith. + +“No, I cannot!” Sister Hyacinthe at first declared; “the rules are very +strict--you must be silent.” + +However, she weakened, she herself feeling so interested in the tale that +she could detect her heart beating under her stomacher. Then Marie again +repeated her request in an entreating tone; whilst her father, M. de +Guersaint, who had listened like one hugely amused, declared that they +would all fall ill if the story were not continued. And thereupon, seeing +Madame de Jonquière smile with an indulgent air, Sister Hyacinthe ended +by consenting. + +“Well, then,” said she, “I will allow you another short quarter of an +hour; but only a short quarter of an hour, mind. That is understood, is +it not? For I should otherwise be in fault.” + +Pierre had waited quietly without attempting to intervene. And he resumed +his narrative in the same penetrating voice as before, a voice in which +his 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 des +Petits Fossés, a narrow, tortuous, mournful street taking a downward +course between humble houses and roughly plastered dead walls. The +Soubirous family occupied a single room on the ground floor of one of +these sorry habitations, a room at the end of a dark passage, in which +seven persons were huddled together, the father, the mother, and five +children. You could scarcely see in the chamber; from the tiny, damp +inner courtyard of the house there came but a greenish light. And in that +room they slept, all of a heap; and there also they ate, when they had +bread. For some time past, the father, a miller by trade, could only with +difficulty obtain work as a journeyman. And it was from that dark hole, +that lowly wretchedness, that Bernadette, the elder girl, with Marie, her +sister, and Jeanne, a little friend of the neighbourhood, went out to +pick up dead wood, on the cold February Thursday already spoken of. + +Then the beautiful tale was unfolded at length; how the three girls +followed the bank of the Gave from the other side of the castle, and how +they ended by finding themselves on the Ile du Chalet in front of the +rock of Massabielle, from which they were only separated by the narrow +stream diverted from the Gave, and used for working the mill of Savy. It +was a wild spot, whither the common herdsman often brought the pigs of +the neighbourhood, which, when showers suddenly came on, would take +shelter under this rock of Massabielle, at whose base there was a kind of +grotto of no great depth, blocked at the entrance by eglantine and +brambles. The girls found dead wood very scarce that day, but at last on +seeing on the other side of the stream quite a gleaning of branches +deposited there by the torrent, Marie and Jeanne crossed over through the +water; whilst Bernadette, more delicate than they were, a trifle +young-ladyfied, perhaps, remained on the bank lamenting, and not daring +to wet her feet. She was suffering slightly from humour in the head, and +her mother had expressly bidden her to wrap herself in her _capulet_,* a +large white _capulet_ which contrasted vividly with her old black woollen +dress. When she found that her companions would not help her, she +resignedly made up her mind to take off her _sabots_, and pull down her +stockings. It was then about noon, the three strokes of the Angelus rang +out from the parish church, rising into the broad calm winter sky, which +was somewhat veiled by fine fleecy clouds. And it was then that a great +agitation arose within her, resounding in her ears with such a +tempestuous roar that she fancied a hurricane had descended from the +mountains, and was passing over her. But she looked at the trees and was +stupefied, for not a leaf was stirring. Then she thought that she had +been mistaken, and was about to pick up her _sabots_, when again the +great gust swept through her; but, this time, the disturbance in her ears +reached her eyes, she no longer saw the trees, but was dazzled by a +whiteness, a kind of bright light which seemed to her to settle itself +against the rock, in a narrow, lofty slit above the Grotto, not unlike an +ogival window of a cathedral. In her fright she fell upon her knees. What +could it be, _mon Dieu_? Sometimes, during bad weather, when her asthma +oppressed her more than usual, she spent very bad nights, incessantly +dreaming dreams which were often painful, and whose stifling effect she +retained on awaking, even when she had ceased to remember anything. +Flames would surround her, the sun would flash before her face. Had she +dreamt in that fashion during the previous night? Was this the +continuation of some forgotten dream? However, little by little a form +became outlined, she believed that she could distinguish a figure which +the vivid light rendered intensely white. In her fear lest it should be +the devil, for her mind was haunted by tales of witchcraft, she began to +tell her beads. And when the light had slowly faded away, and she had +crossed the canal and joined Marie and Jeanne, she was surprised to find +that neither of them had seen anything whilst they were picking up the +wood in front of the Grotto. On their way back to Lourdes the three girls +talked together. So she, Bernadette, had seen something then? What was +it? 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 made +acquainted with the circumstance, evinced much displeasure at such +childish nonsense, and told their daughter that she was not to return to +the rock of Massabielle. All the children of the neighbourhood, however, +were already repeating the tale, and when Sunday came the parents had to +give way, and allow Bernadette to betake herself to the Grotto with a +bottle of holy water to ascertain if it were really the devil whom one +had to deal with. She then again beheld the light, the figure became more +clearly defined, and smiled upon her, evincing no fear whatever of the +holy water. And, on the ensuing Thursday, she once more returned to the +spot accompanied by several persons, and then for the first time the +radiant lady assumed sufficient corporality to speak, and say to her: “Do +me the kindness to come here for fifteen days.” + +Thus, little by little, the lady had assumed a precise appearance. The +something clad in white had become indeed a lady more beautiful than a +queen, of a kind such as is only seen in pictures. At first, in presence +of the questions with which all the neighbours plied her from morning +till evening, Bernadette had hesitated, disturbed, perhaps, by scruples +of conscience. But then, as though prompted by the very interrogatories +to which she was subjected, she seemed to perceive the figure which she +had beheld, more plainly, so that it definitely assumed life, with lines +and 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 glimpse +was caught of her admirable fair hair, which was slightly curled. Her +robe, which was of dazzling whiteness, must have been of some material +unknown on earth, some material woven of the sun’s rays. Her sash, of the +same hue as the heavens, was fastened loosely about her, its long ends +streaming downwards, with the light airiness of morning. Her chaplet, +wound about her right arm, had beads of a milky whiteness, whilst the +links and the cross were of gold. And on her bare feet, on her adorable +feet of virgin snow, flowered two golden roses, the mystic roses of this +divine mother’s immaculate flesh. + +Where was it that Bernadette had seen this Blessed Virgin, of such +traditionally simple composition, unadorned by a single jewel, having but +the primitive grace imagined by the painters of a people in its +childhood? In which illustrated book belonging to her foster-mother’s +brother, the good priest, who read such attractive stories, had she +beheld this Virgin? Or in what picture, or what statuette, or what +stained-glass window of the painted and gilded church where she had spent +so many evenings whilst growing up? And whence, above all things, had +come those golden roses poised on the Virgin’s feet, that piously +imagined florescence of woman’s flesh--from what romance of chivalry, +from what story told after catechism by the Abbé Ader, from what +unconscious dream indulged in under the shady foliage of Bartres, whilst +ever and ever repeating that haunting Angelic Salutation? + +Pierre’s voice had acquired a yet more feeling tone, for if he did not +say all these things to the simple-minded folks who were listening to +him, still the human explanation of all these prodigies which the feeling +of doubt in the depths of his being strove to supply, imparted to his +narrative a quiver of sympathetic, fraternal love. He loved Bernadette +the better for the great charm of her hallucination--that lady of such +gracious access, such perfect amiability, such politeness in appearing +and disappearing so appropriately. At first the great light would show +itself, then the vision took form, came and went, leant forward, moved +about, floating imperceptibly, with ethereal lightness; and when it +vanished the glow lingered for yet another moment, and then disappeared +like a star fading away. No lady in this world could have such a white +and rosy face, with a beauty so akin to that of the Virgins on the +picture-cards given to children at their first communions. And it was +strange that the eglantine of the Grotto did not even hurt her adorable +bare feet blooming with golden flowers. + +Pierre, however, at once proceeded to recount the other apparitions. The +fourth and fifth occurred on the Friday and the Saturday; but the Lady, +who shone so brightly and who had not yet told her name, contented +herself on these occasions with smiling and saluting without pronouncing +a word. On the Sunday, however, she wept, and said to Bernadette, “Pray +for sinners.” On the Monday, to the child’s great grief, she did not +appear, wishing, no doubt, to try her. But on the Tuesday she confided to +her a secret which concerned her (the girl) alone, a secret which she was +never to divulge*; and then she at last told her what mission it was that +she entrusted to her: “Go and tell the priests,” she said, “that they +must build a chapel here.” On the Wednesday she frequently murmured the +word “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 beside +it,” words which the Visionary ended by understanding, when in the depths +of the Grotto a source suddenly sprang up beneath her fingers. And this +was the miracle of the enchanted fountain. + + * In a like way, it will be remembered, the apparition at La + Salette confided a secret to Mélanie 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 the +Friday, but was punctual on the five following days, repeating her +commands and gazing with a smile at the humble girl whom she had chosen +to do her bidding, and who, on her side, duly told her beads at each +apparition, 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 of +these mystical assignations, the Lady requested more pressingly than +before that a chapel might be erected in order that the nations might +come 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, joining +her hands together, and raising her eyes to Heaven, she said: “I am the +Immaculate Conception.” On two other occasions, at somewhat long +intervals, April 7 and July 16, she again appeared: the first time to +perform the miracle of the lighted taper, that taper above which the +child, plunged in ecstasy, for a long time unconsciously left her hand, +without burning it; and the second time to bid Bernadette farewell, to +favour her with a last smile, and a last inclination of the head full of +charming politeness. This made eighteen apparitions all told; and never +again did the Lady show herself. + +Whilst Pierre went on with his beautiful, marvellous story, so soothing +to the wretched, he evoked for himself a vision of that pitiable, lovable +Bernadette, whose sufferings had flowered so wonderfully. As a doctor had +roughly expressed it, this girl of fourteen, at a critical period of her +life, already ravaged, too, by asthma, was, after all, simply an +exceptional victim of hysteria, afflicted with a degenerate heredity and +lapsing into infancy. If there were no violent crises in her case, if +there were no stiffening of the muscles during her attacks, if she +retained a precise recollection of her dreams, the reason was that her +case was peculiar to herself, and she added, so to say, a new and very +curious form to all the forms of hysteria known at the time. Miracles +only begin when things cannot be explained; and science, so far, knows +and can explain so little, so infinitely do the phenomena of disease vary +according to the nature of the patient! But how many shepherdesses there +had 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 enchantments +would convert the masses? And was not the personal appearance of the +Virgin always in accordance with a poor child’s dreams--akin to some +coloured figure in a missal, an ideal compounded of traditional beauty, +gentleness, and politeness. And the same dreams showed themselves in the +naïveté of the means which were to be employed and of the object which +was to be attained--the deliverance of nations, the building of churches, +the processional pilgrimages of the faithful! Then, too, all the words +which fell from Heaven resembled one another, calls for penitence, +promises of help; and in this respect, in Bernadette’s case the only new +feature was that most extraordinary declaration: “I am the Immaculate +Conception,” which burst forth--very usefully--as the recognition by the +Blessed Virgin herself of the dogma promulgated by the Court of Rome but +three 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 had +spoken in such a fashion. As for the other words, it was possible that +Bernadette had heard them somewhere and stored them up in some +unconscious nook of her memory. But these--“I am the Immaculate +Conception”--whence had they come as though expressly to fortify a +dogma--still bitterly discussed--with such prodigious support as the +direct testimony of the Mother conceived without sin? At this thought, +Pierre, who was convinced of Bernadette’s absolute good faith, who +refused to believe that she had been the instrument of a fraud, began to +waver, deeply agitated, feeling his belief in truth totter within him. + +The apparitions, however, had caused intense emotion at Lourdes; crowds +flocked to the spot, miracles began, and those inevitable persecutions +broke out which ensure the triumph of new religions. Abbé Peyramale, the +parish priest of Lourdes, an extremely honest man, with an upright, +vigorous mind, was able in all truth to declare that he did not know this +child, that she had not yet been seen at catechism. Where was the +pressure, then, where the lesson learnt by heart? There was nothing but +those years of childhood spent at Bartres, the first teachings of Abbé +Ader, conversations possibly, religious ceremonies in honour of the +recently proclaimed dogma, or simply the gift of one of those +commemorative medals which had been scattered in profusion. Never did +Abbé Ader reappear upon the scene, he who had predicted the mission of +the future Visionary. He was destined to remain apart from Bernadette and +her future career, he who, the first, had seen her little soul blossom in +his pious hands. And yet all the unknown forces that had sprung from that +sequestered village, from that nook of greenery where superstition and +poverty of intelligence prevailed, were still making themselves felt, +disturbing the brains of men, disseminating the contagion of the +mysterious. It was remembered that a shepherd of Argelès, speaking of the +rock of Massabielle, had prophesied that great things would take place +there. Other children, moreover, now fell in ecstasy with their eyes +dilated and their limbs quivering with convulsions, but these only saw +the devil. A whirlwind of madness seemed to be passing over the region. +An old lady of Lourdes declared that Bernadette was simply a witch and +that 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 seize +upon the souls of the beholders, when she fell upon her knees before the +Grotto, a lighted taper in her right hand, whilst with the left she told +the 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 eyes +filled with light, and her lips parted as though she were speaking words +which could not be heard. And it was quite certain that she had no will +of her own left her, penetrated as she was by a dream, possessed by it to +such a point in the confined, exclusive sphere in which she lived, that +she continued dreaming it even when awake, and thus accepted it as the +only indisputable reality, prepared to testify to it even at the cost of +her blood, repeating it over and over again, obstinately, stubbornly +clinging to it, and never varying in the details she gave. She did not +lie, for she did not know, could not and would not desire anything apart +from it. + +Forgetful of the flight of time, Pierre was now sketching a charming +picture of old Lourdes, that pious little town, slumbering at the foot of +the Pyrenees. The castle, perched on a rock at the point of intersection +of the seven valleys of Lavedan, had formerly been the key of the +mountain districts. But, in Bernadette’s time, it had become a mere +dismantled, 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 been +constructed--could have established an active circulation of social life +in that sequestered nook where human existence stagnated like dead water. +Forgotten, therefore, Lourdes remained slumbering, happy and sluggish +amidst its old-time peacefulness, with its narrow, pebble-paved streets +and its bleak houses with dressings of marble. The old roofs were still +all massed on the eastern side of the castle; the Rue de la Grotte, then +called the Rue du Bois, was but a deserted and often impassable road; no +houses stretched down to the Gave as now, and the scum-laden waters +rolled through a perfect solitude of pollard willows and tall grass. On +week-days but few people passed across the Place du Marcadal, such as +housewives hastening on errands, and petty cits airing their leisure +hours; and you had to wait till Sundays or fair days to find the +inhabitants rigged out in their best clothes and assembled on the Champ +Commun, in company with the crowd of graziers who had come down from the +distant tablelands with their cattle. During the season when people +resort to the Pyrenean-waters, the passage of the visitors to Cauterets +and Bagnères also brought some animation; _diligences_ passed through the +town twice a day, but they came from Pau by a wretched road, and had to +ford the Lapaca, which often overflowed its banks. Then climbing the +steep ascent of the Rue Basse, they skirted the terrace of the church, +which was shaded by large elms. And what soft peacefulness prevailed in +and around that old semi-Spanish church, full of ancient carvings, +columns, screens, and statues, peopled with visionary patches of gilding +and painted flesh, which time had mellowed and which you faintly +discerned as by the light of mystical lamps! The whole population came +there to worship, to fill their eyes with the dream of the mysterious. +There were no unbelievers, the inhabitants of Lourdes were a people of +primitive 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 that +has 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 their +lives, and the girls, one and all, grew up with the perfume and beauty of +innocence, under the eyes of the Blessed Virgin, Tower of Ivory and Seat +of Wisdom. + +And how well one could understand that Bernadette, born in that holy +soil, should flower in it, like one of nature’s roses budding in the +wayside bushes! She was indeed the very florescence of that region of +ancient belief and rectitude; she would certainly not have sprouted +elsewhere; she could only appear and develop there, amidst that belated +race, amidst the slumberous peacefulness of a childlike people, under the +moral discipline of religion. And what intense love at once burst forth +all around her! What blind confidence was displayed in her mission, what +immense consolation and hope came to human hearts on the very morrow of +the first miracles! A long cry of relief had greeted the cure of old +Bourriette recovering his sight, and of little Justin Bouhohorts coming +to life again in the icy water of the spring. At last, then, the Blessed +Virgin was intervening in favour of those who despaired, forcing that +unkind mother, Nature, to be just and charitable. This was divine +omnipotence returning to reign on earth, sweeping the laws of the world +aside in order to work the happiness of the suffering and the poor. The +miracles multiplied, blazed forth, from day to day more and more +extraordinary, like unimpeachable proof of Bernadette’s veracity. And she +was, indeed, the rose of the divine garden, whose deeds shed perfume, the +rose who beholds all the other flowers of grace and salvation spring into +being around her. + +Pierre had reached this point of his story, and was again enumerating the +miracles, on the point of recounting the prodigious triumph of the +Grotto, when Sister Hyacinthe, awaking with a start from the ecstasy into +which the narrative had plunged her, hastily rose to her feet. “Really, +really,” said she, “there is no sense in it. It will soon be eleven +o’clock.” + +This was true. They had left Morceux behind them, and would now soon be +at Mont de Marsan. So Sister Hyacinthe clapped her hands once more, and +added: “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 the +continuation, how vexed they were that the story should cease when only +half told! The ten women in the farther compartment even let a murmur of +disappointment escape them; whilst the sick, their faces still +outstretched, their dilated eyes gazing upon the light of hope, seemed to +be yet listening. Those miracles which ever and ever returned to their +minds and filled them with unlimited, haunting, supernatural joy. + +“And don’t let me hear anyone breathe, even,” added Sister Hyacinthe +gaily, “or otherwise I shall impose penance on you.” + +Madame de Jonquière laughed good-naturedly. “You must obey, my children,” + she said; “be good and get to sleep, so that you may have strength to +pray at the Grotto to-morrow with all your hearts.” + +Then silence fell, nobody spoke any further; and the only sounds were +those of the rumbling of the wheels and the jolting of the train as it +was carried along at full speed through the black night. + +Pierre, however, was unable to sleep. Beside him, M. de Guersaint was +already snoring lightly, looking very happy despite the hardness of his +seat. For a time the young priest saw Marie’s eyes wide open, still full +of all the radiance of the marvels that he had related. For a long while +she kept them ardently fixed upon his own, but at last closed them, and +then he knew not whether she was sleeping, or with eyelids simply closed +was living the everlasting miracle over again. Some of the sufferers were +dreaming aloud, giving vent to bursts of laughter which unconscious moans +interrupted. Perhaps they beheld the Archangels opening their flesh to +wrest their diseases from them. Others, restless with insomnia, turned +over 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 of +fraternal suffering, ended by hating his very mind, and, drawn into close +communion with all those humble folks, sought to believe like them. What +could be the use of that physiological inquiry into Bernadette’s case, so +full of gaps and intricacies? Why should he not accept her as a messenger +from the spheres beyond, as one of the elect chosen for the divine +mystery? Doctors were but ignorant men with rough and brutal hands, and +it would be so delightful to fall asleep in childlike faith, in the +enchanted gardens of the impossible. And for a moment indeed he +surrendered himself, experiencing a delightful feeling of comfort, no +longer seeking to explain anything, but accepting the Visionary with her +sumptuous _cortège_ of miracles, and relying on God to think and +determine for him. Then he looked out through the window, which they did +not dare to open on account of the consumptive patients, and beheld the +immeasurable night which enwrapped the country across which the train was +fleeing. The storm must have burst forth there; the sky was now of an +admirable nocturnal purity, as though cleansed by the masses of fallen +water. Large stars shone out in the dark velvet, alone illumining, with +their mysterious gleams, the silent, refreshed fields, which incessantly +displayed only the black solitude of slumber. And across the Landes, +through the valleys, between the hills, that carriage of wretchedness and +suffering rolled on and on, over-heated, pestilential, rueful, and +wailing, amidst the serenity of the august night, so lovely and so mild. + +They had passed Riscle at one in the morning. Between the jolting, the +painful, the hallucinatory silence still continued. At two o’clock, as +they reached Vic-de-Bigorre, low moans were heard; the bad state of the +line, with the unbearable spreading tendency of the train’s motion, was +sorely 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 to +grant them the happiness of a glorious day. + +“O God, vouchsafe me sufficient strength that I may avoid all that is +evil, 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 vast +hopes, would blaze forth in the midst of that night, so long and cruel. +Their painful awakening was enfevered by the thought; a final agitation +arose amidst the morning discomfort, as the abominable sufferings began +afresh. + +Sister Hyacinthe, however, was especially anxious about the strange man, +whose sweat-covered face she had been continually wiping. He had so far +managed to keep alive, she watching him without a pause, never having +once closed her eyes, but unremittingly listening to his faint breathing +with the stubborn desire to take him to the holy Grotto before he died. + +All at once, however, she felt frightened; and addressing Madame de +Jonquière, she hastily exclaimed, “Pray pass me the vinegar bottle at +once--I can no longer hear him breathe.” + +For an instant, indeed, the man’s faint breathing had ceased. His eyes +were still closed, his lips parted; he could not have been paler, he had +an ashen hue, and was cold. And the carriage was rolling along with its +ceaseless rattle of coupling-irons; the speed of the train seemed even to +have 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 the +seat, 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 his +corner again, with his back resting against the woodwork. He remained +there erect, his torso stiffened, and his head wagging slightly at each +successive jolt. Thus the train continued carrying him along, with the +same thundering noise of wheels, while the engine, well pleased, no +doubt, to be reaching its destination, began whistling shrilly, giving +vent to quite a flourish of delirious joy as it sped through the calm +night. + +And then came the last and seemingly endless half-hour of the journey, in +company with that wretched corpse. Two big tears had rolled down Sister +Hyacinthe’s cheeks, and with her hands joined she had begun to pray. The +whole carriage shuddered with terror at sight of that terrible companion +who was being taken, too late alas! to the Blessed Virgin. + +Hope, however, proved stronger than sorrow or pain, and although all the +sufferings there assembled awoke and grew again, irritated by +overwhelming weariness, a song of joy nevertheless proclaimed the +sufferers’ triumphal entry into the Land of Miracles. Amidst the tears +which their pains drew from them, the exasperated and howling sick began +to chant the “Ave maris Stella” with a growing clamour in which +lamentation 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 feared +so much that it was I who would die before arriving. And we are +there--there at last!” + +The priest was trembling with intense emotion. “It means that you are to +be cured, Marie,” he replied, “and that I myself shall be cured if you +pray for me--” + +The engine was now whistling in a yet louder key in the depths of the +bluish darkness. They were nearing their destination. The lights of +Lourdes already shone out on the horizon. Then the whole train again sang +a canticle--the rhymed story of Bernadette, that endless ballad of six +times ten couplets, in which the Angelic Salutation ever returns as a +refrain, all besetting and distracting, opening to the human mind the +portals 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 railway +station, the dial of which was illumined by a reflector. Under the +slanting roof sheltering the platform, a hundred yards or so in length, +some shadowy forms went to and fro, resignedly waiting. Only a red signal +light peeped out of the black countryside, far away. + +Two of the promenaders suddenly halted. The taller of them, a Father of +the Assumption, none other indeed than the Reverend Father Fourcade, +director of the national pilgrimage, who had reached Lourdes on the +previous day, was a man of sixty, looking superb in his black cloak with +its large hood. His fine head, with its clear, domineering eyes and thick +grizzly beard, was the head of a general whom an intelligent +determination to conquer inflames. In consequence, however, of a sudden +attack of gout he slightly dragged one of his legs, and was leaning on +the shoulder of his companion, Dr. Bonamy, the practitioner attached to +the Miracle Verification Office, a short, thick-set man, with a +square-shaped, clean-shaven face, which had dull, blurred eyes and a +tranquil cast of features. + +Father Fourcade had stopped to question the station-master whom he +perceived 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 be +here at the half-hour. It’s the Bayonne train which worries me; it ought +to have passed through already.” + +So saying, he ran off to give an order; but soon came back again, his +slim, nervous figure displaying marked signs of agitation. He lived, +indeed, in a state of high fever throughout the period of the great +pilgrimages. Apart from the usual service, he that day expected eighteen +trains, containing more than fifteen thousand passengers. The grey and +the blue trains which had started from Paris the first had already +arrived at the regulation hour. But the delay in the arrival of the white +train was very troublesome, the more so as the Bayonne express--which +passed over the same rails--had not yet been signalled. It was easy to +understand, therefore, what incessant watchfulness was necessary, not a +second passing without the entire staff of the station being called upon +to exercise its vigilance. + +“In ten minutes, then?” repeated Father Fourcade. + +“Yes, in ten minutes, unless I’m obliged to close the line!” cried the +station-master as he hastened into the telegraph office. + +Father Fourcade and the doctor slowly resumed their promenade. The thing +which astonished them was that no serious accident had ever happened in +the midst of such a fearful scramble. In past times, especially, the most +terrible disorder had prevailed. Father Fourcade complacently recalled +the first pilgrimage which he had organised and led, in 1875; the +terrible endless journey without pillows or mattresses, the patients +exhausted, half dead, with no means of reviving them at hand; and then +the arrival at Lourdes, the train evacuated in confusion, no _matériel_ +in readiness, no straps, nor stretchers, nor carts. But now there was a +powerful organisation; a hospital awaited the sick, who were no longer +reduced to lying upon straw in sheds. What a shock for those unhappy +ones! What force of will in the man of faith who led them to the scene of +miracles! The reverend Father smiled gently at the thought of the work +which 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 of +the Coronation of the Virgin the figure rose to five hundred thousand. +But to bring that about an exceptional occasion was needed with a great +effort of propaganda. Such vast masses cannot be collected together every +day.” + +A pause followed, and then Father Fourcade murmured: “No doubt. Still the +blessing of Heaven attends our endeavours; our work thrives more and +more. We have collected more than two hundred thousand francs in +donations for this journey, and God will be with us, there will be many +cures for you to proclaim to-morrow, I am sure of it.” Then, breaking +off, he inquired: “Has not Father Dargeles come here?” + +Dr. Bonamy waved his hand as though to say that he did not know. Father +Dargeles was the editor of the “Journal de la Grotte.” He belonged to the +Order of the Fathers of the Immaculate Conception whom the Bishop had +installed at Lourdes and who were the absolute masters there; though, +when the Fathers of the Assumption came to the town with the national +pilgrimage from Paris, which crowds of faithful Catholics from Cambrai, +Arras, Chartres, Troyes, Rheims, Sens, Orleans, Blois, and Poitiers +joined, they evinced a kind of affectation in disappearing from the +scene. Their omnipotence was no longer felt either at the Grotto or at +the Basilica; they seemed to surrender every key together with every +responsibility. Their superior, Father Capdebarthe, a tall, peasant-like +man, with a knotty frame, a big head which looked as if it had been +fashioned with a bill-hook, and a worn face which retained a ruddy +mournful reflection of the soil, did not even show himself. Of the whole +community you only saw little, insinuating Father Dargeles; but he was +met everywhere, incessantly on the look-out for paragraphs for his +newspaper. At the same time, however, although the Fathers of the +Immaculate Conception disappeared in this fashion, it could be divined +that they were behind the vast stage, like a hidden sovereign power, +coining money and toiling without a pause to increase the triumphant +prosperity of their business. Indeed, they turned even their humility to +account. + +“It’s true that we have had to get up early--two in the morning,” resumed +Father Fourcade gaily. “But I wished to be here. What would my poor +children have said, indeed, if I had not come?” + +He was alluding to the sick pilgrims, those who were so much flesh for +miracle-working; and it was a fact that he had never missed coming to the +station, no matter what the hour, to meet that woeful white train, that +train 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 having +had to get out of bed so early. However, he continued his slow promenade +with Father Fourcade along that platform which resembled a covered walk, +pacing up and down in the dense night which the gas jets here and there +illumined with patches of yellow light. Little parties, dimly outlined, +composed of priests and gentlemen in frock-coats, with a solitary officer +of dragoons, went to and fro incessantly, talking together the while in +discreet murmuring tones. Other people, seated on benches, ranged along +the station wall, were also chatting or putting their patience to proof +with their glances wandering away into the black stretch of country +before them. The doorways of the offices and waiting-rooms, which were +brilliantly lighted, looked like great holes in the darkness, and all was +flaring in the refreshment-room, where you could see the marble tables +and the counter laden with bottles and glasses and baskets of bread and +fruit. + +On the right hand, beyond the roofing of the platform, there was a +confused swarming of people. There was here a goods gate, by which the +sick were taken out of the station, and a mass of stretchers, litters, +and hand-carts, with piles of pillows and mattresses, obstructed the +broad walk. Three parties of bearers were also assembled here, persons of +well-nigh every class, but more particularly young men of good society, +all wearing red, orange-tipped crosses and straps of yellow leather. Many +of them, too, had adopted the Bearnese cap, the convenient head-gear of +the region; and a few, clad as though they were bound on some distant +expedition, displayed wonderful gaiters reaching to their knees. Some +were smoking, whilst others, installed in their little vehicles, slept or +read 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, like +those of a credulous child, was approaching. It was Baron Suire, the +President of the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation. He possessed a +great fortune and occupied a high position at Toulouse. + +“Where is Berthaud?” he inquired of one bearer after another, with a busy +air. “Where is Berthaud? I must speak to him.” + +The others answered, volunteering contradictory information. Berthaud was +their superintendent, and whilst some said that they had seen him with +the Reverend Father Fourcade, others affirmed that he must be in the +courtyard of the station inspecting the ambulance vehicles. And they +thereupon offered to go and fetch him. + +“No, no, thank you,” replied the Baron. “I shall manage to find him +myself.” + +Whilst this was happening, Berthaud, who had just seated himself on a +bench at the other end of the station, was talking with his young friend, +Gérard de Peyrelongue, by way of occupation pending the arrival of the +train. The superintendent of the bearers was a man of forty, with a +broad, regular-featured, handsome face and carefully trimmed whiskers of +a lawyer-like pattern. Belonging to a militant Legitimist family and +holding extremely reactionary opinions, he had been Procureur de la +Republique (public prosecutor) in a town of the south of France from the +time of the parliamentary revolution of the twenty-fourth of May* until +that of the decree of the Religious Communities,** when he had resigned +his post in a blusterous fashion, by addressing an insulting letter to +the Minister of Justice. And he had never since laid down his arms, but +had joined the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation as a sort of protest, +repairing year after year to Lourdes in order to “demonstrate”; convinced +as he was that the pilgrimages were both disagreeable and hurtful to the +Republic, and that God alone could re-establish the Monarchy by one of +those miracles which He worked so lavishly at the Grotto. Despite all +this, however, Berthaud possessed no small amount of good sense, and +being of a gay disposition, displayed a kind of jovial charity towards +the poor sufferers whose transport he had to provide for during the three +days 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 Gérard,” 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.” + +Gérard de Peyrelongue, a short, thin, carroty young man, with a +pronounced nose and prominent cheek-bones, belonged to Tarbes, where his +father and mother had lately died, leaving him at the utmost some seven +or eight thousand francs a year. Extremely ambitious, he had been unable +to find such a wife as he desired in his native province--a +well-connected young woman capable of helping him to push both forward +and upward in the world; and so he had joined the Hospitality, and betook +himself every summer to Lourdes, in the vague hope that amidst the mass +of believers, the torrent of devout mammas and daughters which flowed +thither, he might find the family whose help he needed to enable him to +make his way in this terrestrial sphere. However, he remained in +perplexity, for if, on the one hand, he already had several young ladies +in view, on the other, none of them completely satisfied him. + +“Eh, cousin? You will advise me, won’t you?” he said to Berthaud. “You +are a man of experience. There is Mademoiselle Lemercier who comes here +with her aunt. She is very rich; according to what is said she has over a +million francs. But she doesn’t belong to our set, and besides I think +her a bit of a madcap.” + +Berthaud nodded. “I told you so; if I were you I should choose little +Raymonde, Mademoiselle de Jonquière.” + +“But she hasn’t a copper!” + +“That’s true--she has barely enough to pay for her board. But she is +fairly good-looking, she has been well brought up, and she has no +extravagant tastes. That is the really important point, for what is the +use of marrying a rich girl if she squanders the dowry she brings you? +Besides, I know Madame and Mademoiselle de Jonquière very well, I meet +them all through the winter in the most influential drawing-rooms of +Paris. And, finally, don’t forget the girl’s uncle, the diplomatist, who +has had the painful courage to remain in the service of the Republic. He +will be able to do whatever he pleases for his niece’s husband.” + +For a moment Gérard seemed shaken, and then he relapsed into perplexity. +“But she hasn’t a copper,” he said, “no, not a copper. It’s too stiff. I +am 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, so +you must be daring. I tell you that it means the secretaryship of an +embassy before two years are over. By the way, Madame and Mademoiselle de +Jonquière are in the white train which we are waiting for. Make up your +mind 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 already +once gone by without perceiving them, so completely did the darkness +enshroud them in that retired corner, had just recognised the ex-public +prosecutor’s good-natured laugh. And, thereupon, with the volubility of a +man whose head is easily unhinged, he gave him several orders respecting +the vehicles and the transport service, deploring the circumstance that +it would be impossible to conduct the patients to the Grotto immediately +on their arrival, as it was yet so extremely early. It had therefore been +decided that they should in the first instance be taken to the Hospital +of Our Lady of Dolours, where they would be able to rest awhile after +their trying journey. + +Whilst the Baron and the superintendent were thus settling what measures +should be adopted, Gérard shook hands with a priest who had sat down +beside him. This was the Abbé des Hermoises, who was barely +eight-and-thirty years of age and had a superb head--such a head as one +might expect to find on the shoulders of a worldly priest. With his hair +well combed, and his person perfumed, he was not unnaturally a great +favourite among women. Very amiable and distinguished in his manners, he +did not come to Lourdes in any official capacity, but simply for his +pleasure, as so many other people did; and the bright, sparkling smile of +a sceptic above all idolatry gleamed in the depths of his fine eyes. He +certainly believed, and bowed to superior decisions; but the Church--the +Holy See--had not pronounced itself with regard to the miracles; and he +seemed quite ready to dispute their authenticity. Having lived at Tarbes +he was already acquainted with Gérard. + +“Ah!” he said to him, “how impressive it is--isn’t it?--this waiting for +the trains in the middle of the night! I have come to meet a lady--one of +my 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 on +the same bench, the Abbé considerately began talking to him, speaking of +the beauty of the Lourdes district and of the theatrical effect which +would 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 along +shouting orders. Removing his hand from Dr. Bonamy’s shoulder, Father +Fourcade, despite his gouty leg, hastily drew near. + +“Oh! it’s that Bayonne express which is so late,” answered the +station-master in reply to the questions addressed to him. “I should like +some information about it; I’m not at ease.” + +At this moment the telegraph bells rang out and a porter rushed away into +the darkness swinging a lantern, whilst a distant signal began to work. +Thereupon the station-master resumed: “Ah! this time it’s the white +train. Let us hope we shall have time to get the sick people out before +the express passes.” + +He started off once more and disappeared. Berthaud meanwhile called to +Gérard, who was at the head of a squad of bearers, and they both made +haste to join their men, into whom Baron Suire was already instilling +activity. The bearers flocked to the spot from all sides, and setting +themselves in motion began dragging their little vehicles across the +lines to the platform at which the white train would come in--an unroofed +platform 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 turn +crossed over in order to witness the removal of the ailing pilgrims. All +that 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 which +grew larger and larger. Strident whistles pierced the night, then +suddenly ceased, and you only heard the panting of the steam and the dull +roar of the wheels gradually slackening their speed. Then the canticle +became distinctly audible, the song of Bernadette with the ever-recurring +“Aves” of its refrain, which the whole train was chanting in chorus. And +at 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 healthy +pilgrims, and of ailing ones able to walk, alighted, and streamed over +the platform. The few gas lamps cast but a feeble light on the crowd of +poverty-stricken beings clad in faded garments, and encumbered with all +sorts of parcels, baskets, valises, and boxes. And amidst all the +jostling of this scared flock, which did not know in which direction to +turn to find its way out of the station, loud exclamations were heard, +the shouts of people calling relatives whom they had lost, mingled with +the embraces of others whom relatives or friends had come to meet. One +woman declared with beatifical satisfaction, “I have slept well.” A +priest went off carrying his travelling-bag, after wishing a crippled +lady “good luck!” Most of them had the bewildered, weary, yet joyous +appearance of people whom an excursion train sets down at some unknown +station. And such became the scramble and the confusion in the darkness, +that they did not hear the railway _employés_ who grew quite hoarse +through shouting, “This way! this way!” in their eagerness to clear the +platform as soon as possible. + +Sister Hyacinthe had nimbly alighted from her compartment, leaving the +dead man in the charge of Sister Claire des Anges; and, losing her head +somewhat, she ran off to the cantine van in the idea that Ferrand would +be able to help her. Fortunately she found Father Fourcade in front of +the van and acquainted him with the fatality in a low voice. Repressing a +gesture 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 with +two bearers carrying a covered litter. In this the man was removed from +the carriage as though he were a patient who had simply fainted, the mob +of pilgrims paying no further attention to him amidst all the emotion of +their arrival. Preceded by the Baron, the bearers carried the corpse into +a goods office, where they provisionally lodged it behind some barrels; +one of them, a fair-haired little fellow, a general’s son, remaining to +watch over it. + +Meanwhile, after begging Ferrand and Sister Saint-François to go and wait +for her in the courtyard of the station, near the reserved vehicle which +was to take them to the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours, Sister Hyacinthe +returned to the railway carriage and talked of helping her patients to +alight 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 here +the last. My father and Abbé Froment have gone to the van to fetch the +wheels; I am waiting for their return; they know how to fix them, and +they 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 be +moved until the crowd had decreased. Madame de Jonquière, who had taken +charge of La Grivotte, also promised to see to Madame Vetu’s removal in +an ambulance vehicle. And thereupon Sister Hyacinthe decided that she +would 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 and +quite white, struggled through the crowd, possessed by the fixed idea of +running off as soon as possible and depositing the child in the Grotto at +the feet of the Blessed Virgin. + +The mob was now pressing towards the doorway by which passengers left the +station, and to facilitate the egress of all these people it at last +became necessary to open the luggage gates. The _employés_, at a loss how +to take the tickets, held out their caps, which a downpour of the little +cards speedily filled. And in the courtyard, a large square courtyard, +skirted on three sides by the low buildings of the station, the most +extraordinary uproar prevailed amongst all the vehicles of divers kinds +which were there jumbled together. The hotel omnibuses, backed against +the curb of the footway, displayed the most sacred names on their large +boards--Jesus and Mary, St. Michel, the Rosary, and the Sacred Heart. +Then there were ambulance vehicles, landaus, cabriolets, brakes, and +little donkey carts, all entangled together, with their drivers shouting, +swearing, and cracking their whips--the tumult being apparently increased +by the obscurity in which the lanterns set brilliant patches of light. + +Rain had fallen heavily a few hours previously. Liquid mud splashed up +under the hoofs of the horses; the foot passengers sank into it to their +ankles. M. Vigneron, whom Madame Vigneron and Madame Chaise were +following in a state of distraction, raised Gustave, in order to place +him in the omnibus from the Hotel of the Apparitions, after which he +himself and the ladies climbed into the vehicle. Madame Maze, shuddering +slightly, 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 quickly +drove away, after giving as address the Convent of the Blue Sisters. And +at last Sister Hyacinthe was able to install herself with Elise Rouquet +and Sophie Couteau in a large _char-a-bancs_, in which Ferrand and +Sisters Saint-François and Claire des Anges were already seated. The +drivers whipped up their spirited little horses, and the vehicles went +off at a breakneck pace, amidst the shouts of those left behind, and the +splashing of the mire. + +In presence of that rushing torrent, Madame Vincent, with her dear little +burden in her arms, hesitated to cross over. Bursts of laughter rang out +around her every now and then. Oh! what a filthy mess! And at sight of +all the mud, the women caught up their skirts before attempting to pass +through it. At last, when the courtyard had somewhat emptied, Madame +Vincent herself ventured on her way, all terror lest the mire should make +her fall in that black darkness. Then, on reaching a downhill road, she +noticed there a number of women of the locality who were on the watch, +offering furnished rooms, bed and board, according to the state of the +pilgrim’s purse. + +“Which is the way to the Grotto, madame, if you please?” asked Madame +Vincent, addressing one old woman of the party. + +Instead of answering the question, however, the other offered her a cheap +room. “You won’t find anything in the hotels,” said she, “for they are +all full. Perhaps you will be able to eat there, but you certainly won’t +find a closet even to sleep in.” + +Eat, sleep, indeed! Had Madame Vincent any thought of such things; she +who had left Paris with thirty sous in her pocket, all that remained to +her 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 slightly +shrugged her shoulders. And then, seeing a broad-chested priest with a +red face go by, she rushed after him, offered him a furnished room, and +continued following him, whispering in his ear. + +Another girl, however, at last took pity on Madame Vincent and said to +her: “Here, go down this road, and when you get to the bottom, turn to +the right and you will reach the Grotto.” + +Meanwhile, the confusion inside the station continued. The healthy +pilgrims, and those of the sick who retained the use of their legs could +go off, thus, in some measure, clearing the platform; but the others, the +more grievously stricken sufferers whom it was difficult to get out of +the carriages and remove to the hospital, remained waiting. The bearers +seemed to become quite bewildered, rushing madly hither and thither with +their litters and vehicles, not knowing at what end to set about the +profusion of work which lay before them. + +As Berthaud, followed by Gérard, went along the platform, gesticulating, +he noticed two ladies and a girl who were standing under a gas jet and to +all appearance waiting. In the girl he recognised Raymonde, and with a +sign of the hand he at once stopped his companion. “Ah! mademoiselle,” + said he, “how pleased I am to see you! Is Madame de Jonquière quite well? +You have made a good journey, I hope?” Then, without a pause, he added: +“This is my friend, Monsieur Gérard 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 this +gentleman,” she said. “We have previously met one another at Lourdes.” + +Thereupon Gérard, who thought that his cousin Berthaud was conducting +matters too quickly, and was quite resolved that he would not enter into +any hasty engagement, contented himself with bowing in a ceremonious way. + +“We are waiting for mamma,” resumed Raymonde. “She is extremely busy; she +has to see after some pilgrims who are very ill.” + +At this, little Madame Désagneaux, with her pretty, light wavy-haired +head, began to say that it served Madame de Jonquière right for refusing +her services. She herself was stamping with impatience, eager to join in +the work and make herself useful, whilst Madame Volmar, silent, shrinking +back as though taking no interest in it at all, seemed simply desirous of +penetrating the darkness, as though, indeed, she were seeking somebody +with those magnificent eyes of hers, usually bedimmed, but now shining +out like brasiers. + +Just then, however, they were all pushed back. Madame Dieulafay was being +removed from her first-class compartment, and Madame Désagneaux could not +restrain 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, so +wasted that she seemed to be a mere human shred, deposited on that +platform till it could be taken away. Her husband and her sister, both +very elegant and very sad, remained standing near her, whilst a +man-servant and maid ran off with the valises to ascertain if the +carriage which had been ordered by telegram was in the courtyard. Abbé +Judaine also helped the sufferer; and when two men at last took her up he +bent over her and wished her _au revoir_, adding some kind words which +she did not seem to hear. Then as he watched her removal, he resumed, +addressing himself to Berthaud, whom he knew: “Ah! the poor people, if +they could only purchase their dear sufferer’s cure. I told them that +prayer was the most precious thing in the Blessed Virgin’s eyes, and I +hope that I have myself prayed fervently enough to obtain the compassion +of Heaven. Nevertheless, they have brought a magnificent gift, a golden +lantern 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. Some +huge bouquets of flowers had just gone by, together with a kind of triple +crown of roses, mounted on a wooden stand. And the old priest explained +that before leaving the station he wished to secure a banner, the gift of +the beautiful Madame Jousseur, Madame Dieulafay’s sister. + +Madame de Jonquière was at last approaching, however, and on perceiving +Berthaud and Gérard she exclaimed: “Pray do go to that carriage, +gentlemen--that one, there! We want some men very badly. There are three +or four sick persons to be taken out. I am in despair; I can do nothing +myself.” + +Gérard ran off after bowing to Raymonde, whilst Berthaud advised Madame +de Jonquière to leave the station with her daughter and those ladies +instead of remaining on the platform. Her presence was in nowise +necessary, he said; he would undertake everything, and within three +quarters of an hour she would find her patients in her ward at the +hospital. She ended by giving way, and took a conveyance in company with +Raymonde and Madame Désagneaux. As for Madame Volmar, she had at the last +moment disappeared, as though seized with a sudden fit of impatience. The +others fancied that they had seen her approach a strange gentleman, with +the object no doubt of making some inquiry of him. However, they would of +course find her at the hospital. + +Berthaud joined Gérard again just as the young man, assisted by two +fellow-bearers, was endeavouring to remove M. Sabathier from the +carriage. 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 of +the compartment. However, as he had been got in they ought to be able to +get him out; and indeed when two other bearers had entered the carriage +from the other side, they were at last able to deposit him on the +platform. + +The dawn was now appearing, a faint pale dawn; and the platform presented +the woeful appearance of an improvised hospital. La Grivotte, who had +lost consciousness, lay there on a mattress pending her removal in a +litter; whilst Madame Vetu had been seated against a lamp-post, suffering +so severely from another attack of her ailment that they scarcely dared +to touch her. Some hospitallers, whose hands were gloved, were with +difficulty wheeling their little vehicles in which were poor, +sordid-looking women with old baskets at their feet. Others, with +stretchers on which lay the stiffened, woeful bodies of silent sufferers, +whose eyes gleamed with anguish, found themselves unable to pass; but +some of the infirm pilgrims, some unfortunate cripples, contrived to slip +through the ranks, among them a young priest who was lame, and a little +humpbacked boy, one of whose legs had been amputated, and who, looking +like a gnome, managed to drag himself with his crutches from group to +group. 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 chair +with his head and feet hanging downward. It seemed as though hours would +be required to clear the platform. + +The dismay therefore reached a climax when the station-master suddenly +rushed up shouting: “The Bayonne express is signalled. Make haste! make +haste! You have only three minutes left!” + +Father Fourcade, who had remained in the midst of the throng, leaning on +Doctor Bonamy’s arm, and gaily encouraging the more stricken of the +sufferers, beckoned to Berthaud and said to him: “Finish taking them out +of the train; you will be able to clear the platform afterwards!” + +The advice was very sensible, and in accordance with it they finished +placing the sufferers on the platform. In Madame de Jonquière’s carriage +Marie now alone remained, waiting patiently. M. de Guersaint and Pierre +had at last returned to her, bringing the two pairs of wheels by means of +which the box in which she lay was rolled about. And with Gérard’s +assistance Pierre in all haste removed the girl from the train. She was +as light as a poor shivering bird, and it was only the box that gave them +any trouble. However, they soon placed it on the wheels and made the +latter fast, and then Pierre might have rolled Marie away had it not been +for 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 to +remove him from the compartment more speedily. And he also pushed the +little hand-carts back, so as to clear the edge of the platform. In a +second-class carriage, however, there still remained one woman who had +just been overpowered by a terrible nervous attack. She was howling and +struggling, and it was impossible to think of touching her at that +moment. But on the other hand the express, signalled by the incessant +tinkling of the electric bells, was now fast approaching, and they had to +close the door and in all haste shunt the train to the siding where it +would remain for three days, until in fact it was required to convey its +load of sick and healthy passengers back to Paris. As it went off to the +siding the crowd still heard the cries of the suffering woman, whom it +had been necessary to leave in it, in charge of a Sister, cries which +grew weaker and weaker, like those of a strengthless child whom one at +last 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 the +next moment it rushed like a crash of thunder past that woeful platform +littered with all the grievous wretchedness of a hospital hastily +evacuated. The litters and little handcarts were shaken, but there was no +accident, for the porters were on the watch, and pushed back the +bewildered flock which was still jostling and struggling in its eagerness +to get away. As soon as the express had passed, however, circulation was +re-established, and the bearers were at last able to complete the removal +of 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 was +still black. One began to distinguish things and people clearly. + +“Oh, by-and-by!” Marie repeated to Pierre, as he endeavoured to roll her +away. “Let us wait till some part of the crowd has gone.” + +Then, looking around, she began to feel interested in a man of military +bearing, apparently some sixty years of age, who was walking about among +the sick pilgrims. With a square-shaped head and white bushy hair, he +would 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, he +leant heavily on a thick walking-stick. When M. Sabathier, who had +visited 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 a +broad red riband, he was possibly called Commander on account of his +decoration, albeit the latter was that of a mere chevalier. Nobody +exactly knew his story. No doubt he had relatives and children of his own +somewhere, but these matters remained vague and mysterious. For the last +three years he had been employed at the railway station as a +superintendent in the goods department, a simple occupation, a little +berth which had been given him by favour and which enabled him to live in +perfect happiness. A first stroke of apoplexy at fifty-five years of age +had been followed by a second one three years later, which had left him +slightly paralysed in the left side. And now he was awaiting the third +stroke with an air of perfect tranquillity. As he himself put it, he was +at the disposal of death, which might come for him that night, the next +day, or possibly that very moment. All Lourdes knew him on account of the +habit, the mania he had, at pilgrimage time, of coming to witness the +arrival of the trains, dragging his foot along and leaning upon his +stick, whilst expressing his astonishment and reproaching the ailing ones +for their intense desire to be made whole and sound again. + +This was the third year that he had seen M. Sabathier arrive, and all his +anger 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 best +thing that can happen to anyone?” + +M. Sabathier evinced no anger, but laughed, exhausted though he was by +the handling to which he had been subjected during his removal from the +carriage. “No, no,” said he, “I prefer to be cured.” + +“To be cured, to be cured! That’s what they all ask for. They travel +hundreds of leagues and arrive in fragments, howling with pain, and all +this 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 your +dilapidated old body, your Blessed Virgin should be pleased to restore +the 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 for +a few years more? It’s much better to die at once, while you are like +that! Death is happiness!” + +He spoke in this fashion, not as a believer who aspires to the delicious +reward of eternal life, but as a weary man who expects to fall into +nihility, to enjoy the great everlasting peace of being no more. + +Whilst M. Sabathier was gaily shrugging his shoulders as though he had a +child to deal with, Abbé Judaine, who had at last secured his banner, +came by and stopped for a moment in order that he might gently scold the +Commander, with whom he also was well acquainted. + +“Don’t blaspheme, my dear friend,” he said. “It is an offence against God +to refuse life and to treat health with contempt. If you yourself had +listened to me, you would have asked the Blessed Virgin to cure your leg +before now.” + +At this the Commander became angry. “My leg! The Virgin can do nothing to +it! 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 you +die--it’s simple enough.” + +The old priest interrupted him, however. Pointing to Marie, who was lying +on her box listening to them, he exclaimed: “You tell all our sick to go +home and die--even mademoiselle, eh? She who is full of youth and wishes +to live.” + +Marie’s eyes were wide open, burning with the ardent desire which she +felt to _be_, to enjoy her share of the vast world; and the Commander, +who had drawn near, gazed upon her, suddenly seized with deep emotion +which made his voice tremble. “If mademoiselle gets well,” he said, “I +will wish her another miracle, that she be happy.” + +Then he went off, dragging his foot and tapping the flagstones with the +ferrule of his stout stick as he continued wending his way, like an angry +philosopher among the suffering pilgrims. + +Little by little, the platform was at last cleared. Madame Vetu and La +Grivotte were carried away, and Gérard removed M. Sabathier in a little +cart, whilst Baron Suire and Berthaud already began giving orders for the +green train, which would be the next one to arrive. Of all the ailing +pilgrims the only one now remaining at the station was Marie, of whom +Pierre jealously took charge. He had already dragged her into the +courtyard when he noticed that M. de Guersaint had disappeared; but a +moment later he perceived him conversing with the Abbé des Hermoises, +whose acquaintance he had just made. Their admiration of the beauties of +nature had brought them together. The daylight had now appeared, and the +surrounding mountains displayed themselves in all their majesty. + +“What a lovely country, monsieur!” exclaimed M. de Guersaint. “I have +been wishing to see the Cirque de Gavarnie for thirty years past. But it +is some distance away and the trip must be an expensive one, so that I +fear I shall not be able to make it.” + +“You are mistaken, monsieur,” said the Abbé; “nothing is more easily +managed. By making up a party the expense becomes very slight. And as it +happens, I wish to return there this year, so that if you would like to +join 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 taking +leave of the Abbé in a very cordial manner. Pierre had decided that he +would drag Marie to the hospital so as to spare her the pain of +transference to another vehicle. But as the omnibuses, landaus, and other +conveyances were already coming back, again filling the courtyard in +readiness for the arrival of the next train, the young priest had some +difficulty in reaching the road with the little chariot whose low wheels +sank deeply in the mud. Some police agents charged with maintaining order +were cursing that fearful mire which splashed their boots; and indeed it +was only the touts, the young and old women who had rooms to let, who +laughed at the puddles, which they crossed and crossed again in every +direction, pursuing the last pilgrims that emerged from the station. + +When the little car had begun to roll more easily over the sloping road +Marie 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 she +will cure me?” + +Then she began thinking again; while, at some distance behind her, two +bearers came furtively down the road, with a covered stretcher in which +lay the corpse of the man who had died in the train. They had gone to +take it from behind the barrels in the goods office, and were now +conveying 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 unfinished +through lack of money, the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours is a vast +pile, four storeys high, and consequently far too lofty, since it is +difficult to carry the sufferers to the topmost wards. As a rule the +building is occupied by a hundred infirm and aged paupers; but at the +season of the national pilgrimage these old folks are for three days +sheltered elsewhere, and the hospital is let to the Fathers of the +Assumption, who at times lodge in it as many as five and six hundred +patients. Still, however closely packed they may be, the accommodation +never suffices, so that the three or four hundred remaining sufferers +have to be distributed between the Hospital of Salvation and the town +hospital, the men being sent to the former and the women to the latter +institution. + +That morning at sunrise great confusion prevailed in the sand-covered +courtyard of Our Lady of Dolours, at the door of which a couple of +priests were mounting guard. The temporary staff, with its formidable +supply of registers, cards, and printed formulas, had installed itself in +one of the ground-floor rooms on the previous day. The managers were +desirous of greatly improving upon the organisation of the preceding +year. The lower wards were this time to be reserved to the most helpless +sufferers; and in order to prevent a repetition of the cases of mistaken +identity which had occurred in the past, very great care was to be taken +in filling in and distributing the admission cards, each of which bore +the 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 the +torrent of ailing beings which the white train had brought to Lourdes, +and the new formalities so complicated matters that the patients had to +be deposited in the courtyard as they arrived, to wait there until it +became possible to admit them in something like an orderly manner. It was +the scene witnessed at the railway station all over again, the same +woeful camping in the open, whilst the bearers and the young seminarists +who acted as the secretary’s assistants ran hither and thither in +bewilderment. + +“We have been over-ambitious, we wanted to do things too well!” exclaimed +Baron Suire in despair. + +There was much truth in his remark, for never had a greater number of +useless precautions been taken, and they now discovered that, by some +inexplicable error, they had allotted not the lower--but the +higher-placed wards to the patients whom it was most difficult to move. +It was impossible to begin the classification afresh, however, and so as +in former years things must be allowed to take their course, in a +haphazard way. The distribution of the cards began, a young priest at the +same time entering each patient’s name and address in a register. +Moreover, all the _hospitalisation_ cards bearing the patients’ names and +numbers had to be produced, so that the names of the wards and the +numbers of the beds might be added to them; and all these formalities +greatly protracted the _défile_. + +Then there was an endless coming and going from the top to the bottom of +the 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 a +ground-floor room which was known as the Family Ward. Sick men were there +allowed to have their wives with them; but to the other wards of the +hospital only women were admitted. Brother Isidore, it is true, was +accompanied by his sister; however, by a special favour it was agreed +that they should be considered as conjoints, and the missionary was +accordingly placed in the bed next to that allotted to M. Sabathier. The +chapel, still littered with plaster and with its unfinished windows +boarded up, was close at hand. There were also various wards in an +unfinished state; still these were filled with mattresses, on which +sufferers were rapidly placed. All those who could walk, however, were +already besieging the refectory, a long gallery whose broad windows +looked into an inner courtyard; and the Saint-Frai Sisters, who managed +the hospital at other times, and had remained to attend to the cooking, +began to distribute bowls of coffee and chocolate among the poor women +whom the terrible journey had exhausted. + +“Rest yourselves and try to gain a little strength,” repeated Baron +Suire, who was ever on the move, showing himself here, there, and +everywhere in rapid succession. “You have three good hours before you, it +is not yet five, and their reverences have given orders that you are not +to be taken to the Grotto until eight o’clock, so as to avoid any +excessive fatigue.” + +Meanwhile, up above on the second floor, Madame de Jonquière had been one +of the first to take possession of the Sainte-Honorine Ward of which she +was the superintendent. She had been obliged to leave her daughter +Raymonde downstairs, for the regulations did not allow young girls to +enter the wards, where they might have witnessed sights that were +scarcely proper or else too horrible for such eyes as theirs. Raymonde +had therefore remained in the refectory as a helper; however, little +Madame Désagneaux, being a lady-hospitaller, had not left the +superintendent, and was already asking her for orders, in her delight +that she should at last be able to render some assistance. + +“Are all these beds properly made, madame?” she inquired; “perhaps I had +better make them afresh with Sister Hyacinthe.” + +The ward, whose walls were painted a light yellow, and whose few windows +admitted 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 Jonquière with an absorbed +air. She was busy counting the beds and examining the long narrow +apartment. And this accomplished she added in an undertone: “I shall +never have room enough. They say that I must accommodate twenty-three +patients. We shall have to put some mattresses down.” + +Sister Hyacinthe, who had followed the ladies after leaving Sister +Saint-François and Sister Claire des Anges in a small adjoining apartment +which was being transformed into a linen-room, then began to lift up the +coverlets and examine the bedding. And she promptly reassured Madame +Désagneaux with regard to her surmises. “Oh! the beds are properly made,” + she said; “everything is very clean too. One can see that the Saint-Frai +Sisters have attended to things themselves. The reserve mattresses are in +the next room, however, and if madame will lend me a hand we can place +some of them between the beds at once. + +“Oh, certainly!” exclaimed young Madame Désagneaux, quite excited by the +idea of carrying mattresses about with her weak slender arms. + +It became necessary for Madame de Jonquière to calm her. “By-and-by,” + said the lady-superintendent; “there is no hurry. Let us wait till our +patients 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, we +will organise matters, all the same.” + +Some other lady-hospitallers were now arriving, quite a hiveful of busy +bees, all eager to start on their work. The confusion which so often +arose was, in fact, increased by the excessive number of nurses, women of +the aristocracy and upper-middle class, with whose fervent zeal some +little vanity was blended. There were more than two hundred of them, and +as each had to make a donation on joining the Hospitality of Our Lady of +Salvation, the managers did not dare to refuse any applicants, for fear +lest they might check the flow of alms-giving. Thus the number of +lady-hospitallers increased year by year. Fortunately there were among +them some who cared for nothing beyond the privilege of wearing the red +cloth cross, and who started off on excursions as soon as they reached +Lourdes. Still it must be acknowledged that those who devoted themselves +were really deserving, for they underwent five days of awful fatigue, +sleeping scarcely a couple of hours each night, and living in the midst +of the most terrible and repulsive spectacles. They witnessed the death +agonies, dressed the pestilential sores, cleaned up, changed linen, +turned the sufferers over in their beds, went through a sickening and +overwhelming labour to which they were in no wise accustomed. And thus +they emerged from it aching all over, tired to death, with feverish eyes +flaming with the joy of the charity which so excited them. + +“And Madame Volmar?” suddenly asked Madame Désagneaux. “I thought we +should find her here.” + +This was apparently a subject which Madame de Jonquière did not care to +have discussed; for, as though she were aware of the truth and wished to +bury it in silence, with the indulgence of a woman who compassionates +human 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 to +each of them; and this done they all finished taking possession of the +place, hastening up and down and backwards and forwards in order to +ascertain where the offices, the linen-room, and the kitchens were +situated. + +“And the dispensary?” then asked one of the ladies. + +But there was no dispensary. There was no medical staff even. What would +have been the use of any?--since the patients were those whom science had +given up, despairing creatures who had come to beg of God the cure which +powerless men were unable to promise them. Logically enough, all +treatment was suspended during the pilgrimage. If a patient seemed likely +to die, extreme unction was administered. The only medical man about the +place was the young doctor who had come by the white train with his +little medicine chest; and his intervention was limited to an endeavour +to assuage the sufferings of those patients who chanced to ask for him +during an attack. + +As it happened, Sister Hyacinthe was just bringing Ferrand, whom Sister +Saint-François had kept with her in a closet near the linen-room which he +proposed to make his quarters. “Madame,” said he to Madame de Jonquière, +“I am entirely at your disposal. In case of need you will only have to +ring for me.” + +She barely listened to him, however, engaged as she was in a quarrel with +a young priest belonging to the management with reference to a deficiency +of certain utensils. “Certainly, monsieur, if we should need a soothing +draught,” she answered, and then, reverting to her discussion, she went +on: “Well, Monsieur l’Abbé, 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 extraordinary +behaviour of the people amongst whom he had been thrown by chance since +the previous day. He who did not believe, who was only present out of +friendship and charity, was amazed at this extraordinary scramble of +wretchedness and suffering rushing towards the hope of happiness. And, as +a medical man of the new school, he was altogether upset by the careless +neglect of precautions, the contempt which was shown for the most simple +teachings of science, in the certainty which was apparently felt that, if +Heaven 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 engage +a doctor for the journey if none were wanted? At this thought the young +man returned to his little room, experiencing a vague feeling of shame as +he realised that his presence was useless, and even a trifle ridiculous. + +“Get some opium pills ready all the same,” said Sister Hyacinthe, as she +went 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 and +so kind, and ever lighted by a divine smile. The constant exercise which +she gave herself brought the rosy flush of her quick blood to her skin +all dazzling with youthfulness. And like a good friend who was willing +that 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 pleased +that he had come and was there. In his mind’s eye, he again beheld her at +his bedside, at the time when he had so narrowly escaped death, nursing +him with fraternal hands, with the smiling, compassionate grace of a +sexless angel, in whom there was something more than a comrade, something +of a woman left. However, the thought never occurred to him that there +was religion, belief, behind her. + +“Oh! I will help you as much as you like, Sister,” he replied. “I belong +to you, I shall be so happy to serve you. You know very well what a debt +of 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 and +the poor. + +At this moment a first patient was making her entry into the +Sainte-Honorine Ward. It was Marie, lying in her wooden box, which +Pierre, with Gérard’s assistance, had just brought up-stairs. The last to +start from the railway station, she had secured admission before the +others, thanks to the endless complications which, after keeping them all +in suspense, now freed them according to the chance distribution of the +admission cards. M. de Guersaint had quitted his daughter at the hospital +door by her own desire; for, fearing the hotels would be very full, she +had 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 chagrin +at not being immediately taken to the Grotto, she consented to be laid on +a bed for a short time. + +“Come, my child,” repeated Madame de Jonquière, “you have three hours +before you. We will put you to bed. It will ease you to take you out of +that case.” + +Thereupon the lady-superintendent raised her by the shoulders, whilst +Sister Hyacinthe held her feet. The bed was in the central part of the +ward, near a window. For a moment the poor girl remained on it with her +eyes closed, as though exhausted by being moved about so much. Then it +became necessary that Pierre should be readmitted, for she grew very +fidgety, 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 to +be 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 taken +yonder to the Blessed Virgin’s feet.” + +However, when Pierre had removed the case, the successive arrivals of the +other patients supplied her with some little diversion. Madame Vetu, whom +two bearers had brought up-stairs, holding her under the arms, was laid, +fully dressed, on the next bed, where she remained motionless, scarce +breathing, with her heavy, yellow, cancerous mask. None of the patients, +it should be mentioned, were divested of their clothes, they were simply +stretched out on the beds, and advised to go to sleep if they could +manage to do so. Those whose complaints were less grievous contented +themselves with sitting down on their mattresses, chatting together, and +putting 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’s +bed, opened her basket to take a clean fichu out of it, and seemed sorely +annoyed at having no hand-glass with her. In less than ten minutes all +the beds were occupied, so that when La Grivotte appeared, half carried +by Sister Hyacinthe and Sister Claire des Anges, it became necessary to +place some mattresses on the floor. + +“Here! here is one,” exclaimed Madame Désagneaux; “she will be very well +here, out of the draught from the door.” + +Seven other mattresses were soon added in a line, occupying the space +between the rows of beds, so that it became difficult to move about. One +had to be very careful, and follow narrow pathways which had been left +between the beds and the mattresses. Each of the patients had retained +possession of her parcel, or box, or bag, and round about the improvised +shakedowns were piles of poor old things, sorry remnants of garments, +straying among the sheets and the coverlets. You might have thought +yourself in some woeful infirmary, hastily organised after some great +catastrophe, some conflagration or earthquake which had thrown hundreds +of wounded and penniless beings into the streets. + +Madame de Jonquière made her way from one to the other end of the ward, +ever and ever repeating, “Come, my children, don’t excite yourselves; try +to 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 general +fever by her own bewilderment. The linen of several patients had to be +changed, and there were other needs to be attended to. One woman, +suffering from an ulcer in the leg, began moaning so dreadfully that +Madame Désagneaux undertook to dress her sore afresh; but she was not +skilful, and despite all her passionate courage she almost fainted, so +greatly was she distressed by the unbearable odour. Those patients who +were in better health asked for broth, bowlfuls of which began to +circulate amidst the calls, the answers, and the contradictory orders +which nobody executed. And meanwhile, let loose amidst this frightful +scramble, little Sophie Couteau, who remained with the Sisters, and was +very gay, imagined that it was playtime, and ran, and jumped, and hopped +in turn, called and petted first by one and then by another, dear as she +was to all alike for the miraculous hope which she brought them. + +However, amidst this agitation, the hours went by. Seven o’clock had just +struck when Abbé Judaine came in. He was the chaplain of the +Sainte-Honorine Ward, and only the difficulty of finding an unoccupied +altar at which he might say his mass had delayed his arrival. As soon as +he appeared, a cry of impatience arose from every bed. + +“Oh! Monsieur le Curé, let us start, let us start at once!” + +An ardent desire, which each passing minute heightened and irritated, was +upbuoying them, like a more and more devouring thirst, which only the +waters of the miraculous fountain could appease. And more fervently than +any of the others, La Grivotte, sitting up on her mattress, and joining +her hands, begged and begged that she might be taken to the Grotto. Was +there not a beginning of the miracle in this--in this awakening of her +will power, this feverish desire for cure which enabled her to set +herself erect? Inert and fainting on her arrival, she was now seated, +turning her dark glances in all directions, waiting and watching for the +happy moment when she would be removed. And colour also was returning to +her livid face. She was already resuscitating. + +“Oh! Monsieur le Curé, pray do tell them to take me--I feel that I shall +be cured,” she exclaimed. + +With a loving, fatherly smile on his good-natured face, Abbé Judaine +listened to them all, and allayed their impatience with kind words. They +would soon set out; but they must be reasonable, and allow sufficient +time for things to be organised; and besides, the Blessed Virgin did not +like to have violence done her; she bided her time, and distributed her +divine favours among those who behaved themselves the best. + +As he paused before Marie’s bed and beheld her, stammering entreaties +with joined hands, he again paused. “And you, too, my daughter, you are +in a hurry?” he said. “Be easy, there is grace enough in heaven for you +all.” + +“I am dying of love, Father,” she murmured in reply. “My heart is so +swollen with prayers, it stifles me--” + +He was greatly touched by the passion of this poor emaciated child, so +harshly stricken in her youth and beauty, and wishing to appease her, he +called her attention to Madame Vetu, who did not move, though with her +eyes wide open she stared at all who passed. + +“Look at madame, how quiet she is!” he said. “She is meditating, and she +does right to place herself in God’s hands, like a little child.” + +However, in a scarcely audible voice, a mere breath, Madame Vetu +stammered: “Oh! I am suffering, I am suffering.” + +At last, at a quarter to eight o’clock, Madame de Jonquière warned her +charges that they would do well to prepare themselves. She herself, +assisted by Sister Hyacinthe and Madame Désagneaux, buttoned several +dresses, and put shoes on impotent feet. It was a real toilette, for they +all desired to appear to the greatest advantage before the Blessed +Virgin. A large number had sufficient sense of delicacy to wash their +hands. Others unpacked their parcels, and put on clean linen. On her +side, Elise Rouquet had ended by discovering a little pocket-glass in the +hands of a woman near her, a huge, dropsical creature, who was very +coquettish; and having borrowed it, she leant it against the bolster, and +then, with infinite care, began to fasten her fichu as elegantly as +possible about her head, in order to hide her distorted features. +Meanwhile, erect in front of her, little Sophie watched her with an air +of profound interest. + +It was Abbé Judaine who gave the signal for starting on the journey to +the Grotto. He wished, he said, to accompany his dear suffering daughters +thither, whilst the lady-hospitallers and the Sisters remained in the +ward, so as to put things in some little order again. Then the ward was +at once emptied, the patients being carried down-stairs amidst renewed +tumult. And Pierre, having replaced Marie’s box upon its wheels, took the +first place in the _cortège_, which was formed of a score of little +handcarts, bath-chairs, and litters. The other wards, however, were also +emptying, the courtyard became crowded, and the _défile_ was organised in +haphazard fashion. There was soon an interminable train descending the +rather steep slope of the Avenue de la Grotte, so that Pierre was already +reaching the Plateau de la Merlasse when the last stretchers were barely +leaving 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 as +if the blue of the atmosphere, cleansed by the storm of the previous +night, were quite new, fresh with youth. And the frightful _défile_, a +perfect “Cour des Miracles” of human woe, rolled along the sloping +pavement amid all the brilliancy of that radiant morning. There was no +end to the train of abominations; it appeared to grow longer and longer. +No order was observed, ailments of all kinds were jumbled together; it +seemed like the clearing of some inferno where the most monstrous +maladies, the rare and awful cases which provoke a shudder, had been +gathered together. Eczema, roseola, elephantiasis, presented a long array +of doleful victims. Well-nigh vanished diseases reappeared; one old woman +was affected with leprosy, another was, covered with impetiginous lichen +like a tree which has rotted in the shade. Then came the dropsical ones, +inflated like wine-skins; and beside some stretchers there dangled hands +twisted by rheumatism, while from others protruded feet swollen by œdema +beyond all recognition, looking, in fact, like bags full of rags. One +woman, suffering from hydrocephalus, sat in a little cart, the dolorous +motions of her head bespeaking her grievous malady. A tall girl afflicted +with chorea--St. Vitus’s dance--was dancing with every limb, without a +pause, the left side of her face being continually distorted by sudden, +convulsive grimaces. A younger one, who followed, gave vent to a bark, a +kind of plaintive animal cry, each time that the tic douloureux which was +torturing her twisted her mouth and her right cheek, which she seemed to +throw forward. Next came the consumptives, trembling with fever, +exhausted by dysentery, wasted to skeletons, with livid skins, recalling +the colour of that earth in which they would soon be laid to rest; and +there was one among them who was quite white, with flaming eyes, who +looked indeed like a death’s head in which a torch had been lighted. Then +every deformity of the contractions followed in succession--twisted +trunks, twisted arms, necks askew, all the distortions of poor creatures +whom nature had warped and broken; and among these was one whose right +hand was thrust back behind her ribs whilst her head fell to the left +resting fixedly upon her shoulder. Afterwards came poor rachitic girls +displaying waxen complexions and slender necks eaten away by sores, and +yellow-faced women in the painful stupor which falls on those whose +bosoms are devoured by cancers; whilst others, lying down with their +mournful eyes gazing heavenwards, seemed to be listening to the throbs of +the tumours which obstructed their organs. And still more and more went +by; there was always something more frightful to come; this woman +following that other one increased the general shudder of horror. From +the neck of a girl of twenty who had a crushed, flattened head like a +toad’s, there hung so large a goitre that it fell even to her waist like +the bib of an apron. A blind woman walked along, her head erect, her face +pale like marble, displaying the acute inflammation of her poor, +ulcerated eyes. An aged woman stricken with imbecility, afflicted with +dreadful facial disfigurements, laughed aloud with a terrifying laugh. +And all at once an epileptic was seized with convulsions, and began +foaming on her stretcher, without, however, causing any stoppage of the +procession, which never slackened its march, lashed onward as it was by +the blizzard of feverish passion which impelled it towards the Grotto. + +The bearers, the priests, and the ailing ones themselves had just +intonated a canticle, the song of Bernadette, and all rolled along amid +the besetting “Aves,” so that the little carts, the litters, and the +pedestrians descended the sloping road like a swollen and overflowing +torrent of roaring water. At the corner of the Rue Saint-Joseph, near the +Plateau de la Merlasse, a family of excursionists, who had come from +Cauterets or Bagnères, stood at the edge of the footway, overcome with +profound astonishment. These people were evidently well-to-do +_bourgeois_, the father and mother very correct in appearance and +demeanour, while their two big girls, attired in light-coloured dresses, +had the smiling faces of happy creatures who are amusing themselves. But +their first feeling of surprise was soon followed by terror, a growing +terror, 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 icy +cold in presence of that endless _défile_ of so many horrors, the +pestilential 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 broad +heavens so full of light and joy whither the freshness of the Gave’s +waters ascended, and the breeze of morning wafted the pure perfumes of +the mountains! + +When Pierre, at the head of the _cortège_, reached the Plateau de la +Merlasse, he found himself immersed in that clear sunlight, that fresh +and balmy air. He turned round and smiled affectionately at Marie; and as +they came out on the Place du Rosaire in the morning splendour, they were +both enchanted with the lovely panorama which spread around them. + +In front, on the east, was Old Lourdes, lying in a broad fold of the +ground beyond a rock. The sun was rising behind the distant mountains, +and its oblique rays clearly outlined the dark lilac mass of that +solitary rock, which was crowned by the tower and crumbling walls of the +ancient castle, once the redoubtable key of the seven valleys. Through +the dancing, golden dust you discerned little of the ruined pile except +some stately outlines, some huge blocks of building which looked as +though reared by Cyclopean hands; and beyond the rock you but vaguely +distinguished the discoloured, intermingled house-roofs of the old town. +Nearer in than the castle, however, the new town--the rich and noisy city +which had sprung up in a few years as though by miracle--spread out on +either hand, displaying its hotels, its stylish shops, its lodging-houses +all with white fronts smiling amidst patches of greenery. Then there was +the Gave flowing along at the base of the rock, rolling clamorous, clear +waters, now blue and now green, now deep as they passed under the old +bridge, and now leaping as they careered under the new one, which the +Fathers of the Immaculate Conception had built in order to connect the +Grotto with the railway station and the recently opened Boulevard. And as +a 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 projected +shade 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 hills +followed by the railway line, the heights of La Buala ascended, their +wooded 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 of +convents, which seemed to have sprung up in this region of prodigies like +early vegetation, imparted some measure of life to the landscape. First, +there was an Orphan Asylum founded by the Sisters of Nevers, whose vast +buildings shone brightly in the sunlight. Next came the Carmelite +convent, on the highway to Pau, just in front of the Grotto; and then +that of the Assumptionists higher up, skirting the road to Poueyferre; +whilst the Dominicans showed but a corner of their roofs, sequestered in +the far-away solitude. And at last appeared the establishment of the +Sisters of the Immaculate Conception, those who were called the Blue +Sisters, and who had founded at the far end of the valley a home where +they received well-to-do lady pilgrims, desirous of solitude, as +boarders. + +At that early hour all the bells of these convents were pealing joyfully +in the crystalline atmosphere, whilst the bells of other convents, on the +other, the southern horizon, answered them with the same silvery strains +of 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 the +chirruping of a bird. And on this side of the town, also, there were +valleys that dipped down between the ridges, and mountains that upreared +their bare sides, a commingling of smiling and of agitated nature, an +endless surging of heights amongst which you noticed those of Visens, +whose slopes the sunlight tinged ornately with soft blue and carmine of a +rippling, moire-like effect. + +However, when Marie and Pierre turned their eyes to the west, they were +quite dazzled. The sun rays were here streaming on the large and the +little Bêout with their cupolas of unequal height. And on this side the +background was one of gold and purple, a dazzling mountain on whose sides +one could only discern the road which snaked between the trees on its way +to the Calvary above. And here, too, against the sunlit background, +radiant like an aureola, stood out the three superposed churches which at +the voice of Bernadette had sprung from the rock to the glory of the +Blessed 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 an +esplanade on either side of which, like two huge arms, were colossal +gradient ways ascending gently to the Crypt church. Vast labour had been +expended here, a quarryful of stones had been cut and set in position, +there were arches as lofty as naves supporting the gigantic terraced +avenues which had been constructed so that the processions might roll +along in all their pomp, and the little conveyances containing sick +children might ascend without hindrance to the divine presence. Then came +the Crypt, the subterranean church within the rock, with only its low +door visible above the church of the Rosary, whose paved roof, with its +vast promenade, formed a continuation of the terraced inclines. And at +last, from the summit sprang the Basilica, somewhat slender and frail, +recalling some finely chased jewel of the Renascence, and looking very +new and very white--like a prayer, a spotless dove, soaring aloft from +the rocks of Massabielle. The spire, which appeared the more delicate and +slight when compared with the gigantic inclines below, seemed like the +little 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 the +dense greenery of the Calvary hill, it looked fragile and candid, like +childish faith; and at sight of it you instinctively thought of the +little white arm, the little thin hand of the puny girl, who had here +pointed to Heaven in the crisis of her human sufferings. You could not +see the Grotto, the entrance of which was on the left, at the base of the +rock. Beyond the Basilica, the only buildings which caught the eye were +the heavy square pile where the Fathers of the Immaculate Conception had +their abode, and the episcopal palace, standing much farther away, in a +spreading, wooded valley. And the three churches were flaming in the +morning glow, and the rain of gold scattered by the sun rays was sweeping +the whole countryside, whilst the flying peals of the bells seemed to be +the very vibration of the light, the musical awakening of the lovely day +that was now beginning. + +Whilst crossing the Place du Rosaire, Pierre and Marie glanced at the +Esplanade, the public walk with its long central lawn skirted by broad +parallel paths and extending as far as the new bridge. Here, with face +turned towards the Basilica, was the great crowned statue of the Virgin. +All the sufferers crossed themselves as they went by. And still +passionately chanting its canticle, the fearful _cortège_ rolled on, +through nature in festive array. Under the dazzling sky, past the +mountains of gold and purple, amidst the centenarian trees, symbolical of +health, the running waters whose freshness was eternal, that _cortège_ +still and ever marched on with its sufferers, whom nature, if not God, +had condemned, those who were afflicted with skin diseases, those whose +flesh was eaten away, those who were dropsical and inflated like +wine-skins, and those whom rheumatism and paralysis had twisted into +postures of agony. And the victims of hydrocephalus followed, with the +dancers of St. Vitus, the consumptives, the rickety, the epileptic, the +cancerous, the goitrous, the blind, the mad, and the idiotic. “Ave, ave, +ave, Maria!” they sang; and the stubborn plaint acquired increased +volume, as nearer and nearer to the Grotto it bore that abominable +torrent of human wretchedness and pain, amidst all the fright and horror +of the passers-by, who stopped short, unable to stir, their hearts frozen +as this nightmare swept before their eyes. + +Pierre and Marie were the first to pass under the lofty arcade of one of +the 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 as +near to the railing as possible, was only able to raise herself in her +little conveyance, and murmur: “O most Blessed Virgin, Virgin most +loved!” + +She had seen neither the entrances to the piscinas nor the twelve-piped +fountain, which she had just passed; nor did she distinguish any better +the shop on her left hand where crucifixes, chaplets, statuettes, +pictures, and other religious articles were sold, or the stone pulpit on +her right which Father Massias already occupied. Her eyes were dazzled by +the splendour of the Grotto; it seemed to her as if a hundred thousand +tapers were burning there behind the railing, filling the low entrance +with the glow of a furnace and illuminating, as with star rays, the +statue of the Virgin, which stood, higher up, at the edge of a narrow +ogive-like cavity. And for her, apart from that glorious apparition, +nothing existed there, neither the crutches with which a part of the +vault had been covered, nor the piles of bouquets fading away amidst the +ivy and the eglantine, nor even the altar placed in the centre near a +little portable organ over which a cover had been thrown. However, as she +raised her eyes above the rock, she once more beheld the slender white +Basilica profiled against the sky, its slight, tapering spire soaring +into 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 air +as in the nave of a church. Nearly all these benches were already +occupied by those sufferers who could sit down, while the vacant spaces +were soon filled with litters and little vehicles whose wheels became +entangled together, and on whose close-packed mattresses and pillows all +sorts of diseases were gathered pell-mell. Immediately on arriving, the +young priest had recognised the Vignerons seated with their sorry child +Gustave in the middle of a bench, and now, on the flagstones, he caught +sight of the lace-trimmed bed of Madame Dieulafay, beside whom her +husband and sister knelt in prayer. Moreover, all the patients of Madame +de Jonquière’s carriage took up position here--M. Sabathier and Brother +Isidore side by side, Madame Vetu reclining hopelessly in a conveyance, +Elise Rouquet seated, La Grivotte excited and raising herself on her +clenched hands. Pierre also again perceived Madame Maze, standing +somewhat apart from the others, and humbling herself in prayer; whilst +Madame Vincent, who had fallen on her knees, still holding her little +Rose in her arms, presented the child to the Virgin with ardent entreaty, +the distracted gesture of a mother soliciting compassion from the mother +of divine grace. And around this reserved space was the ever-growing +throng of pilgrims, the pressing, jostling mob which gradually stretched +to the parapet overlooking the Gave. + +“O Virgin most merciful,” continued Marie in an undertone, “Virgin most +faithful, 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 that +she wished to speak to him and leant forward: “Shall I remain here at +your 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 a +feverish 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 holy +before seeking the miracle! I want to spend the whole morning in +imploring it with joined hands; I want to pray, to pray with all my +strength 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 will +not let them take me from here till then.” + +However, Pierre did not go away, but remained near her. For a moment, he +even fell upon his knees; he also would have liked to pray with the same +burning faith, to beg of God the cure of that poor sick child, whom he +loved with such fraternal affection. But since he had reached the Grotto +he had felt a singular sensation invading him, a covert revolt, as it +were, which hampered the pious flight of his prayer. He wished to +believe; he had spent the whole night hoping that belief would once more +blossom in his soul, like some lovely flower of innocence and candour, as +soon as he should have knelt upon the soil of that land of miracle. And +yet he only experienced discomfort and anxiety in presence of the +theatrical scene before him, that pale stiff statue in the false light of +the tapers, with the chaplet shop full of jostling customers on the one +hand, and the large stone pulpit whence a Father of the Assumption was +shouting “Aves” on the other. Had his soul become utterly withered then? +Could no divine dew again impregnate it with innocence, render it like +the souls of little children, who at the slightest caressing touch of the +sacred legend give themselves to it entirely? + +Then, while his thoughts were still wandering, he recognised Father +Massias in the ecclesiastic who occupied the pulpit. He had formerly +known him, and was quite stirred by his sombre ardour, by the sight of +his thin face and sparkling eyes, by the eloquence which poured from his +large mouth as he offered violence to Heaven to compel it to descend upon +earth. And whilst he thus examined Father Massias, astonished at feeling +himself so unlike the preacher, he caught sight of Father Fourcade, who, +at the foot of the pulpit, was deep in conference with Baron Suire. The +latter seemed much perplexed by something which Father Fourcade said to +him; however he ended by approving it with a complaisant nod. Then, as +Abbé Judaine was also standing there, Father Fourcade likewise spoke to +him for a moment, and a scared expression came over the Abbé’s broad, +fatherly face while he listened; nevertheless, like the Baron, he at last +bowed assent. + +Then, all at once, Father Fourcade appeared in the pulpit, erect, drawing +up his lofty figure which his attack of gout had slightly bent; and he +had not wished that Father Massias, his well-loved brother, whom he +preferred above all others, should altogether go down the narrow +stairway, for he had kept him upon one of the steps, and was leaning on +his shoulder. And in a full, grave voice, with an air of sovereign +authority which caused perfect silence to reign around, he spoke as +follows: + +“My dear brethren, my dear sisters, I ask your forgiveness for +interrupting your prayers, but I have a communication to make to you, and +I have to ask the help of all your faithful souls. We had a very sad +accident to deplore this morning, one of our brethren died in one of the +trains by which you came to Lourdes, died just as he was about to set +foot 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, royal +beard. + +“Well, my dear brethren, my dear sisters,” he resumed, “in spite of +everything, the idea has come to me that we ought not to despair. Who +knows if God Almighty did not will that death in order that He might +prove His Omnipotence to the world? It is as though a voice were speaking +to 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 of +the most Blessed Virgin who can still implore her Divine Son in his +favour. Yes, the man is here, I have caused his body to be brought +hither, and it depends on you, perhaps, whether a brilliant miracle shall +dazzle the universe, if you pray with sufficient ardour to touch the +compassion of Heaven. We will plunge the man’s body into the piscina and +we will entreat the Lord, the master of the world, to resuscitate him, to +give 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 Father +Fourcade, 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 in +which you must put your hearts, your blood, your very life with whatever +may be most noble and loving in it! Pray with all your strength, pray +till 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, so +rare, so astounding a grace that only the energy of our worship can +induce God to answer us. And in order that our prayers may be the more +efficacious, in order that they may have time to spread and ascend to the +feet of the Eternal Father, we will not lower the body into the piscina +until four o’clock this afternoon. And now my dear brethren, now my dear +sisters, 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 the +rosary, whilst near him Father Massias burst into sobs. And thereupon the +great anxious silence was broken, contagion seized upon the throng, it +was transported and gave vent to shouts, tears, and confused stammered +entreaties. It was as though a breath of delirium were sweeping by, +reducing men’s wills to naught, and turning all these beings into one +being, exasperated with love and seized with a mad desire for the +impossible prodigy. + +And for a moment Pierre had thought that the ground was giving way +beneath him, that he was about to fall and faint. But with difficulty he +managed 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 praying +with 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 in +one or other of the hotels, so that his first impulse was to go and join +him. Then, however, he hesitated, unwilling to disturb his meditations, +for he was doubtless praying for his daughter, whom he fondly loved, in +spite of the constant absent-mindedness of his volatile brain. +Accordingly, the young priest passed on, and took his way under the +trees. Nine o’clock was now striking, he had a couple of hours before +him. + +By dint of money, the wild bank where swine had formerly pastured had +been transformed into a superb avenue skirting the Gave. It had been +necessary to put back the river’s bed in order to gain ground, and lay +out a monumental quay bordered by a broad footway, and protected by a +parapet. Some two or three hundred yards farther on, a hill brought the +avenue to an end, and it thus resembled an enclosed promenade, provided +with benches, and shaded by magnificent trees. Nobody passed along, +however; merely the overflow of the crowd had settled there, and solitary +spots still abounded between the grassy wall limiting the promenade on +the south, and the extensive fields spreading out northward beyond the +Gave, as far as the wooded slopes which the white-walled convents +brightened. Under the foliage, on the margin of the running water, one +could enjoy delightful freshness, even during the burning days of August. + +Thus Pierre, like a man at last awakening from a painful dream, soon +found rest of mind again. He had questioned himself in the acute anxiety +which he felt with regard to his sensations. Had he not reached Lourdes +that morning possessed by a genuine desire to believe, an idea that he +was indeed again beginning to believe even as he had done in the docile +days of childhood when his mother had made him join his hands, and taught +him to fear God? Yet as soon as he had found himself at the Grotto, the +idolatry of the worship, the violence of the display of faith, the +onslaught upon human reason which he witnessed, had so disturbed him that +he had almost fainted. What would become of him then? Could he not even +try to contend against his doubts by examining things and convincing +himself of their truth, thus turning his journey to profit? At all +events, he had made a bad beginning, which left him sorely agitated, and +he 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 most +unexpectedly met a forgotten friend. He had, for a few seconds, been +looking at a tall old gentleman who was coming towards him, dressed in a +tightly buttoned frock-coat and broad-brimmed hat; and he had tried to +remember where it was that he had previously beheld that pale face, with +eagle nose, and black and penetrating eyes. These he had seen before, he +felt sure of it; but the promenader’s long white beard and long curly +white hair perplexed him. However, the other halted, also looking +extremely astonished, though he promptly exclaimed, “What, Pierre? Is it +you, at Lourdes?” + +Then all at once the young priest recognised Doctor Chassaigne, his +father’s old friend, his own friend, the man who had cured and consoled +him in the terrible physical and mental crisis which had come upon him +after 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 hair +and snowy beard, that slow walk, that sorrowful demeanour, Pierre +remembered with what unrelenting ferocity misfortune had fallen on that +unhappy man and aged him. But a few years had gone by, and now, when they +met again, he was bowed down by destiny. + +“You did not know, I suppose, that I had remained at Lourdes?” said the +doctor. “It’s true that I no longer write to anybody; in fact, I am no +longer among the living. I live in the land of the dead.” Tears were +gathering 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 live +the old days afresh with you, just for a moment.” + +In his turn the young priest felt his sobs choking him. He could only +murmur: “Ah! my dear doctor, my old friend, I can truly tell you that I +pitied 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, had +gone to Cauterets with Madame Chassaigne, the model wife and mother, +whose state of health had made them somewhat anxious. A fortnight had +elapsed and she seemed much better, and was already planning several +pleasure trips, when one morning she was found dead in her bed. Her +husband and daughter were overwhelmed, stupefied by this sudden blow, +this cruel treachery of death. The doctor, who belonged to Bartres, had a +family vault in the Lourdes cemetery, a vault constructed at his own +expense, and in which his father and mother already rested. He desired, +therefore, that his wife should be interred there, in a compartment +adjoining that in which he expected soon to lie himself. And after the +burial he had lingered for a week at Lourdes, when Marguerite, who was +with him, was seized with a great shivering, and, taking to her bed one +evening, died two days afterwards without her distracted father being +able 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 beauty +and health, in the very flower of her youth, who was laid in the vacant +compartment by the mother’s side. The man who had been so happy, so +worshipped by his two helpmates, whose heart had been kept so warm by the +love of two dear creatures all his own, was now nothing more than an old, +miserable, stammering, lost being, who shivered in his icy solitude. All +the joy of his life had departed; he envied the men who broke stones upon +the highways when he saw their barefooted wives and daughters bring them +their dinners at noontide. And he had refused to leave Lourdes, he had +relinquished everything, his studies, his practice in Paris, in order +that he might live near the tomb in which his wife and his daughter slept +the eternal sleep. + +“Ah, my old friend,” repeated Pierre, “how I pitied you! How frightful +must have been your grief! But why did you not rely a little on those who +love you? Why did you shut yourself up here with your sorrow?” + +The doctor made a gesture which embraced the horizon. “I could not go +away, they are here and keep me with them. It is all over, I am merely +waiting till my time comes to join them again.” + +Then silence fell. Birds were fluttering among the shrubs on the bank +behind them, and in front they heard the loud murmur of the Gave. The sun +rays were falling more heavily in a slow, golden dust, upon the +hillsides; but on that retired bench under the beautiful trees, the +coolness was still delightful. And although the crowd was but a couple of +hundred yards distant, they were, so to say, in a desert, for nobody tore +himself away from the Grotto to stray as far as the spot which they had +chosen. + +They talked together for a long time, and Pierre related under what +circumstances he had reached Lourdes that morning with M. de Guersaint +and his daughter, all three forming part of the national pilgrimage. Then +all at once he gave a start of astonishment and exclaimed: “What! doctor, +so you now believe that miracles are possible? You, good heavens! whom I +knew as an unbeliever, or at least as one altogether indifferent to these +matters?” + +He was gazing at M. Chassaigne quite stupefied by something which he had +just heard him say of the Grotto and Bernadette. It was amazing, coming +from a man with so strong a mind, a _savant_ of such intelligence, whose +powerful analytical faculties he had formerly so much admired! How was it +that a lofty, clear mind, nourished by experience and method, had become +so changed as to acknowledge the miraculous cures effected by that divine +fountain which the Blessed Virgin had caused to spurt forth under the +pressure of a child’s fingers? + +“But just think a little, my dear doctor,” he resumed. “It was you +yourself who supplied my father with memoranda about Bernadette, your +little fellow-villager as you used to call her; and it was you, too, who +spoke to me at such length about her, when, later on, I took a momentary +interest in her story. In your eyes she was simply an ailing child, prone +to hallucinations, infantile, but self-conscious of her acts, deficient +of will-power. Recollect our chats together, my doubts, and the healthy +reason which you again enabled me, to acquire!” + +Pierre was feeling very moved, for was not this the strangest of +adventures? He a priest, who in a spirit of resignation had formerly +endeavoured to believe, had ended by completely losing all faith through +intercourse with this same doctor, who was then an unbeliever, but whom +he now found converted, conquered by the supernatural, whilst he himself +was racked by the torture of no longer believing. + +“You who would only rely on accurate facts,” he said, “you who based +everything 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. “Science +indeed!” 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 against +death, I understood nothing of it, and I could do nothing--not even +prolong my daughter’s life for a single hour! And my wife, whom I found +in bed already cold, when on the previous evening she had lain down in +much better health and quite gay--was I even capable of foreseeing what +ought 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 and +a poor old man!” + +He spoke like this in a furious revolt against all his past life of pride +and happiness. Then, having become calm again, he added: “And now I only +feel a frightful remorse. Yes, a remorse which haunts me, which ever +brings me here, prowling around the people who are praying. It is remorse +for not having in the first instance come and humbled myself at that +Grotto, bringing my two dear ones with me. They would have knelt there +like those women whom you see, I should have knelt beside them, and +perhaps the Blessed Virgin would have cured and preserved them. But, fool +that I was, I only knew how to lose them! It is my fault.” + +Tears were now streaming from his eyes. “I remember,” he continued, “that +in my childhood at Bartres, my mother, a peasant woman, made me join my +hands and implore God’s help each morning. The prayer she taught me came +back 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 my +hands as in my younger days, I felt too wretched, too forsaken, I had too +keen a need of a superhuman help, of a divine power which should think +and determine for me, which should lull me and carry me on with its +eternal prescience. How great at first was the confusion, the aberration +of my poor brain, under the frightful, heavy blow which fell upon it! I +spent a score of nights without being able to sleep, thinking that I +should surely go mad. All sorts of ideas warred within me; I passed +through periods of revolt when I shook my fist at Heaven, and then I +lapsed into humility, entreating God to take me in my turn. And it was at +last a conviction that there must be justice, a conviction that there +must be love, which calmed me by restoring me my faith. You knew my +daughter, so tall and strong, so beautiful, so brimful of life. Would it +not 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 am +absolutely convinced of it, for I still hear her at times, she tells me +that we shall meet, that we shall see one another again. Oh! the dear +beings whom one has lost, my dear daughter, my dear wife, to see them +once more, to live with them elsewhere, that is the one hope, the one +consolation for all the sorrows of this world! I have given myself to +God, 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 of +this _savant_, this man of intellect who, growing old, had reverted to +belief under the influence of sentiment. First of all, and this he had +previously suspected, he discovered a kind of atavism of faith in this +Pyrenean, this son of peasant mountaineers, who had been brought up in +belief of the legend, and whom the legend had again mastered even when +fifty years, of positive study had rolled over it. Then, too, there was +human 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 was +discouragement, a doubt of all things, ending in a need of certainty on +the part of one whom age had softened, and who felt happy at being able +to fall asleep in credulity. + +Pierre did not protest, however; he did not jeer, for his heart was rent +at sight of this tall, stricken old man, with his woeful senility. Is it +not indeed pitiful to see the strongest, the clearest-minded become mere +children again under such blows of fate? “Ah!” he faintly sighed, “if I +could only suffer enough to be able to silence my reason, and kneel +yonder and believe in all those fine stories.” + +The pale smile, which at times still passed over Doctor Chassaigne’s +lips, reappeared on them. “You mean the miracles?” said he. “You are a +priest, my child, and I know what your misfortune is. The miracles seem +impossible to you. But what do you know of them? Admit that you know +nothing, and that what to our senses seems impossible is every minute +taking place. And now we have been talking together for a long time, and +eleven 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 to +the Medical Verification Office, where I hope I shall be able to show you +some surprising things. Don’t forget, at half-past three.” + +Thereupon he sent him off, and remained on the bench alone. The heat had +yet increased, and the distant hills were burning in the furnace-like +glow of the sun. However, he lingered there forgetfully, dreaming in the +greeny half-light amidst the foliage, and listening to the continuous +murmur 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 without +much difficulty, for the crowd was thinning, a good many people having +already gone off to _déjeuner_. And on arriving he perceived the girl’s +father, who was quietly seated beside her, and who at once wished to +explain to him the reason of his long absence. For more than a couple of +hours that morning he had scoured Lourdes in all directions, applying at +twenty hotels in turn without being able to find the smallest closet +where they might sleep. Even the servants’ rooms were let and you could +not have even secured a mattress on which to stretch yourself in some +passage. However, all at once, just as he was despairing, he had +discovered 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 best +patronised in the town. The persons who had retained these rooms had just +telegraphed that the patient whom they had meant to bring with them was +dead. Briefly, it was a piece of rare good luck, and seemed to make M. de +Guersaint quite gay. + +Eleven o’clock was now striking and the woeful procession of sufferers +started off again through the sunlit streets and squares. When it reached +the hospital Marie begged her father and Pierre to go to the hotel, lunch +and rest there awhile, and return to fetch her at two o’clock, when the +patients would again be conducted to the Grotto. But when, after +lunching, the two men went up to the rooms which they were to occupy at +the Hotel of the Apparitions, M. de Guersaint, overcome by fatigue, fell +so soundly asleep that Pierre had not the heart to awaken him. What would +have been the use of it? His presence was not indispensable. And so the +young priest returned to the hospital alone. Then the _cortège_ again +descended the Avenue de la Grotte, again wended its way over the Plateau +de la Merlasse, again crossed the Place du Rosaire, past an ever-growing +crowd which shuddered and crossed itself amid all the joyousness of that +splendid August day. It was now the most glorious hour of a lovely +afternoon. + +When Marie was again installed in front of the Grotto she inquired if her +father were coming. “Yes,” answered Pierre; “he is only taking a little +rest.” + +She waved her hand as though to say that he was acting rightly, and then +in a sorely troubled voice she added: “Listen, Pierre; don’t take me to +the piscina for another hour. I am not yet in a state to find favour from +Heaven, I wish to pray, to keep on praying.” + +After evincing such an ardent desire to come to Lourdes, terror was +agitating 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 too +weak, my dear young lady, remember we have some broth here.” + +Marie looked at her and recognised Raymonde. Several young girls were in +this wise employed at the Grotto to distribute cups of broth and milk +among the sufferers. Some of them, indeed, in previous years had +displayed so much coquetry in the matter of silk, aprons trimmed with +lace, that a uniform apron, of modest linen, with a small check pattern, +blue and white, had been imposed on them. Nevertheless, in spite of this +enforced simplicity, Raymonde, thanks to her freshness and her active, +good-natured, housewifely air, had succeeded in making herself look quite +charming. + +“You will remember, won’t you?” she added; “you have only to make me a +sign and I will serve you.” + +Marie thanked her, saying, however, that she felt sure she would not be +able to take anything; and then, turning towards the young priest, she +resumed: “One hour--you must allow me one more hour, my friend.” + +Pierre wished at any rate to remain near her, but the entire space was +reserved to the sufferers, the bearers not being allowed there. So he had +to retire, and, caught in the rolling waves of the crowd, he found +himself carried towards the piscinas, where he came upon an extraordinary +spectacle which stayed his steps. In front of the low buildings where the +baths were, three by three, six for the women and three for the men, he +perceived under the trees a long stretch of ground enclosed by a rope +fastened to the tree-trunks; and here, various sufferers, some sitting in +their bath-chairs and others lying on the mattresses of their litters, +were drawn up in line, waiting to be bathed, whilst outside the rope, a +huge, excited throng was ever pressing and surging. A Capuchin, erect in +the centre of the reserved space, was at that moment conducting the +prayers. “Aves” followed one after the other, repeated by the crowd in a +loud confused murmur. Then, all at once, as Madame Vincent, who, pale +with agony, had long been waiting, was admitted to the baths, carrying +her dear burden, her little girl who looked like a waxen image of the +child Christ, the Capuchin let himself fall upon his knees with his arms +extended, and cried aloud: “Lord, heal our sick!” He raised this cry a +dozen, twenty times, with a growing fury, and each time the crowd +repeated it, growing more and more excited at each shout, till it sobbed +and kissed the ground in a state of frenzy. It was like a hurricane of +delirium rushing by and laying every head in the dust. Pierre was utterly +distracted by the sob of suffering which arose from the very bowels of +these poor folks--at first a prayer, growing louder and louder, then +bursting forth like a demand in impatient, angry, deafening, obstinate +accents, as though to compel the help of Heaven. “Lord, heal our +sick!”--“Lord, heal our sick!” The shout soared on high incessantly. + +An incident occurred, however; La Grivotte was weeping hot tears because +they would not bathe her. “They say that I’m a consumptive,” she +plaintively exclaimed, “and that they can’t dip consumptives in cold +water. Yet they dipped one this morning; I saw her. So why won’t they dip +me? I’ve been wearing myself out for the last half-hour in telling them +that they are only grieving the Blessed Virgin, for I am going to be +cured, I feel it, I am going to be cured!” + +As she was beginning to cause a scandal, one of the chaplains of the +piscinas approached and endeavoured to calm her. They would see what they +could do for her, by-and-by, said he; they would consult the reverend +Fathers, and, if she were very good, perhaps they would bathe her all the +same. + +Meantime the cry continued: “Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!” + And Pierre, who had just perceived Madame Vetu, also waiting at the +piscina entry, could no longer turn his eyes away from her hope-tortured +face, whose eyes were fixed upon the doorway by which the happy ones, the +elect, emerged from the divine presence, cured of all their ailments. +However, a sudden increase of the crowd’s frenzy, a perfect rage of +entreaties, gave him such a shock as to draw tears from his eyes. Madame +Vincent was now coming out again, still carrying her little girl in her +arms, her wretched, her fondly loved little girl, who had been dipped in +a fainting state in the icy water, and whose little face, but imperfectly +wiped, was as pale as ever, and indeed even more woeful and lifeless. The +mother was sobbing, crucified by this long agony, reduced to despair by +the refusal of the Blessed Virgin, who had remained insensible to her +child’s sufferings. And yet when Madame Vetu in her turn entered, with +the eager passion of a dying woman about to drink the water of life, the +haunting, obstinate cry burst out again, without sign of discouragement +or lassitude: “Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!” The Capuchin +had now fallen with his face to the ground, and the howling crowd, with +arms 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 prevented +him from passing, but threw him towards the fountain which another throng +besieged. There was here quite a range of low buildings, a long stone +wall with carved coping, and it had been necessary for the people to form +in procession, although there were twelve taps from which the water fell +into a narrow basin. Many came hither to fill bottles, metal cans, and +stoneware pitchers. To prevent too great a waste of water, the tap only +acted when a knob was pressed with the hand. And thus many weak-handed +women lingered there a long time, the water dripping on their feet. Those +who 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 drinking +out of shells, tin goblets, and leather cups. And he was particularly +interested by the sight of Elise Rouquet, who, thinking it useless to go +to the piscinas to bathe the frightful sore which was eating away her +face, had contented herself with employing the water of the fountain as a +lotion, every two hours since her arrival that morning. She knelt down, +threw back her fichu, and for a long time applied a handkerchief to her +face--a handkerchief which she had soaked with the miraculous fluid like +a sponge; and the crowd around rushed upon the fountain in such fury that +folks no longer noticed her diseased face, but washed themselves and +drank from the same pipe at which she constantly moistened her +handkerchief. + +Just then, however, Gérard, who passed by dragging M. Sabathier to the +piscinas, called to Pierre, whom he saw unoccupied, and asked him to come +and help him, for it would not be an easy task to move and bathe this +helpless victim of ataxia. And thus Pierre lingered with the sufferer in +the men’s piscina for nearly half an hour, whilst Gérard returned to the +Grotto to fetch another patient. These piscinas seemed to the young +priest to be very well arranged. They were divided into three +compartments, three baths separated by partitions, with steps leading +into them. In order that one might isolate the patient, a linen curtain +hug before each entry, which was reached through a kind of waiting-room +having 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 he +entered, was still naked, and wrapped himself in the curtain before +putting on a bandage with trembling hands. Another one, a consumptive who +was frightfully emaciated, sat shivering and groaning, his livid skin +mottled with violet marks. However, Pierre became more interested in +Brother Isidore, who was just being removed from one of the baths. He had +fainted 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 at +sight of his long, lank frame, which suffering had withered, and which, +with his diseased hip, looked a human remnant on exhibition. The two +hospitallers who had been bathing him had the greatest difficulty to put +on his shirt, fearful as they were that if he were suddenly shaken he +might expire in their arms. + +“You will help me, Monsieur l’Abbé, won’t you?” asked another hospitaller +as 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 de +Salmon-Roquebert whom M. de Guersaint had pointed out to him on the way +from the station to the hospital that morning. A man of forty, with a +large, aquiline, knightly nose set in a long face, the Marquis was the +last representative of one of the most ancient and illustrious families +of France. Possessing a large fortune, a regal mansion in the Rue de +Lille at Paris, and vast estates in Normandy, he came to Lourdes each +year, for the three days of the national pilgrimage, influenced solely by +his benevolent feelings, for he had no religious zeal and simply observed +the rites of the Church because it was customary for noblemen to do so. +And he obstinately declined any high functions. Resolved to remain a +hospitaller, he had that year assumed the duty of bathing the patients, +exhausting the strength of his arms, employing his fingers from morning +till 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 of +that poor fellow who is being dressed again, over yonder.” + +Then, leaving M. Sabathier for a moment in order to put on the shoes of +the unhappy sufferer whom he alluded to, the Marquis found the left shoe +wet inside. Some matter had flowed into the fore part of it, and he had +to take the usual medical precautions before putting it on the patient’s +foot, a task which he performed with extreme care; and so as not to touch +the man’s leg, into which an ulcer was eating. + +“And now,” he said to Pierre, as he returned to M. Sabathier, “pull down +the drawers at the same time I do, so that we may get them off at one +pull.” + +In addition to the patients and the hospitallers selected for duty at the +piscinas, the only person in the little dressing-room was a chaplain who +kept on repeating “Paters” and “Aves,” for not even a momentary pause was +allowed in the prayers. Merely a loose curtain hung before the doorway +leading to the open space which the rope enclosed; and the ardent +clamorous entreaties of the throng were incessantly wafted into the room, +with the piercing shouts of the Capuchin, who ever repeated “Lord, heal +our sick! Lord, heal our sick!” A cold light fell from the high windows +of the building and constant dampness reigned there, with the mouldy +smell like that of a cellar dripping with water. + +At last M. Sabathier was stripped, divested of all garments save a little +apron 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 wont +to relate that he had experienced such a frightful chilling sensation on +the first occasion that he had sworn never to go in again. According to +his account, there could be no worse torture than that icy cold. And then +too, as he put it, the water was scarcely inviting; for, through fear +lest the output of the source should not suffice, the Fathers of the +Grotto only allowed the water of the baths to be changed twice a day. And +nearly a hundred patients being dipped in the same water, it can be +imagined what a terrible soup the latter at last became. All manner of +things were found in it, so that it was like a frightful _consommé_ of +all ailments, a field of cultivation for every kind of poisonous germ, a +quintessence of the most dreaded contagious diseases; the miraculous +feature of it all being that men should emerge alive from their immersion +in such filth. + +“Gently, gently,” repeated M. Sabathier to Pierre and the Marquis, who +had 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 which +floated so many greasy, nauseating patches of scum. However, his dread of +the cold was so great that he preferred the polluted baths of the +afternoon, since all the bodies that were dipped in the water during the +early part of the day ended by slightly warming it. + +“We will let you slide down the steps,” exclaimed the Marquis in an +undertone; and then he instructed Pierre to hold the patient with all his +strength 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 rippling +of a shiver. And when they dipped him his head fell back in a spasm, a +sound like the cracking of bones was heard, and breathing hard, he almost +stifled. + +The chaplain, standing beside the bath, had begun calling with renewed +fervour: “Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!” + +M. de Salmon-Roquebert repeated the cry, which the regulations required +the hospitallers to raise at each fresh immersion. Pierre, therefore, had +to imitate his companion, and his pitiful feelings at the sight of so +much suffering were so intense that he regained some little of his faith. +It was long indeed since he had prayed like this, devoutly wishing that +there might be a God in heaven, whose omnipotence could assuage the +wretchedness 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 despairing +sorrow than ever at beholding how downcast, how overwhelmed the sufferer +was 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 his +prayers. He closed his eyes, from between the lids of which big tears +began 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 his +aunt, Madame Chaise, all three of substantial appearance and exemplary +piety, had just fallen on their knees at the door. Whispers ran through +the crowd; it was said that the gentleman was a functionary of the +Ministry of Finances. However, while the child was beginning to undress, +a tumult arose, and Father Fourcade and Father Massias, suddenly +arriving, gave orders to suspend the immersions. The great miracle was +about to be attempted, the extraordinary favour which had been so +ardently prayed for since the morning--the restoration of the dead man to +life. + +The prayers were continuing outside, rising in a furious appeal which +died away in the sky of that warm summer afternoon. Two bearers came in +with a covered stretcher, which they deposited in the middle of the +dressing-room. Baron Suire, President of the Association, followed, +accompanied by Berthaud, one of its principal officers, for the affair +was causing a great stir among the whole staff, and before anything was +done a few words were exchanged in low voices between the gentlemen and +the 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 present +was little Gustave, who had remained on a chair, half-undressed and +forgotten. The curtains of the stretcher were raised, and the man’s +corpse appeared, already stiff, and seemingly reduced and shrunken, with +large eyes which had obstinately remained wide open. It was necessary, +however, to undress the body, which was still fully clad, and this +terrible duty made the bearers momentarily hesitate. Pierre noticed that +the Marquis de Salmon-Roquebert, who showed such devotion to the living, +such freedom from all repugnance whenever they were in question, had now +drawn aside and fallen on his knees, as though to avoid the necessity of +touching that lifeless corpse. And the young priest thereupon followed +his example, and knelt near him in order to keep countenance. + +Father Massias meanwhile was gradually becoming excited, praying in so +loud 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 fact +the corpse ought to have been raised up; and the other hospitaller, who +was unbuttoning the dead man’s old frock coat, remarked in an undertone +that 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 Baron +Suire. As a politician he secretly disapproved of Father Fourcade’s +action in making such an attempt, only they could not now do otherwise +than carry matters to an issue; for the crowd was waiting and had been +entreating God on the dead man’s behalf ever since the morning. The +wisest course, therefore, was to finish with the affair at once, showing +as 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 piscina +clad as it was. Should the man resuscitate, it would be easy to procure +fresh clothes for him; and in the contrary event, no harm would have been +done. This is what he hastily said to the bearers; and forthwith he +helped them to pass some straps under the man’s hips and arms. + +Father Fourcade had nodded his approval of this course, whilst Father +Massias prayed with increased fervour: “Breathe upon him, O Lord, and he +shall be born anew! Restore his soul to him, O, Lord, that he may glorify +Thee!” + +Making an effort, the two hospitallers now raised the man by means of the +straps, 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 sorry +garments, which on being wetted clung to the bones, outlining the +skeleton-like figure of the deceased, who floated like a man who has been +drowned. But the repulsive part of it all was, that in spite of the +_rigor mortis_, the head fell backward into the water, and was submerged +by it. In vain did the hospitallers try to raise it by pulling the +shoulder straps; as they made the attempt, the man almost sank to the +bottom of the bath. And how could he have recovered his breath when his +mouth was full of water, his staring eyes seemingly dying afresh, beneath +that watery veil? + +Then, during the three long minutes allowed for the immersion, the two +Fathers of the Assumption and the chaplain, in a paroxysm of desire and +faith, strove to compel the intervention of Heaven, praying in such loud +voices that they seemed to choke. + +“Do Thou but look on him, O Lord, and he will live again! Lord! may he +rise at Thy voice to convert the earth! Lord! Thou hast but one word to +say and all Thy people will acclaim Thee!” + +At last, as though some vessel had broken in his throat, Father Massias +fell groaning and choking on his elbows, with only enough strength left +him to kiss the flagstones. And from without came the clamour of the +crowd, the ever-repeated cry, which the Capuchin was still leading: +“Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!” This appeal seemed so +singular at that moment, that Pierre’s sufferings were increased. He +could feel, too, that the Marquis was shuddering beside him. And so the +relief was general when Berthaud, thoroughly annoyed with the whole +business, curtly shouted to the hospitallers: “Take him out! Take him out +at once!” + +The body was removed from the bath and laid on the stretcher, looking +like the corpse of a drowned man with its sorry garments clinging to its +limbs. The water was trickling from the hair, and rivulets began falling +on either side, spreading out in pools on the floor. And naturally, dead +as the man had been, dead he remained. + +The others had all risen and stood looking at him amidst a distressing +silence. Then, as he was covered up and carried away, Father Fourcade +followed the bier leaning on the shoulder of Father Massias and dragging +his gouty leg, the painful weight of which he had momentarily forgotten. +But he was already recovering his strong serenity, and as a hush fell +upon the crowd outside, he could be heard saying: “My dear brothers, my +dear sisters, God has not been willing to restore him to us, doubtless +because in His infinite goodness He has desired to retain him among His +elect.” + +And that was all; there was no further question of the dead man. Patients +were again being brought into the dressing-room, the two other baths were +already occupied. And now little Gustave, who had watched that terrible +scene with his keen inquisitive eyes, evincing no sign of terror, +finished undressing himself. His wretched body, the body of a scrofulous +child, appeared with its prominent ribs and projecting spine, its limbs +so thin that they looked like mere walking-sticks. Especially was this +the 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 distinctly +saw the raw flesh. Yet he smiled, rendered so precocious by his +sufferings that, although but fifteen years old and looking no more than +ten, he seemed to be endowed with the reason and philosophy of a grown +man. + +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 a +bird. And don’t be frightened, my dear little fellow. I will do it +gently.” + +“Oh, I am not afraid of cold water, monsieur,” replied the boy; “you may +duck 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, had +remained at the door on their knees, whilst the father, M. Vigneron, who +was admitted into the dressing-room, went on making the sign of the +cross. + +Finding that his services were no longer required, Pierre now departed. +The sudden idea that three o’clock must have long since struck and that +Marie must be waiting for him made him hasten his steps. However, whilst +he was endeavouring to pierce the crowd, he saw the girl arrive in her +little conveyance, dragged along by Gérard, who had not ceased +transporting sufferers to the piscina. She had become impatient, suddenly +filled with a conviction that she was at last in a frame of mind to find +grace. And at sight of Pierre she reproached him, saying, “What, my +friend, did you forget me?” + +He could find no answer, but watched her as she was taken into the +piscina reserved for women, and then, in mortal sorrow, fell upon his +knees. It was there that he would wait for her, humbly kneeling, in order +that he might take her back to the Grotto, cured without doubt and +singing a hymn of praise. Since she was certain of it, would she not +assuredly be cured? However, it was in vain that he sought for words of +prayer in the depths of his distracted being. He was still under the blow +of all the terrible things that he had beheld, worn out with physical +fatigue, his brain depressed, no longer knowing what he saw or what he +believed. His desperate affection for Marie alone remained, making him +long to humble himself and supplicate, in the thought that when little +ones really love and entreat the powerful they end by obtaining favours. +And at last he caught himself repeating the prayers of the crowd, in a +distressful voice that came from the depths of his being “Lord, heal our +sick! Lord, heal our sick!” + +Ten minutes, a quarter of an hour perhaps, went by. Then Marie reappeared +in her little conveyance. Her face was very pale and wore an expression +of despair. Her beautiful hair was fastened above her head in a heavy +golden coil which the water had not touched. And she was not cured. The +stupor of infinite discouragement hollowed and lengthened her face, and +she averted her eyes as though to avoid meeting those of the priest who +thunderstruck, chilled to the heart, at last made up his mind to grasp +the handle of the little vehicle, so as to take the girl back to the +Grotto. + +And meantime the cry of the faithful, who with open arms were kneeling +there and kissing the earth, again rose with a growing fury, excited by +the Capuchin’s shrill voice: “Lord, heal our sick! Heal our sick, O +Lord!” + +As Pierre was placing Marie in position again in front of the Grotto, an +attack of weakness came over her and she almost fainted. Gérard, who was +there, saw Raymonde quickly hurry to the spot with a cup of broth, and at +once they began zealously rivalling each other in their attentions to the +ailing girl. Raymonde, holding out the cup in a pretty way, and assuming +the coaxing airs of an expert nurse, especially insisted that Marie +should accept the bouillon; and Gérard, glancing at this portionless +girl, could not help finding her charming, already expert in the business +of life, and quite ready to manage a household with a firm hand without +ceasing to be amiable. Berthaud was no doubt right, this was the wife +that he, Gérard, needed. + +“Mademoiselle,” said he to Raymonde, “shall I raise the young lady a +little?” + +“Thank you, monsieur, I am quite strong enough. And besides I will give +it to her in spoonfuls; that will be the better way.” + +Marie, however, obstinately preserving her fierce silence as she +recovered consciousness, refused the broth with a gesture. She wished to +be left in quietness, she did not want anybody to question her. And it +was only when the others had gone off smiling at one another, that she +said to Pierre in a husky voice: “Has not my father come then?” + +After hesitating for a moment the priest was obliged to confess the +truth. “I left him sleeping and he cannot have woke up.” + +Then Marie relapsed into her state of languid stupor and dismissed him in +his turn, with the gesture with which she declined all succour. She no +longer prayed, but remained quite motionless, gazing fixedly with her +large eyes at the marble Virgin, the white statue amidst the radiance of +the Grotto. And as four o’clock was now striking, Pierre with his heart +sore went off to the Verification Office, having suddenly remembered the +appointment given him by Doctor Chassaigne. + + + + +IV. VERIFICATION + +THE doctor was waiting for the young priest outside the Verification +Office, in front of which a compact and feverish crowd of pilgrims was +assembled, waylaying and questioning the patients who went in, and +acclaiming 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’s +hearing, or some paralytic’s power of motion. + +Pierre had no little difficulty in making his way through the throng, but +at last he reached his friend. “Well,” he asked, “are we going to have a +miracle--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 his +companion. The office where the cures were verified was very badly +installed in a wretched wooden shanty divided into two apartments, first +a narrow ante-chamber, and then a general meeting room which was by no +means so large as it should have been. However, there was a question of +providing the department with better accommodation the following year; +with which view some large premises, under one of the inclined ways of +the Rosary, were already being fitted up. + +The only article of furniture in the antechamber was a wooden bench on +which Pierre perceived two female patients awaiting their turn in the +charge of a young hospitaller. But on entering the meeting room the +number of persons packed inside it quite surprised him, whilst the +suffocating heat within those wooden walls on which the sun was so +fiercely playing, almost scorched his face. It was a square bare room, +painted a light yellow, with the panes of its single window covered with +whitening, so that the pressing throng outside might see nothing of what +went on within. One dared not even open this window to admit a little +fresh air, for it was no sooner set ajar than a crowd of inquisitive +heads peeped in. The furniture was of a very rudimentary kind, consisting +simply of two deal tables of unequal height placed end to end and not +even 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 the +floor and a couple of ragged arm-chairs usually reserved for the +patients. + +Doctor Bonamy at once hastened forward to greet Doctor Chassaigne, who +was one of the latest and most glorious conquests of the Grotto. He found +a chair for him and, bowing to Pierre’s cassock, also made the young +priest sit down. Then, in the tone of extreme politeness which was +customary with him, he exclaimed: “_Mon cher confrère_, you will kindly +allow me to continue. We were just examining mademoiselle.” + +He referred to a deaf peasant girl of twenty, who was seated in one of +the arm-chairs. Instead of listening, however, Pierre, who was very +weary, still with a buzzing in his head, contented himself with gazing at +the scene, endeavouring to form some notion of the people assembled in +the room. There were some fifty altogether, many of them standing and +leaning against the walls. Half a dozen, however, were seated at the two +tables, a central position being occupied by the superintendent of the +piscinas, who was constantly consulting a thick register; whilst around +him were a Father of the Assumption and three young seminarists who acted +as secretaries, writing, searching for documents, passing them and +classifying them again after each examination. Pierre, however, took most +interest in a Father of the Immaculate Conception, Father Dargeles, who +had been pointed out to him that morning as being the editor of the +“Journal de la Grotte.” This ecclesiastic, whose thin little face, with +its blinking eyes, pointed nose, and delicate mouth was ever smiling, had +modestly seated himself at the end of the lower table where he +occasionally took notes for his newspaper. He alone, of the community to +which he belonged, showed himself during the three days of the national +pilgrimage. Behind him, however, one could divine the presence of all the +others, the slowly developed hidden power which organised everything and +raked in all the proceeds. + +The onlookers consisted almost entirely of inquisitive people and +witnesses, including a score of doctors and a few priests. The medical +men, who had come from all parts, mostly preserved silence, only a few of +them occasionally venturing to ask a question; and every now and then +they would exchange oblique glances, more occupied apparently in watching +one another than in verifying the facts submitted to their examination. +Who could they be? Some names were mentioned, but they were quite +unknown. 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 he +was conducting the proceedings and questioning the patients, reserved +most of his attentions for a short, fair-haired man, a writer of some +talent who contributed to one of the most widely read Paris newspapers, +and who, in the course of a holiday tour, had by chance reached Lourdes +that morning. Was not this an unbeliever whom it might be possible to +convert, whose influence it would be desirable to gain for +advertisement’s sake? Such at all events appeared to be M. Bonamy’s +opinion, for he had compelled the journalist to take the second +arm-chair, and with an affectation of smiling good-nature was treating +him to a full performance, again and again repeating that he and his +patrons had nothing to hide, and that everything took place in the most +open manner. + +“We only desire light,” he exclaimed. “We never cease to call for the +investigations of all willing men.” + +Then, as the alleged cure of the deaf girl did not seem at all a +promising case, he addressed her somewhat roughly: “Come, come, my girl, +this is only a beginning. You must come back when there are more distinct +signs of improvement.” And turning to the journalist he added in an +undertone: “If we were to believe them they would all be healed. But the +only cures we accept are those which are thoroughly proven, which are as +apparent as the sun itself. Pray notice moreover that I say cures and not +miracles; for we doctors do not take upon ourselves to interpret and +explain. We are simply here to see if the patients, who submit themselves +to our examination, have really lost all symptoms of their ailments.” + +Thereupon he struck an attitude. Doubtless he spoke like this in order +that his rectitude might not be called in question. Believing without +believing, he knew that science was yet so obscure, so full of surprises, +that what seemed impossible might always come to pass; and thus, in the +declining years of his life, he had contrived to secure an exceptional +position at the Grotto, a position which had both its inconveniences and +its advantages, but which, taken for all in all, was very comfortable and +pleasant. + +And now, in reply to a question from the Paris journalist, he began to +explain his mode of proceeding. Each patient who accompanied the +pilgrimage arrived provided with papers, amongst which there was almost +always a certificate of the doctor who had been attending the case. At +times even there were certificates given by several doctors, hospital +bulletins and so forth--quite a record of the illness in its various +stages. 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 to +ascertain the nature of the ailment, and then examination would show if +that ailment had really disappeared. + +Pierre was now listening. Since he had been there, seated and resting +himself, he had grown calmer, and his mind was clear once more. It was +only the heat which at present caused him any inconvenience. And thus, +interested as he was by Doctor Bonamy’s explanations, and desirous of +forming an opinion, he would have spoken out and questioned, had it not +been for his cloth which condemned him to remain in the background. He +was delighted, therefore, when the little fair-haired gentleman, the +influential writer, began to bring forward the objections which at once +occurred to him.* Was it not most unfortunate that one doctor should +diagnose the illness and that another one should verify the cure? In this +mode of proceeding there was certainly a source of frequent error. The +better plan would have been for a medical commission to examine all the +patients as soon as they arrived at Lourdes and draw up reports on every +case, to which reports the same commission would have referred whenever +an alleged cure was brought before it. Doctor Bonamy, however, did not +fall in with this suggestion. He replied, with some reason, that a +commission would never suffice for such gigantic labour. Just think of +it! A thousand patients to examine in a single morning! And how many +different theories there would be, how many contrary diagnoses, how many +endless discussions, all of a nature to increase the general uncertainty! +The preliminary examination of the patients, which was almost always +impossible, would, even if attempted, leave the door open for as many +errors as the present system. In practice, it was necessary to remain +content with the certificates delivered by the medical men who had been +in attendance on the patients, and these certificates accordingly +acquired capital, decisive importance. Doctor Bonamy ran through the +documents lying on one of the tables and gave the Paris journalist some +of these certificates to read. A great many of them unfortunately were +very brief. Others, more skilfully drawn up, clearly specified the nature +of the complaint; and some of the doctors’ signatures were even certified +by the mayors of the localities where they resided. Nevertheless doubts +remained, innumerable and not to be surmounted. Who were these doctors? +Who could tell if they possessed sufficient scientific authority to write +as they did? With all respect to the medical profession, were there not +innumerable doctors whose attainments were very limited? And, besides, +might not these have been influenced by circumstances that one knew +nothing of, in some cases by considerations of a personal character? One +was 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 there +could be no proof of any miracle if the absolute certainty of the alleged +ailments 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!” said +he. “As soon as it seems to us that a case of cure cannot be explained by +natural means, we institute a minute inquiry, we request the person who +has been cured to return here for further examination. And as you can +see, we surround ourselves with all means of enlightenment. These +gentlemen here, who are listening to us, are nearly every one of them +doctors who have come from all parts of France. We always entreat them to +express their doubts if they feel any, to discuss the cases with us, and +a very detailed report of each discussion is drawn up. You hear me, +gentlemen; by all means protest if anything occurs here of a nature to +offend your sense of truth.” + +Not one of the onlookers spoke. Most of the doctors present were +undoubtedly Catholics, and naturally enough they merely bowed. As for the +others, the unbelievers, the _savants_ pure and simple, they looked on +and evinced some interest in certain phenomena, but considerations of +courtesy deterred them from entering into discussions which they knew +would have been useless. When as men of sense their discomfort became too +great, and they felt themselves growing angry, they simply left the room. + +As nobody breathed a word, Doctor Bonamy became quite triumphant, and on +the journalist asking him if he were all alone to accomplish so much +work, he replied: “Yes, all alone; but my functions as doctor of the +Grotto are not so complicated as you may think, for, I repeat it, they +simply consist in verifying cures whenever any take place.” However, he +corrected himself, and added with a smile: “All! I was forgetting, I am +not quite alone, I have Raboin, who helps me to keep things a little bit +in order here.” + +So saying, he pointed to a stout, grey-haired man of forty, with a heavy +face and bull-dog jaw. Raboin was an ardent believer, one of those +excited 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 a +prodigy. 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 sincere +opinions are entitled to a hearing.” + +However, the _défile_ of patients was resumed. A man was now brought in +whose trunk was so covered with eczema that when he took off his shirt a +kind of grey flour fell from his skin. He was not cured, but simply +declared that he came to Lourdes every year, and always went away feeling +relieved. Then came a lady, a countess, who was fearfully emaciated, and +whose story was an extraordinary one. Cured of tuberculosis by the +Blessed Virgin, a first time, seven years previously, she had +subsequently given birth to four children, and had then again fallen into +consumption. At present she was a morphinomaniac, but her first bath had +already relieved her so much, that she proposed taking part in the +torchlight procession that same evening with the twenty-seven members of +her family whom she had brought with her to Lourdes. Then there was a +woman afflicted with nervous aphonia, who after months of absolute +dumbness had just recovered her voice at the moment when the Blessed +Sacrament 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 draw +any conclusions when a nervous affection is in question. Still you will +kindly observe that this woman was treated at the Salpêtrière for six +months, and that she had to come here to find her tongue suddenly +loosened.” + +Despite all these fine words he displayed some little impatience, for he +would have greatly liked to show the gentleman from Paris one of those +remarkable instances of cure which occasionally presented themselves +during the four o’clock procession--that being the moment of grace and +exaltation when the Blessed Virgin interceded for those whom she had +chosen. 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 the +stamping and roaring of the crowd, goaded into a frenzy by repeated +hymns, enfevered by its earnest desire for the Divine interposition, and +growing more and more enervated by the delay. + +All at once, however, a smiling, modest-looking young girl, whose clear +eyes sparkled with intelligence, entered the office. “Ah!” exclaimed +Doctor Bonamy joyously, “here is our little friend Sophie. A remarkable +cure, gentlemen, which took place at the same season last year, and the +results of which I will ask permission to show you.” + +Pierre had immediately recognized Sophie Couteau, the _miraculée_ who had +got into the train at Poitiers. And he now witnessed a repetition of the +scene which had already been enacted in his presence. Doctor Bonamy began +giving detailed explanations to the little fair-haired gentleman, who +displayed great attention. The case, said the doctor, had been one of +caries of the bones of the left heel, with a commencement of necrosis +necessitating excision; and yet the frightful, suppurating sore had been +healed 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 to +be attentive. And then she began: “Well, it was like this; my foot was +past cure, I couldn’t even go to church any more, and it had to be kept +bandaged 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 see +inside it, said that he should be obliged to take out a piece of the +bone; and that, sure enough, would have made me lame for life. But when I +got to Lourdes, and had prayed a great deal to the Blessed Virgin, I went +to dip my foot in the water, wishing so much that I might be cured, that +I did not even take the time to pull the bandages off. And everything +remained in the water; there was no longer anything the matter with my +foot 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, he +said: ‘Whether it be God or the Devil who has cured this child, it is all +the same to me; but in all truth, she is cured.’” + +A burst of laughter rang out. The doctor’s remark was sure to produce an +effect. + +“And what was it, Sophie, that you said to Madame la Comtesse, the +superintendent of your ward?” + +“Ah, yes! I hadn’t brought many bandages for my foot with me, and I said +to 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 at +seeing her look so pretty, telling her story, which she now knew by +heart, in too recitative a manner, but, nevertheless, remaining very +touching and truthful in appearance. + +“Take off your shoe, Sophie,” now said Doctor Bonamy; “show your foot to +these gentlemen. Let them feel it. Nobody must retain any doubt.” + +The little foot promptly appeared, very white, very clean, carefully +tended indeed, with its scar just below the ankle, a long scar, whose +whity seam testified to the gravity of the complaint. Some of the medical +men had drawn near, and looked on in silence. Others, whose opinions, no +doubt, were already formed, did not disturb themselves, though one of +them, with an air of extreme politeness, inquired why the Blessed Virgin +had not made a new foot while she was about it, for this would assuredly +have given her no more trouble. Doctor Bonamy, however, quickly replied, +that if the Blessed Virgin had left a scar, it was certainly in order +that a trace, a proof of the miracle, might remain. Then he entered into +technical particulars, demonstrating that a fragment of bone and flesh +must have been instantly formed, and this, of course, could not be +explained in any natural way. + +“_Mon Dieu_!” interrupted the little fair-haired gentleman, “there is no +need of any such complicated affair. Let me merely see a finger cut with +a penknife, let me see it dipped in the water, and let it come out with +the cut cicatrised. The miracle will be quite as great, and I shall bow +to it respectfully.” Then he added: “If I possessed a source which could +thus close up sores and wounds, I would turn the world topsy-turvy. I do +not know exactly how I should manage it, but at all events I would summon +the nations, and the nations would come. I should cause the miracles to +be verified in such an indisputable manner, that I should be the master +of the earth. Just think what an extraordinary power it would be--a +divine 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. The +whole world would behold it and believe!” + +Then he began discussing various methods of control with the doctor. He +had admitted that, owing to the great number of patients, it would be +difficult, if not impossible, to examine them all on their arrival. Only, +why didn’t they organise a special ward at the hospital, a ward which +would be reserved for cases of visible sores? They would have thirty such +cases all told, which might be subjected to the preliminary examination +of a committee. Authentic reports would be drawn up, and the sores might +even be photographed. Then, if a case of cure should present itself, the +commission would merely have to authenticate it by a fresh report. And in +all this there would be no question of any internal complaint, the +diagnostication 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 we +ask for is enlightenment. The difficulty would be in forming the +committee 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 little +Sophie Couteau, already forgotten, was putting on, her shoes again, Elise +Rouquet appeared, and, removing her wrap, displayed her diseased face to +view. She related that she had been bathing it with her handkerchief ever +since the morning, and it seemed to her that her sore, previously so +fresh and raw, was already beginning to dry and grow paler in colour. +This was true; Pierre noticed, with great surprise, that the aspect of +the sore was now less horrible. This supplied fresh food for the +discussion on visible sores, for the little fair-haired gentleman clung +obstinately to his idea of organising a special ward. Indeed, said he, if +the condition of this girl had been verified that morning, and she should +be cured, what a triumph it would have been for the Grotto, which could +have claimed to have healed a lupus! It would then have no longer been +possible to deny that miracles were worked. + +Doctor Chassaigne had so far kept in the background, motionless and +silent, as though he desired that the facts alone should exercise their +influence on Pierre. But he now leant forward and said to him in an +undertone: “Visible sores, visible sores indeed! That gentleman can have +no idea that our most learned medical men suspect many of these sores to +be of nervous origin. Yes, we are discovering that complaints of this +kind are often simply due to bad nutrition of the skin. These questions +of nutrition are still so imperfectly studied and understood! And some +medical men are also beginning to prove that the faith which heals can +even cure sores, certain forms of lupus among others. And so I would ask +what certainty that gentleman would obtain with his ward for visible +sores? There would simply be a little more confusion and passion in +arguing the eternal question. No, no! Science is vain, it is a sea of +uncertainty.” + +He smiled sorrowfully whilst Doctor Bonamy, after advising Elise Rouquet +to continue using the water as lotion and to return each day for further +examination, repeated with his prudent, affable air: “At all events, +gentlemen, there are signs of improvement in this case--that is beyond +doubt.” + +But all at once the office was fairly turned topsy-turvy by the arrival +of La Grivotte, who swept in like a whirlwind, almost dancing with +delight 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 to +bathe her, and that she had been obliged to insist and beg and sob in +order to prevail upon them to do so, after receiving Father Fourcade’s +express permission. And then it had all happened as she had previously +said it would. She had not been immersed in the icy water for three +minutes--all perspiring as she was with her consumptive rattle--before +she had felt strength returning to her like a whipstroke lashing her +whole body. And now a flaming excitement possessed her; radiant, stamping +her 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 girl +whom, on the previous night, he had seen lying on the carriage seat, +annihilated, coughing and spitting blood, with her face of ashen hue? He +could not recognise her as she now stood there, erect and slender, her +cheeks rosy, her eyes sparkling, upbuoyed by a determination to live, a +joy in living already. + +“Gentlemen,” declared Doctor Bonamy, “the case appears to me to be a very +interesting one. We will see.” + +Then he asked for the documents concerning La Grivotte. But they could +not be found among all the papers heaped together on the tables. The +young seminarists who acted as secretaries began turning everything over; +and the superintendent of the piscinas who sat in their midst himself had +to 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 lay +open before him. Among them were three medical certificates which he read +aloud. All three of them agreed in stating that the case was one of +advanced phthisis, complicated by nervous incidents which invested it +with a peculiar character. + +Doctor Bonamy wagged his head as though to say that such an _ensemble_ of +testimony could leave no room for doubt. Forthwith, he subjected the +patient to a prolonged auscultation. And he murmured: “I hear nothing--I +hear nothing.” Then, correcting himself, he added: “At least I hear +scarcely anything.” + +Finally he turned towards the five-and-twenty or thirty doctors who were +assembled there in silence. “Will some of you gentlemen,” he asked, +“kindly lend me the help of your science? We are here to study and +discuss these questions.” + +At first nobody stirred. Then there was one who ventured to come forward +and, in his turn subject the patient to auscultation. But instead of +declaring himself, he continued reflecting, shaking his head anxiously. +At last he stammered that in his opinion one must await further +developments. Another doctor, however, at once took his place, and this +one expressed a decided opinion. He could hear nothing at all, that woman +could never have suffered from phthisis. Then others followed him; in +fact, with the exception of five or six whose smiling faces remained +impenetrable, they all joined the _défile_. And the confusion now +attained its apogee; for each gave an opinion sensibly differing from +that of his colleagues, so that a general uproar arose and one could no +longer hear oneself speak. Father Dargeles alone retained the calmness of +perfect serenity, for he had scented one of those cases which impassion +people and redound to the glory of Our Lady of Lourdes. He was already +taking 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 together +without being heard. “Oh! those piscinas!” said the young priest, “I have +just seen them. To think that the water should be so seldom changed! What +filth it is, what a soup of microbes! What a terrible blow for the +present-day mania, that rage for antiseptic precautions! How is it that +some pestilence does not carry off all these poor people? The opponents +of the microbe theory must be having a good laugh--” + +M. Chassaigne stopped him. “No, no, my child,” said he. “The baths may be +scarcely clean, but they offer no danger. Please notice that the +temperature of the water never rises above fifty degrees, and that +seventy-seven are necessary for the cultivation of germs.* Besides, +scarcely any contagious diseases come to Lourdes, neither cholera, nor +typhus, nor variola, nor measles, nor scarlatina. We only see certain +organic affections here, paralysis, scrofula, tumours, ulcers and +abscesses, cancers and phthisis; and the latter cannot be transmitted by +the water of the baths. The old sores which are bathed have nothing to +fear, and offer no risk of contagion. I can assure you that on this point +there 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 matter +what season, rheumatic patients, people suffering from diseases of the +heart, consumptives, and so on? For instance, that unhappy girl, half +dead, and covered with sweat--would you have bathed her?” + +“Certainly not! There are heroic methods of treatment to which, in +practice, one does not dare to have recourse. An icy bath may undoubtedly +kill a consumptive; but do we know, whether, in certain circumstances, it +might not save her? I, who have ended by admitting that a supernatural +power is at work here, I willingly admit that some cures must take place +under natural conditions, thanks to that immersion in cold water which +seems to us idiotic and barbarous. Ah! the things we don’t know, the +things we don’t know!” + +He was relapsing into his anger, his hatred of science, which he scorned +since it had left him scared and powerless beside the deathbed of his +wife and his daughter. “You ask for certainties,” he resumed, “but +assuredly it is not medicine which will give you them. Listen for a +moment to those gentlemen and you will be edified. Is it not beautiful, +all that confusion in which so many opinions clash together? Certainly +there are ailments with which one is thoroughly acquainted, even to the +most minute details of their evolution; there are remedies also, the +effects of which have been studied with the most scrupulous care; but the +thing that one does not know, that one cannot know, is the relation of +the remedy to the ailment, for there are as many cases as there may be +patients, each liable to variation, so that experimentation begins afresh +every time. This is why the practice of medicine remains an art, for +there can be no experimental finality in it. Cure always depends on +chance, on some fortunate circumstance, on some bright idea of the +doctor’s. And so you will understand that all the people who come and +discuss here make me laugh when they talk about the absolute laws of +science. Where are those laws in medicine? I should like to have them +shown to me.” + +He did not wish to say any more, but his passion carried him away, so he +went on: “I told you that I had become a believer--nevertheless, to speak +the truth, I understand very well why this worthy Doctor Bonamy is so +little affected, and why he continues calling upon doctors in all parts +of the world to come and study his miracles. The more doctors that might +come, the less likelihood there would be of the truth being established +in the inevitable battle between contradictory diagnoses and methods of +treatment. If men cannot agree about a visible sore, they surely cannot +do so about an internal lesion the existence of which will be admitted by +some, and denied by others. And why then should not everything become a +miracle? For, after all, whether the action comes from nature or from +some unknown power, medical men are, as a rule, none the less astonished +when an illness terminates in a manner which they have not foreseen. No +doubt, too, things are very badly organised here. Those certificates from +doctors whom nobody knows have no real value. All documents ought to be +stringently inquired into. But even admitting any absolute scientific +strictness, you must be very simple, my dear child, if you imagine that a +positive conviction would be arrived at, absolute for one and all. Error +is implanted in man, and there is no more difficult task than that of +demonstrating to universal satisfaction the most insignificant truth.” + +Pierre had now begun to understand what was taking place at Lourdes, the +extraordinary spectacle which the world had been witnessing for years, +amidst the reverent admiration of some and the insulting laughter of +others. Forces as yet but imperfectly studied, of which one was even +ignorant, were certainly at work--auto-suggestion, long prepared +disturbance of the nerves; inspiriting influence of the journey, the +prayers, and the hymns; and especially the healing breath, the unknown +force 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 to +falsehood; it was sufficient that they should help in creating confusion, +that they should utilise the universal ignorance. It might even be +admitted that everybody acted in good faith--the doctors void of genius +who delivered the certificates, the consoled patients who believed +themselves cured, and the impassioned witnesses who swore that they had +beheld what they described. And from all this was evolved the obvious +impossibility of proving whether there was a miracle or not. And such +being the case, did not the miracle naturally become a reality for the +greater 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 the +proportion of the cures to the number of cases?” + +“About ten per cent.,” answered the doctor; and reading in the young +priest’s eyes the words that he could not utter, he added in a very +cordial way: “Oh! there would be many more, they would all be cured if we +chose to listen to them. But it is as well to say it, I am only here to +keep an eye on the miracles, like a policeman as it were. My only +functions are to check excessive zeal, and to prevent holy things from +being made ridiculous. In one word, this office is simply an office where +a _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 use +of that? There is no pause in the working of the miracles. What is the +use of verifying them so far as believers are concerned? _They_ merely +have to bow down and believe. And what is the use, too, as regards the +unbelievers? _They_ will never be convinced. The work we do here is so +much 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 you +here any longer since you pass your time in sowing disobedience.” + +Nevertheless, there was truth in what had just been said by this man, who +so promptly showed his teeth, eager to bite whenever his faith was +assailed; and Pierre looked at him with sympathy. All the work of the +Verification Office--work anything but well performed--was indeed +useless, for it wounded the feelings of the pious, and failed to satisfy +the incredulous. Besides, can a miracle be proved? No, you must believe +in it! When God is pleased to intervene, it is not for man to try to +understand. In the ages of real belief, Science did not make any +meddlesome attempt to explain the nature of the Divinity. And why should +it come and interfere here? By doing so, it simply hampered faith and +diminished its own prestige. No, no, there must be no Science, you must +throw yourself upon the ground, kiss it, and believe. Or else you must +take yourself off. No compromise was possible. If examination once began +it must go on, and must, fatally, conduct to doubt. + +Pierre’s greatest sufferings, however, came from the extraordinary +conversations which he heard around him. There were some believers +present who spoke of the miracles with the most amazing ease and +tranquillity. The most stupefying stories left their serenity entire. +Another miracle, and yet another! And with smiles on their faces, their +reason never protesting, they went on relating such imaginings as could +only have come from diseased brains. They were evidently living in such a +state of visionary fever that nothing henceforth could astonish them. And +not only did Pierre notice this among folks of simple, childish minds, +illiterate, hallucinated creatures like Raboin, but also among the men of +intellect, the men with cultivated brains, the _savants_ like Doctor +Bonamy and others. It was incredible. And thus Pierre felt a growing +discomfort arising within him, a covert anger which would doubtless end +by bursting forth. His reason was struggling, like that of some poor +wretch who after being flung into a river, feels the waters seize him +from all sides and stifle him; and he reflected that the minds which, +like Doctor Chassaigne’s, sink at last into blind belief, must pass +though this same discomfort and struggle before the final shipwreck. + +He glanced at his old friend and saw how sorrowful he looked, struck down +by destiny, as weak as a crying child, and henceforth quite alone in +life. Nevertheless, he was unable to check the cry of protest which rose +to his lips: “No, no, if we do not know everything, even if we shall +never know everything, there is no reason why we should leave off +learning. It is wrong that the Unknown should profit by man’s debility +and ignorance. On the contrary, the eternal hope should be that the +things which now seem inexplicable will some day be explained; and we +cannot, under healthy conditions, have any other ideal than this march +towards the discovery of the Unknown, this victory slowly achieved by +reason 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 reason +too that I await all my strength. When reason dies, the whole being +perishes. And I feel but an ardent thirst to satisfy my reason more and +more, even though I may lose all happiness in doing so.” + +Tears were appearing in Doctor Chassaigne’s eyes; doubtless the memory of +his dear dead ones had again flashed upon him. And, in his turn, he +murmured: “Reason, reason, yes, certainly it is a thing to be very proud +of; it embodies the very dignity of life. But there is love, which is +life’s omnipotence, the one blessing to be won again when you have lost +it.” + +His voice sank in a stifled sob; and as in a mechanical way he began to +finger the sets of documents lying on the table, he espied among them one +whose cover bore the name of Marie de Guersaint in large letters. He +opened it and read the certificates of the two doctors who had inferred +that the case was one of paralysis of the marrow. “Come, my child,” he +then resumed, “I know that you feel warm affection for Mademoiselle de +Guersaint. What should you say if she were cured here? There are here +some certificates, bearing honourable names, and you know that paralysis +of this nature is virtually incurable. Well, if this young person should +all at once run and jump about as I have seen so many others do, would +you not feel very happy, would you not at last acknowledge the +intervention of a supernatural power?” + +Pierre was about to reply, when he suddenly remembered his cousin +Beauclair’s expression of opinion, the prediction that the miracle would +come about like a lightning stroke, an awakening, an exaltation of the +whole being; and he felt his discomfort increase and contented himself +with replying: “Yes, indeed, I should be very happy. And you are right; +there is doubtless only a determination to secure happiness in all the +agitation one beholds here.” + +However, he could remain in that office no longer. The heat was becoming +so great that perspiration streamed down the faces of those present. +Doctor Bonamy had begun to dictate a report of the examination of La +Grivotte to one of the seminarists, while Father Dargeles, watchful with +regard to the phraseology employed, occasionally rose and whispered some +verbal alteration in the writer’s ear. Meantime, the tumult around them +was continuing; the discussion among the medical men had taken another +turn and now bore on certain technical points of no significance with +regard to the case in question. You could no longer breathe within those +wooden walls, nausea was upsetting every heart and every head. The little +fair-haired gentleman, the influential writer from Paris, had already +gone away, quite vexed at not having seen a real miracle. + +Pierre thereupon said to Doctor Chassaigne, “Let us go; I shall be taken +ill if I stay here any longer.” + +They left the office at the same time as La Grivotte, who was at last +being dismissed. And as soon as they reached the door they found +themselves caught in a torrential, surging, jostling crowd, which was +eager to behold the girl so miraculously healed; for the report of the +miracle must have already spread, and one and all were struggling to see +the chosen one, question her, and touch her. And she, with her empurpled +cheeks, 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 amidst +the eddies of the throng. For a moment one lost sight of her as though +she had sunk in those tumultuous waters; then she suddenly reappeared +close to Pierre and the doctor, who endeavoured to extricate her from the +crush. They had just perceived the Commander, one of whose manias was to +come down to the piscinas and the Grotto in order to vent his anger +there. With his frock-coat tightly girding him in military fashion, he +was, as usual, leaning on his silver-knobbed walking-stick, slightly +dragging his left leg, which his second attack of paralysis had +stiffened. And his face reddened and his eyes flashed with anger when La +Grivotte, pushing him aside in order that she might pass, repeated amidst +the wild enthusiasm of the crowd, “I am cured, I am cured!” + +“Well!” he cried, seized with sudden fury, “so much the worse for you, my +girl!” + +Exclamations arose, folks began to laugh, for he was well known, and his +maniacal passion for death was forgiven him. However, when he began +stammering confused words, saying that it was pitiful to desire life when +one was possessed of neither beauty nor fortune, and that this girl ought +to have preferred to die at once rather than suffer again, people began +to growl around him, and Abbé Judaine, who was passing, had to extricate +him from his trouble. The priest drew him away. “Be quiet, my friend, be +quiet,” he said. “It is scandalous. Why do you rebel like this against +the goodness of God who occasionally shows His compassion for our +sufferings by alleviating them? I tell you again that you yourself ought +to fall on your knees and beg Him to restore to you the use of your leg +and let you live another ten years.” + +The Commander almost choked with anger. “What!” he replied, “ask to live +for another ten years, when my finest day will be the day I die! Show +myself as spiritless, as cowardly as the thousands of patients whom I see +pass along here, full of a base terror of death, shrieking aloud their +weakness, their passion to remain alive! Ah! no, I should feel too much +contempt for myself. I want to die!--to die at once! It will be so +delightful to be no more.” + +He was at last out of the scramble of the pilgrims, and again found +himself near Doctor Chassaigne and Pierre on the bank of the Gave. And he +addressed himself to the doctor, whom he often met: “Didn’t they try to +restore a dead man to life just now?” he asked; “I was told of it--it +almost suffocated me. Eh, doctor? You understand? That man was happy +enough to be dead, and they dared to dip him in their water in the +criminal hope to make him alive again! But suppose they had succeeded, +suppose their water had animated that poor devil once more--for one never +knows what may happen in this funny world--don’t you think that the man +would have had a perfect right to spit his anger in the face of those +corpse-menders? Had he asked them to awaken him? How did they know if he +were not well pleased at being dead? Folks ought to be consulted at any +rate. Just picture them playing the same vile trick on me when I at last +fall 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 I +should make all haste to die again!” + +He looked so singular in the fit of rage which had come over him that +Abbé Judaine and the doctor could not help smiling. Pierre, however, +remained grave, chilled by the great quiver which swept by. Were not +those words he had just heard the despairing imprecations of Lazarus? He +had often imagined Lazarus emerging from the tomb and crying aloud: “Why +hast Thou again awakened me to this abominable life, O Lord? I was +sleeping the eternal, dreamless sleep so deeply; I was at last enjoying +such sweet repose amidst the delights of nihility! I had known every +wretchedness and every dolour, treachery, vain hope, defeat, sickness; as +one of the living I had paid my frightful debt to suffering, for I was +born without knowing why, and I lived without knowing how; and now, +behold, O Lord, Thou requirest me to pay my debt yet again; Thou +condemnest me to serve my term of punishment afresh! Have I then been +guilty of some inexpiable transgression that thou shouldst inflict such +cruel chastisement upon me? Alas! to live again, to feel oneself die a +little in one’s flesh each day, to have no intelligence save such as is +required in order to doubt; no will, save such as one must have to be +unable; no tenderness, save such as is needed to weep over one’s own +sorrows. Yet it was passed, I had crossed the terrifying threshold of +death, I had known that second which is so horrible that it sufficeth to +poison the whole of life. I had felt the sweat of agony cover me with +moisture, the blood flow back from my limbs, my breath forsake me, flee +away in a last gasp. And Thou ordainest that I should know this distress +a second time, that I should die twice, that my human misery should +exceed that of all mankind. Then may it be even now, O Lord! Yes, I +entreat Thee, do also this great miracle; may I once more lay myself down +in this grave, and again fall asleep without suffering from the +interruption of my eternal slumber. Have mercy upon me, and forbear from +inflicting on me the torture of living yet again; that torture which is +so frightful that Thou hast never inflicted it on any being. I have +always loved Thee and served Thee; and I beseech Thee do not make of me +the greatest example of Thy wrath, a cause of terror unto all +generations. But show unto me Thy gentleness and loving kindness, O Lord! +restore unto me the slumber I have earned, and let me sleep once more +amid the delights of Thy nihility.” + +While Pierre was pondering in this wise, Abbé Judaine had led the +Commander away, at last managing to calm him; and now the young priest +shook hands with Doctor Chassaigne, recollecting that it was past five +o’clock, and that Marie must be waiting for him. On his way back to the +Grotto, however, he encountered the Abbé des Hermoises deep in +conversation with M. de Guersaint, who had only just left his room at the +hotel, and was quite enlivened by his good nap. He and his companion were +admiring the extraordinary beauty which the fervour of faith imparted to +some women’s countenances, and they also spoke of their projected trip to +the 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 still +in the same painful stupor, with her eyes still fixed on the Blessed +Virgin who had not deigned to hear her. She did not answer the loving +words which her father addressed to her, but simply glanced at him with +her large distressful eyes, and then again turned them upon the marble +statue which looked so white amid the radiance of the tapers. And whilst +Pierre stood waiting to take her back to the hospital, M. de Guersaint +devoutly fell upon his knees. At first he prayed with passionate ardour +for his daughter’s cure, and then he solicited, on his own behalf, the +favour of finding some wealthy person who would provide him with the +million 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 at +the Hotel of the Apparitions, it occurred to Pierre to return for a +moment to the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours before going to bed +himself. He had left Marie in such a despairing state, so fiercely +silent, that he was full of anxiety about her. And when he had asked for +Madame de Jonquière at the door of the Sainte-Honorine Ward he became yet +more anxious, for the news was by no means good. The young girl, said the +superintendent, had not even opened her mouth. She would answer nobody, +and had even refused to eat. Madame de Jonquière, insisted therefore that +Pierre should come in. True, the presence of men was forbidden in the +women’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 worthy +lady. “Pray come in and sit down near her till Abbé Judaine arrives. He +will come at about one in the morning to administer the communion to our +more afflicted sufferers, those who cannot move and who have to eat at +daybreak. You will be able to assist him.” + +Pierre thereupon followed Madame de Jonquière, who installed him at the +head of Marie’s bed. “My dear child,” she said to the girl, “I have +brought you somebody who is very fond of you. You will be able to chat +with him, and you will be reasonable now, won’t you?” + +Marie, however, on recognising Pierre, gazed at him with an air of +exasperated suffering, a black, stern expression of revolt. + +“Would you like him to read something to you,” resumed Madame de +Jonquière, “something that would ease and console you as he did in the +train? No? It wouldn’t interest you, you don’t care for it? Well, we will +see by-and-by. I will leave him with you, and I am sure you will be quite +reasonable again in a few minutes.” + +Pierre then began speaking to her in a low voice, saying all the kind +consoling things that his heart could think of, and entreating her not to +allow herself to sink into such despair. If the Blessed Virgin had not +cured her on the first day, it was because she reserved her for some +conspicuous miracle. But he spoke in vain. Marie had turned her head +away, and did not even seem to listen as she lay there with a bitter +expression on her mouth and a gleam of irritation in her eyes, which +wandered away into space. Accordingly he ceased speaking and began to +gaze at the ward around him. + +The spectacle was a frightful one. Never before had such a nausea of pity +and terror affected his heart. They had long since dined, nevertheless +plates of food which had been brought up from the kitchens still lay +about the beds; and all through the night there were some who ate whilst +others continued restlessly moaning, asking to be turned over or helped +out of bed. As the hours went by a kind of vague delirium seemed to come +upon almost all of them. Very few were able to sleep quietly. Some had +been undressed and were lying between the sheets, but the greater number +were simply stretched out on the beds, it being so difficult to get their +clothes off that they did not even change their linen during the five +days of the pilgrimage. In the semi-obscurity, moreover, the obstruction +of the ward seemed to have increased. To the fifteen beds ranged along +the walls and the seven mattresses filling the central space, some fresh +pallets had been added, and on all sides there was a confused litter of +ragged garments, old baskets, boxes, and valises. Indeed, you no longer +knew where to step. Two smoky lanterns shed but a dim light upon this +encampment of dying women, in which a sickly smell prevailed; for, +instead of any freshness, merely the heavy heat of the August night came +in through the two windows which had been left ajar. Nightmare-like +shadows and cries sped to and fro, peopling the inferno, amidst the +nocturnal agony of so much accumulated suffering. + +However, Pierre recognised Raymonde, who, her duties over, had come to +kiss her mother, before going to sleep in one of the garrets reserved to +the Sisters of the hospital. For her own part, Madame de Jonquière, +taking her functions to heart, did not close her eyes during the three +nights spent at Lourdes. + +She certainly had an arm-chair in which to rest herself, but she never +sat down in it for a moment with out being disturbed. It must be admitted +that she was bravely seconded by little Madame Désagneaux, who displayed +such enthusiastic zeal that Sister Hyacinthe asked her, with a smile: +“Why don’t you take the vows?” whereupon she responded, with an air of +scared surprise: “Oh! I can’t, I’m married, you know, and I’m very fond +of my husband.” As for Madame Volmar, she had not even shown herself; but +it was alleged that Madame de Jonquière had sent her to bed on hearing +her complain of a frightful headache. And this had put Madame Désagneaux +in quite a temper; for, as she sensibly enough remarked, a person had no +business to offer to nurse the sick when the slightest exertion exhausted +her. She herself, however, at last began to feel her legs and arms +aching, though she would not admit it, but hastened to every patient whom +she heard calling, ever ready as she was to lend a helping hand. In Paris +she would have rung for a servant rather than have moved a candlestick +herself; but here she was ever coming and going, bringing and emptying +basins, and passing her arms around patients to hold them up, whilst +Madame de Jonquière slipped pillows behind them. However, shortly after +eleven o’clock, she was all at once overpowered. Having imprudently +stretched herself in the armchair for a moment’s rest, she there fell +soundly asleep, her pretty head sinking on one of her shoulders amidst +her lovely, wavy fair hair, which was all in disorder. And from that +moment neither moan nor call, indeed no sound whatever, could waken her. + +Madame de Jonquière, however, had softly approached the young priest +again. “I had an idea,” said she in a low voice, “of sending for Monsieur +Ferrand, the house-surgeon, you know, who accompanies us. He would have +given the poor girl something to calm her. Only he is busy downstairs +trying to relieve Brother Isidore, in the Family Ward. Besides, as you +know, we are not supposed to give medical attendance here; our work +consists in placing our dear sick ones in the hands of the Blessed +Virgin.” + +Sister Hyacinthe, who had made up her mind to spend the night with the +superintendent, now drew, near. “I have just come from the Family Ward,” + she said; “I went to take Monsieur Sabathier some oranges which I had +promised him, and I saw Monsieur Ferrand, who had just succeeded in +reviving Brother Isidore. Would you like me to go down and fetch him?” + +But Pierre declined the offer. “No, no,” he replied, “Marie will be +sensible. I will read her a few consoling pages by-and-by, and then she +will rest.” + +For the moment, however, the girl still remained obstinately silent. One +of the two lanterns was hanging from the wall close by, and Pierre could +distinctly see her thin face, rigid and motionless like stone. Then, +farther away, in the adjoining bed, he perceived Elise Rouquet, who was +sound asleep and no longer wore her fichu, but openly displayed her face, +the ulcerations of which still continued to grow paler. And on the young +priest’s left hand was Madame Vetu, now greatly weakened, in a hopeless +state, unable to doze off for a moment, shaken as she was by a continuous +rattle. He said a few kind words to her, for which she thanked him with a +nod; and, gathering her remaining strength together, she was at last able +to say: “There were several cures to-day; I was very pleased to hear of +them.” + +On a mattress at the foot of her bed was La Grivotte, who in a fever of +extraordinary 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 eaten +half a fowl for dinner, she who had been unable to eat for long months +past. Then, too, she had followed the torchlight procession on foot +during nearly a couple of hours, and she would certainly have danced till +daybreak had the Blessed Virgin only been pleased to give a ball. And +once more she repeated: “I am cured, yes, cured, quite cured!” + +Thereupon Madame Vetu found enough strength to say with childlike +serenity and perfect, gladsome abnegation: “The Blessed Virgin did well +to cure her since she is poor. I am better pleased than if it had been +myself, for I have my little shop to depend upon and can wait. We each +have our turn, each our turn.” + +One and all displayed a like charity, a like pleasure that others should +have been cured. Seldom, indeed, was any jealousy shown; they surrendered +themselves to a kind of epidemical beatitude, to a contagious hope that +they would all be cured whenever it should so please the Blessed Virgin. +And it was necessary that she should not be offended by any undue +impatience; for assuredly she had her reasons and knew right well why she +began by healing some rather than others. Thus with the fraternity born +of common suffering and hope, the most grievously afflicted patients +prayed for the cure of their neighbours. None of them ever despaired, +each fresh miracle was the promise of another one, of the one which would +be worked on themselves. Their faith remained unshakable. A story was +told of a paralytic woman, some farm servant, who with extraordinary +strength of will had contrived to take a few steps at the Grotto, and who +while being conveyed back to the hospital had asked to be set down that +she might return to the Grotto on foot. But she had gone only half the +distance when she had staggered, panting and livid; and on being brought +to the hospital on a stretcher, she had died there, cured, however, said +her neighbours in the ward. Each, indeed, had her turn; the Blessed +Virgin forgot none of her dear daughters unless it were her design to +grant some chosen one immediate admission into Paradise. + +All at once, at the moment when Pierre was leaning towards her, again +offering to read to her, Marie burst into furious sobs. Letting her head +fall upon her friend’s shoulder, she vented all her rebellion in a low, +terrible voice, amidst the vague shadows of that awful room. She had +experienced what seldom happened to her, a collapse of faith, a sudden +loss of courage, all the rage of the suffering being who can no longer +wait. Such was her despair, indeed, that she even became sacrilegious. + +“No, no,” she stammered, “the Virgin is cruel; she is unjust, for she did +not cure me just now. Yet I felt so certain that she would grant my +prayer, I had prayed to her so fervently. I shall never be cured, now +that the first day is past. It was a Saturday, and I was convinced that I +should be cured on a Saturday. I did not want to speak--and oh! prevent +me, 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 was +endeavouring to stifle the cry of her rebellion. “Be quiet, Marie, I +entreat you! It would never do for anyone to hear you--you so pious! Do +you want to scandalise every soul?” + +But in spite of her efforts she was unable to keep silence. “I should +stifle, I must speak out,” she said. “I no longer love her, no longer +believe in her. The tales which are related here are all falsehoods; +there is _nothing_, she does not even exist, since she does not hear when +one 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, so +that I may go and die in the street, where the passers-by, at least, will +take 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. “My +father was not even there. And you, my friend, forsook me. When I saw +that it was another who was taking me to the piscinas, I began to feel a +chill. Yes, that chill of doubt which I often felt in Paris. And that is +at least certain, I doubted--perhaps, indeed, that is why she did not +cure me. I cannot have prayed well enough, I am not pious enough, no +doubt.” + +She was no longer blaspheming, but seeking for excuses to explain the +non-intervention of Heaven. However, her face retained an angry +expression amidst this struggle which she was waging with the Supreme +Power, 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 of +this description broke out in the ward, and the sufferers, lying on their +beds, rebelled against their fate, sobbing and lamenting, and at times +even swearing, the lady-hospitallers and the Sisters, somewhat shocked, +would content themselves with simply closing the bed-curtains. Grace had +departed, one must await its return. And at last, sometimes after long +hours, the rebellious complaints would die away, and peace would reign +again amidst the deep, woeful silence. + +“Calm yourself, calm yourself, I implore you,” Pierre gently repeated to +Marie, seeing that a fresh attack was coming upon her, an attack of doubt +in herself, of fear that she was unworthy of the divine assistance. + +Sister Hyacinthe, moreover, had again drawn near. “You will not be able +to take the sacrament by-and-by, my dear child,” said she, “if you +continue in such a state. Come, since we have given Monsieur l’Abbé +permission to read to you, why don’t you let him do so?” + +Marie made a feeble gesture as though to say that she consented, and +Pierre at once took out of the valise at the foot of her bed, the little +blue-covered book in which the story of Bernadette was so naïvely +related. As on the previous night, however, when the train was rolling +on, he did not confine himself to the bald phraseology of the book, but +began improvising, relating all manner of details in his own fashion, in +order to charm the simple folks who listened to him. Nevertheless, with +his reasoning, analytical proclivities, he could not prevent himself from +secretly re-establishing the real facts, imparting, for himself alone, a +human character to this legend, whose wealth of prodigies contributed so +greatly to the cure of those that suffered. Women were soon sitting up on +all the surrounding beds. They wished to hear the continuation of the +story, for the thought of the sacrament which they were passionately +awaiting had prevented almost all of them from getting to sleep. And +seated there, in the pale light of the lantern hanging from the wall +above him, Pierre little by little raised his voice, so that he might be +heard by the whole ward. + +“The persecutions began with the very first miracles. Called a liar and a +lunatic, Bernadette was threatened with imprisonment. Abbé Peyramale, the +parish priest of Lourdes, and Monseigneur Laurence, Bishop of Tarbes, +like the rest of the clergy, refrained from all intervention, waiting the +course of events with the greatest prudence; whilst the civil +authorities, the Prefect, the Public Prosecutor, the Mayor, and the +Commissary of Police, indulged in excessive anti-religious zeal.” + +Continuing his perusal in this fashion, Pierre saw the real story rise up +before him with invincible force. His mind travelled a short distance +backward and he beheld Bernadette at the time of the first apparitions, +so candid, so charming in her ignorance and good faith, amidst all her +sufferings. And she was truly the visionary, the saint, her face assuming +an expression of superhuman beauty during her crises of ecstasy. Her brow +beamed, her features seemed to ascend, her eyes were bathed with light, +whilst her parted lips burnt with divine love. And then her whole person +became majestic; it was in a slow, stately way that she made the sign of +the cross, with gestures which seemed to embrace the whole horizon. The +neighbouring valleys, the villages, the towns, spoke of Bernadette alone. +Although the Lady had not yet told her name, she was recognised, and +people said, “It is she, the Blessed Virgin.” On the first market-day, so +many people flocked into Lourdes that the town quite overflowed. All +wished to see the blessed child whom the Queen of the Angels had chosen, +and who became so beautiful when the heavens opened to her enraptured +gaze. The crowd on the banks of the Gave grew larger each morning, and +thousands of people ended by installing themselves there, jostling one +another that they might lose nothing of the spectacle! As soon as +Bernadette appeared, a murmur of fervour spread: “Here is the saint, the +saint, the saint!” Folks rushed forward to kiss her garments. She was a +Messiah, the eternal Messiah whom the nations await, and the need of whom +is ever arising from generation to generation. And, moreover, it was ever +the same adventure beginning afresh: an apparition of the Virgin to a +shepherdess; a voice exhorting the world to penitence; a spring gushing +forth; and miracles astonishing and enrapturing the crowds that hastened +to the spot in larger and larger numbers. + +Ah! those first miracles of Lourdes, what a spring-tide flowering of +consolation and hope they brought to the hearts of the wretched, upon +whom poverty and sickness were preying! Old Bourriette’s restored +eyesight, little Bouhohort’s resuscitation in the icy water, the deaf +recovering their hearing, the lame suddenly enabled to walk, and so many +other cases, Blaise Maumus, Bernade Soubies,* Auguste Bordes, Blaisette +Soupenne, Benoite Cazeaux, in turn cured of the most dreadful ailments, +became the subject of endless conversations, and fanned the illusions of +all those who suffered either in their hearts or their flesh. On +Thursday, March 4th, the last day of the fifteen visits solicited by the +Virgin, there were more than twenty thousand persons assembled before the +Grotto. Everybody, indeed, had come down from the mountains. And this +immense throng found at the Grotto the divine food that it hungered for, +a feast of the Marvellous, a sufficient meed of the Impossible to content +its belief in a superior Power, which deigned to bestow some attention +upon poor folks, and to intervene in the wretched affairs of this lower +world, in order to re-establish some measure of justice and kindness. It +was indeed the cry of heavenly charity bursting forth, the invisible +helping hand stretched out at last to dress the eternal sores of +humanity. Ah! that dream in which each successive generation sought +refuge, with what indestructible energy did it not arise among the +disinherited ones of this world as soon as it found a favourable spot, +prepared by circumstances! And for centuries, perhaps, circumstances had +never so combined to kindle the mystical fire of faith as they did at +Lourdes. + + * 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 as +it was long ago at Jerusalem, when the tidings of miracles spread, the +civil authorities--the Public Prosecutor, the Justice of the Peace, the +Mayor, and particularly the Prefect of Tarbes--were all roused and began +to bestir themselves. The Prefect was a sincere Catholic, a worshipper, a +man of perfect honour, but he also had the firm mind of a public +functionary, was a passionate defender of order, and a declared adversary +of fanaticism which gives birth to disorder and religious perversion. +Under his orders at Lourdes there was a Commissary of Police, a man of +great intelligence and shrewdness, who had hitherto discharged his +functions in a very proper way, and who, legitimately enough, beheld in +this affair of the apparitions an opportunity to put his gift of +sagacious skill to the proof. So the struggle began, and it was this +Commissary who, on the first Sunday in Lent, at the time of the first +apparitions, summoned Bernadette to his office in order that he might +question her. He showed himself affectionate, then angry, then +threatening, but all in vain; the answers which the girl gave him were +ever the same. The story which she related, with its slowly accumulated +details, had little by little irrevocably implanted itself in her +infantile mind. And it was no lie on the part of this poor suffering +creature, this exceptional victim of hysteria, but an unconscious +haunting, a radical lack of will-power to free herself from her original +hallucination. 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 amiable +and so gentle, so incapable of any evil thought, from that time forward +lost to life, crucified by her fixed idea, whence one could only have +extricated her by changing her environment, by restoring her to the open +air, in some land of daylight and human affection. But she was the chosen +one, she had beheld the Virgin, she would suffer from it her whole life +long and die from it at last! + +Pierre, who knew Bernadette so well, and who felt a fraternal pity for +her memory, the fervent compassion with which one regards a human saint, +a simple, upright, charming creature tortured by her faith, allowed his +emotion to appear in his moist eyes and trembling voice. And a pause in +his narrative ensued. Marie, who had hitherto been lying there quite +stiff, with a hard expression of revolt still upon her face, opened her +clenched hands and made a vague gesture of pity. “Ah,” she murmured, “the +poor child, all alone to contend against those magistrates, and so +innocent, so proud, so unshakable in her championship of the truth!” + +The same compassionate sympathy was arising from all the beds in the +ward. That hospital inferno with its nocturnal wretchedness, its +pestilential atmosphere, its pallets of anguish heaped together, its +weary lady-hospitallers and Sisters flitting phantom-like hither and +thither, now seemed to be illumined by a ray of divine charity. Was not +the eternal illusion of happiness rising once more amidst tears and +unconscious falsehoods? Poor, poor Bernadette! All waxed indignant at the +thought of the persecutions which she had endured in defence of her +faith. + +Then Pierre, resuming his story, related all that the child had had to +suffer. After being questioned by the Commissary she had to appear before +the judges of the local tribunal. The entire magistracy pursued her, and +endeavoured to wring a retractation from her. But the obstinacy of her +dream was stronger than the common sense of all the civil authorities put +together. Two doctors who were sent by the Prefect to make a careful +examination of the girl came, as all doctors would have done, to the +honest opinion that it was a case of nervous trouble, of which the asthma +was a sure sign, and which, in certain circumstances, might have induced +visions. This nearly led to her removal and confinement in a hospital at +Tarbes. But public exasperation was feared. A bishop had fallen on his +knees before her. Some ladies had sought to buy favours from her for +gold. Moreover she had found a refuge with the Sisters of Nevers, who +tended the aged in the town asylum, and there she made her first +communion, and was with difficulty taught to read and write. As the +Blessed Virgin seemed to have chosen her solely to work the happiness of +others, and she herself had not been cured, it was very sensibly decided +to 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 Lourdes +than the torture of being questioned and adored by a whole people began +afresh, became aggravated, and filled her more and more with horror of +the world. Her life was over already; she would be a playful child no +more; she could never be a young girl dreaming of a husband, a young wife +kissing the cheeks of sturdy children. She had beheld the Virgin, she was +the chosen one, the martyr. If the Virgin, said believers, had confided +three secrets to her, investing her with a triple armour as it were, it +was simply in order to sustain her in her appointed course. + +The clergy had for a long time remained aloof, on its own side full of +doubt and anxiety. Abbé Peyramale, the parish priest of Lourdes, was a +man of somewhat blunt ways, but full of infinite kindness, rectitude, and +energy whenever he found himself in what he thought the right path. On +the first occasion when Bernadette visited him, he received this child +who had been brought up at Bartres and had not yet been seen at +Catechism, almost as sternly as the Commissary of Police had done; in +fact, he refused to believe her story, and with some irony told her to +entreat the Lady to begin by making the briars blossom beneath her feet, +which, by the way, the Lady never did. And if the Abbé ended by taking +the child under his protection like a good pastor who defends his flock, +it was simply through the advent of persecution and the talk of +imprisoning this puny child, whose clear eyes shone so frankly, and who +clung with such modest, gentle stubbornness to her original tale. +Besides, why should he have continued denying the miracle after merely +doubting it like a prudent priest who had no desire to see religion mixed +up in any suspicious affair? Holy Writ is full of prodigies, all dogma is +based on the mysterious; and that being so, there was nothing to prevent +him, a priest, from believing that the Virgin had really entrusted +Bernadette with a pious message for him, an injunction to build a church +whither the faithful would repair in procession. Thus it was that he +began loving and defending Bernadette for her charm’s sake, whilst still +refraining from active interference, awaiting as he did the decision of +his Bishop. + +This Bishop, Monseigneur Laurence, seemed to have shut himself up in his +episcopal residence at Tarbes, locking himself within it and preserving +absolute silence as though there were nothing occurring at Lourdes of a +nature 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 who +spent their days before the Grotto. He waited, and even allowed the +Prefect to state in his administrative circulars that the civil and the +religious authorities were acting in concert. In reality, he cannot have +believed in the apparitions of the Grotto of Massabielle, which he +doubtless considered to be the mere hallucinations of a sick child. This +affair, which was revolutionising the region, was of sufficient +importance for him to have studied it day by day, and the manner in which +he disregarded it for so long a time shows how little inclined he was to +admit the truth of the alleged miracles, and how greatly he desired to +avoid compromising the Church in a matter which seemed destined to end +badly. With all his piety, Monseigneur Laurence had a cool, practical +intellect, which enabled him to govern his diocese with great good sense. +Impatient and ardent people nicknamed him Saint Thomas at the time, on +account of the manner in which his doubts persisted until events at last +forced his hand. Indeed, he turned a deaf ear to all the stories that +were being related, firmly resolved as he was that he would only listen +to them if it should appear certain that religion had nothing to lose. + +However, the persecutions were about to become more pronounced. The +Minister 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 Prefect +caused the approaches to the Grotto to be occupied by the military. The +Grotto had already been decorated with vases of flowers offered by the +zeal of the faithful and the gratitude of sufferers who had been healed. +Money, moreover, was thrown into it; gifts to the Blessed Virgin +abounded. Rudimentary improvements, too, were carried out in a +spontaneous way; some quarrymen cut a kind of reservoir to receive the +miraculous water, and others removed the large blocks of stone, and +traced a path in the hillside. However, in presence of the swelling +torrents of people, the Prefect, after renouncing his idea of arresting +Bernadette, took the serious resolution of preventing all access to the +Grotto by placing a strong palisade in front of it. Some regrettable +incidents had lately occurred; various children pretended that they had +seen the devil, some of them being guilty of simulation in this respect, +whilst others had given way to real attacks of hysteria, in the +contagious nervous unhinging which was so prevalent. But what a terrible +business did the removal of the offerings from the Grotto prove! It was +only towards evening that the Commissary was able to find a girl willing +to let him have a cart on hire, and two hours later this girl fell from a +loft and broke one of her ribs. Likewise, a man who had lent an axe had +one 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 off +the pots of flowers, the tapers which he found burning, the coppers and +the silver hearts which lay upon the sand. People clenched their fists, +and covertly called him “thief” and “murderer.” Then the posts for the +palisades were planted in the ground, and the rails were nailed to the +crossbars, no little labour being performed to shut off the Mystery, in +order to bar access to the Unknown, and put the miracles in prison. And +the 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 who +hungered 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 as +an offence, it began to burn with an inextinguishable flame in the depths +of every soul. Believers came to the river bank in far greater numbers, +fell upon their knees at a short distance from the Grotto, and sobbed +aloud as they gazed at the forbidden heaven. And the sick, the poor +ailing folks, who were forbidden to seek cure, rushed on the Grotto +despite all prohibitions, slipped in whenever they could find an aperture +or climbed over the palings when their strength enabled them to do so, in +the one ardent desire to steal a little of the water. What! there was a +prodigious water in that Grotto, which restored the sight to the blind, +which set the infirm erect upon their legs again, which instantaneously +healed all ailments; and there were officials cruel enough to put that +water 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 humble +ones, all the disinherited ones who had as much need of the Marvellous as +of bread to live! In accordance with a municipal decree, the names of all +delinquents were to be taken by the police, and thus one soon beheld a +woeful _défile_ of old women and lame men summoned before the Justice of +the Peace for the sole offence of taking a little water from the fount of +life! They stammered and entreated, at their wit’s end when a fine was +imposed upon them. And, outside, the crowd was growling; rageful +unpopularity was gathering around those magistrates who treated human +wretchedness so harshly, those pitiless masters who after taking all the +wealth of the world, would not even leave to the poor their dream of the +realms beyond, their belief that a beneficent superior power took a +maternal interest in them, and was ready to endow them with peace of soul +and health of body. One day a whole band of poverty-stricken and ailing +folks went to the Mayor, knelt down in his courtyard, and implored him +with sobs to allow the Grotto to be reopened; and the words they spoke +were so pitiful that all who heard them wept. A mother showed her child +who was half-dead; would they let the little one die like that in her +arms when there was a source yonder which had saved the children of other +mothers? A blind man called attention to his dim eyes; a pale, scrofulous +youth displayed the sores on his legs; a paralytic woman sought to join +her woeful twisted hands: did the authorities wish to see them all +perish, did they refuse them the last divine chance of life, condemned +and abandoned as they were by the science of man? And equally great was +the distress of the believers, of those who were convinced that a corner +of heaven had opened amidst the night of their mournful existences, and +who were indignant that they should be deprived of the chimerical +delight, the supreme relief for their human and social sufferings, which +they found in the belief that the Blessed Virgin had indeed come down +from heaven to bring them the priceless balm of her intervention. +However, the Mayor was unable to promise anything, and the crowd withdrew +weeping, ready for rebellion, as though under the blow of some great act +of injustice, an act of idiotic cruelty towards the humble and the simple +for which Heaven would assuredly take vengeance. + +The struggle went on for several months; and it was an extraordinary +spectacle which those sensible men--the Minister, the Prefect, and the +Commissary of Police--presented, all animated with the best intentions +and contending against the ever-swelling crowd of despairing ones, who +would not allow the doors of dreamland to be closed upon them, who would +not be shut off from the mystic glimpse of future happiness in which they +found consolation for their present wretchedness. The authorities +required order, the respect of a discreet religion, the triumph of +reason; whereas the need of happiness carried the people off into an +enthusiastic desire for cure both in this world and in the next. Oh! to +cease suffering, to secure equality in the comforts of life; to march on +under the protection of a just and beneficent Mother, to die only to +awaken in heaven! And necessarily the burning desire of the multitude, +the holy madness of the universal joy, was destined to sweep aside the +rigid, morose conceptions of a well-regulated society in which the +ever-recurring epidemical attacks of religious hallucination are +condemned as prejudicial to good order and healthiness of mind. + +The Sainte-Honorine Ward, on hearing the story, likewise revolted. Pierre +again had to pause, for many were the stifled exclamations in which the +Commissary of Police was likened to Satan and Herod. La Grivotte had sat +up on her mattress, stammering: “Ah! the monsters! To behave like that to +the Blessed Virgin who has cured me!” + +And even Madame Vetu--once more penetrated by a ray of hope amidst the +covert certainty she felt that she was going to die--grew angry at the +idea 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 to +raise her to a sitting posture. Madame de Jonquière was profiting by the +interruption to attend to a young woman afflicted with a spinal +complaint, whilst two other women, unable to remain on their beds, so +unbearable was the heat, prowled about with short, silent steps, looking +quite white in the misty darkness. And from the far end of the ward, +where all was black, there resounded a noise of painful breathing, which +had been going on without a pause, accompanying Pierre’s narrative like a +rattle. Elise Rouquet alone was sleeping peacefully, still stretched upon +her back, and displaying her disfigured countenance, which was slowly +drying. + +Midnight had struck a quarter of an hour previously, and Abbé Judaine +might arrive at any moment for the communion. Grace was now again +descending into Marie’s heart, and she was convinced that if the Blessed +Virgin had refused to cure her it was, indeed, her own fault in having +doubted when she entered the piscina. And she, therefore, repented of her +rebellion as of a crime. Could she ever be forgiven? Her pale face sank +down among her beautiful fair hair, her eyes filled with tears, and she +looked at Pierre with an expression of anguish. “Oh! how wicked I was, my +friend,” she said. “It was through hearing you relate how that Prefect +and those magistrates sinned through pride, that I understood my +transgression. One must believe, my friend; there is no happiness outside +faith 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 his +narrative, so that he had to promise to go on to the triumph of the +Grotto. + +Its entrance remained barred by the palisade, and you had to come +secretly at night if you wished to pray and carry off a stolen bottle of +water. Still, the fear of rioting increased, for it was rumoured that +whole villages intended to come down from the hills in order to deliver +God, as they naïvely expressed it. It was a _levée en masse_ of the +humble, a rush of those who hungered for the miraculous, so irresistible +in its impetuosity that mere common sense, mere considerations of public +order 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 his +clergy from following the faithful to the Grotto, and defending the +Church against the tornado of superstition which had been let loose. But +what was the use of struggling any longer? He felt the wretchedness of +the suffering people committed to his care to be so great that he +resigned himself to granting them the idolatrous religion for which he +realised them to be eager. Some prudence remaining to him, however, he +contented himself in the first instance with drawing up an _ordonnance_, +appointing a commission of inquiry, which was to investigate the +question; this implied the acceptance of the miracles after a period of +longer or shorter duration. If Monseigneur Laurence was the man of +healthy culture and cool reason that he is pictured to have been, how +great must have been his anguish on the morning when he signed that +_ordonnance_! He must have knelt in his oratory, and have begged the +Sovereign Master of the world to dictate his conduct to him. He did not +believe in the apparitions; he had a loftier, more intellectual idea of +the manifestations of the Divinity. Only would he not be showing true +pity and mercy in silencing the scruples of his reason, the noble +prejudices of his faith, in presence of the necessity of granting that +bread of falsehood which poor humanity requires in order to be happy? +Doubtless, he begged the pardon of Heaven for allowing it to be mixed up +in what he regarded as childish pastime, for exposing it to ridicule in +connection with an affair in which there was only sickliness and +dementia. But his flock suffered so much, hungered so ravenously for the +marvellous, for fairy stories with which to lull the pains of life. And +thus, in tears, the Bishop at last sacrificed his respect for the dignity +of Providence to his sensitive pastoral charity for the woeful human +flock. + +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 affair +of the apparitions, with which the entire Parisian press was also +occupying itself, for the persecutions would not have been complete if +the pens of Voltairean newspaper-men had not meddled in them. And whilst +his Minister, his Prefect, and his Commissary of Police were fighting for +common sense and public order, the Emperor preserved his wonted +silence--the deep silence of a day-dreamer which nobody ever penetrated. +Petitions arrived day by day, yet he held his tongue. Bishops came, great +personages, great ladies of his circle watched and drew him on one side, +and still he held his tongue. A truceless warfare was being waged around +him: on one side the believers and the men of fanciful minds whom the +Mysterious strongly interested; on the other the unbelievers and the +statesmen who distrusted the disturbances of the imagination;--and still +and ever he held his tongue. Then, all at once, with the sudden decision +of a naturally timid man, he spoke out. The rumour spread that he had +yielded to the entreaties of his wife Eugénie. No doubt she did +intervene, but the Emperor was more deeply influenced by a revival of his +old humanitarian dreams, his genuine compassion for the disinherited.* +Like the Bishop, he did not wish to close the portals of illusion to the +wretched by upholding the unpopular decree which forbade despairing +sufferers 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 access +to 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 previous +one was read at Lourdes to the sound of drum and trumpet. The Commissary +of Police had to come in person to superintend the removal of the +palisade. He was afterwards transferred elsewhere like the Prefect.* +People flocked to Lourdes from all parts, the new _cultus_ was organised +at 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, human +wretchedness with its eternal need of falsehood, its hunger for the +marvellous, its everlasting hope akin to that of some condemned man who, +for salvation’s sake, surrenders himself into the hands of an invisible +Omnipotence, mightier than nature, and alone capable, should it be +willing, of annulling nature’s laws. And that which had also conquered +was the sovereign compassion of those pastors, the merciful Bishop and +merciful Emperor who allowed those big sick children to retain the fetich +which 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 to +prosecute the inquiry which had been entrusted to it. It questioned +Bernadette yet once again, and studied a large number of miracles. +However, in order that the evidence might be absolute, it only registered +some thirty cases of cure. And Monseigneur Laurence declared himself +convinced. Nevertheless, he gave a final proof of his prudence, by +continuing to wait another three years before declaring in a pastoral +letter that the Blessed Virgin had in truth appeared at the Grotto of +Massabielle and that numerous miracles had subsequently taken place +there. Meantime, he had purchased the Grotto itself, with all the land +around it, from the municipality of Lourdes, on behalf of his see. Work +was then begun, modestly at first, but soon on a larger and larger scale +as money began to flow in from all parts of Christendom. The Grotto was +cleared and enclosed with an iron railing. The Gave was thrown back into +a new bed, so as to allow of spacious approaches to the shrine, with +lawns, paths, and walks. At last, too, the church which the Virgin had +asked for, the Basilica, began to rise on the summit of the rock itself. +From the very first stroke of the pick, Abbé Peyramale, the parish priest +of Lourdes, went on directing everything with even excessive zeal, for +the struggle had made him the most ardent and most sincere of all +believers in the work that was to be accomplished. With his somewhat +rough but truly fatherly nature, he had begun to adore Bernadette, making +her mission his own, and devoting himself, soul and body, to realising +the orders which he had received from Heaven through her innocent mouth. +And he exhausted himself in mighty efforts; he wished everything to be +very beautiful and very grand, worthy of the Queen of the Angels who had +deigned to visit this mountain nook. The first religious ceremony did not +take place till six years after the apparitions. A marble statue of the +Virgin was installed with great pomp on the very spot where she had +appeared. It was a magnificent day, all Lourdes was gay with flags, and +every bell rang joyously. Five years later, in 1869, the first mass was +celebrated in the crypt of the Basilica, whose spire was not yet +finished. Meantime, gifts flowed in without a pause, a river of gold was +streaming towards the Grotto, a whole town was about to spring up from +the soil. It was the new religion completing its foundations. The desire +to be healed did heal; the thirst for a miracle worked the miracle. A +Deity of pity and hope was evolved from man’s sufferings, from that +longing for falsehood and relief which, in every age of humanity, has +created the marvellous palaces of the realms beyond, where an almighty +Power renders justice and distributes eternal happiness. + +And thus the ailing ones of the Sainte-Honorine Ward only beheld in the +victory of the Grotto the triumph of their hopes of cure. Along the rows +of beds there was a quiver of joy when, with his heart stirred by all +those poor faces turned towards him, eager for certainty, Pierre +repeated: “God had conquered. Since that day the miracles have never +ceased, and it is the most humble who are the most frequently relieved.” + +Then he laid down the little book. Abbé Judaine was coming in, and the +Sacrament was about to be administered. Marie, however, again penetrated +by the fever of faith, her hands burning, leant towards Pierre. “Oh, my +friend!” said she, “I pray you hear me confess my fault and absolve me. I +have blasphemed, and have been guilty of mortal sin. If you do not +succour me, I shall be unable to receive the Blessed Sacrament, and yet I +so greatly need to be consoled and strengthened.” + +The young priest refused her request with a wave of the hand. He had +never been willing to act as confessor to this friend, the only woman he +had 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 my +cure.” + +Then he gave way and received the avowal of her fault, that impious +rebellion induced by suffering, that rebellion against the Virgin who had +remained deaf to her prayers. And afterwards he granted her absolution in +the sacramental form. + +Meanwhile Abbé Judaine had already deposited the ciborium on a little +table, between two lighted tapers, which looked like woeful stars in the +semi-obscurity of the ward. Madame de Jonquière had just decided to open +one of the windows quite wide, for the odour emanating from all the +suffering bodies and heaped-up rags had become unbearable. But no air +came in from the narrow courtyard into which the window opened; though +black with night, it seemed like a well of fire. Having offered to act as +server, 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 sins +of the world.” All the women who, writhing in agony, were impatiently +awaiting the communion, like dying creatures who await life from some +fresh medicine which is a long time coming, thereupon thrice repeated, in +all humility, and with lips almost closed: “Lord, I am not worthy that +Thou shouldst enter under my roof; but only say the word and my soul +shall be healed.” + +Abbé Judaine had begun to make the round of those woeful beds, +accompanied by Pierre, and followed by Madame de Jonquière and Sister +Hyacinthe, each of whom carried one of the lighted tapers. The Sister +designated those who were to communicate; and, murmuring the customary +Latin words, the priest leant forward and placed the Host somewhat at +random on the sufferer’s tongue. Almost all were waiting for him with +widely opened, glittering eyes, amidst the disorder of that hastily +pitched camp. Two were found to be sound asleep, however, and had to be +awakened. Several were moaning without being conscious of it, and +continued moaning even after they had received the sacrament. At the far +end of the ward, the rattle of the poor creature who could not be seen +still resounded. And nothing could have been more mournful than the +appearance of that little _cortège_ in the semi-darkness, amidst which +the yellow flames of the tapers gleamed like stars. + +But Marie’s face, to which an expression of ecstasy had returned, was +like a divine apparition. Although La Grivotte was hungering for the +bread of life, they had refused her the sacrament on this occasion, as it +was 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 now +Marie was lying there under the pale light of the tapers, looking so +beautiful amidst her fair hair, with her eyes dilated and her features +transfigured by faith, that everyone admired her. She received the +sacrament with rapture; Heaven visibly descended into her poor, youthful +frame, reduced to such physical wretchedness. And, clasping Pierre’s +hand, she detained him for a moment, saying: “Oh! she will heal me, my +friend, she has just promised me that she will do so. Go and take some +rest. I shall sleep so soundly now!” + +As he withdrew in company with Abbé Judaine, Pierre caught sight of +little Madame Désagneaux stretched out in the arm-chair in which +weariness had overpowered her. Nothing could awaken her. It was now +half-past one in the morning; and Madame de Jonquière and her assistant, +Sister Hyacinthe, were still going backwards and forwards, turning the +patients over, cleansing them, and dressing their sores. However, the +ward was becoming more peaceful, its heavy darkness had grown less +oppressive since Bernadette with her charm had passed through it. The +visionary’s little shadow was now flitting in triumph from bed to bed, +completing its work, bringing a little of heaven to each of the +despairing ones, each of the disinherited ones of this world; and as they +all at last sank to sleep they could see the little shepherdess, so +young, so ill herself, leaning over them and kissing them with a kindly +smile. + + + + + +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 rooms +which he had fortunately been able to secure on the third floor of the +Hotel of the Apparitions. He had gone to bed at eleven o’clock the night +before and had awoke feeling quite fresh and gay. As soon as he was +dressed he entered the adjoining room which Pierre occupied; but the +young priest, who had not returned to the hotel until past one in the +morning, with his blood heated by insomnia, had been unable to doze off +until daybreak and was now still slumbering. His cassock flung across a +chair, his other garments scattered here and there, testified to his +great weariness and agitation of mind. + +“Come, come, you lazybones!” cried M. de Guersaint gaily; “can’t you hear +the bells ringing?” + +Pierre awoke with a start, quite surprised to find himself in that little +hotel room into which the sunlight was streaming. All the joyous peals of +the bells, the music of the chiming, happy town, moreover, came in +through the window which he had left open. + +“We shall never have time to get to the hospital before eight o’clock to +fetch 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 at +once, I sha’n’t be long,” replied Pierre. + +In spite of the fatigue which had already stiffened his joints, he sprang +out 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 the +fresh, 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 the +landlord, Master Majesté, clad in white from head to foot and looking so +dignified in his office. The place is crammed, it appears; they have +never had so many people before. So it is no wonder that there should be +such 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 sleep +well?” + +“No, indeed,” answered Pierre; “I was tired to death, but I couldn’t +close my eyes. No doubt it was the uproar you speak of that prevented +me.” + +In his turn he then began to talk of the thin partitions, and the manner +in which the house had been crammed with people until it seemed as though +the floors and the walls would collapse with the strain. The place had +been shaking all night long; every now and then people suddenly rushed +along the passages, heavy footfalls resounded, gruff voices ascended +nobody knew whence; without speaking of all the moaning and coughing, the +frightful coughing which seemed to re-echo from every wall. Throughout +the night people evidently came in and went out, got up and lay down +again, paying no attention to time in the disorder in which they lived, +amid shocks of passion which made them hurry to their devotional +exercises as to pleasure parties. + +“And Marie, how was she when you left her last night?” M. de Guersaint +suddenly inquired. + +“A great deal better,” replied Pierre; “she had an attack of extreme +discouragement, but all her courage and faith returned to her at last.” + +A pause followed; and then the girl’s father resumed with his tranquil +optimism: “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 her +protection in my affairs--you know, my great invention of navigable +balloons. Well, suppose I told you that she has already shown me her +favour? Yes, indeed yesterday evening while I was talking with Abbé des +Hermoises, he told me that at Toulouse he would no doubt be able to find +a person to finance me--one of his friends, in fact, who is extremely +wealthy and takes great interest in mechanics! And in this I at once saw +the hand of God!” M. de Guersaint began laughing with his childish laugh, +and then he added: “That Abbé des Hermoises is a charming man. I shall +see this afternoon if there is any means of my accompanying him on an +excursion to the Cirque de Gavarnie at small cost.” + +Pierre, who wished to pay everything, the hotel bill and all the rest, at +once encouraged him in this idea. “Of course,” said he, “you ought not to +miss this opportunity to visit the mountains, since you have so great a +wish to do so. Your daughter will be very happy to know that you are +pleased.” + +Their talk, however, was now interrupted by a servant girl bringing the +two cups of chocolate with a couple of rolls on a metal tray covered with +a napkin. She left the door open as she entered the room, so that a +glimpse was obtained of some portion of the passage. “Ah! they are +already doing my neighbour’s room!” exclaimed M. de Guersaint. “He is a +married man, isn’t he? His wife is with him?” + +The servant looked astonished. “Oh, no,” she replied, “he is quite +alone!” + +“Quite alone? Why, I heard people talking in his room this morning.” + +“You must be mistaken, monsieur,” said the servant; “he has just gone out +after 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 the +table, she continued: “Oh! he is a very respectable gentleman. Last year +he was able to have one of the pavilions which Monsieur Majesté lets out +to visitors, in the lane by the side of the hotel; but this year he +applied too late and had to content himself with that room, which greatly +worried him, for it isn’t a large one, though there is a big cupboard in +it. 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 well +last 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 two +ladies, and a little boy who walks about with a crutch?” + +“Yes, Monsieur l’Abbé, I know them. The aunt, Madame Chaise, took one of +the two rooms for herself; and Monsieur and Madame Vigneron with their +son Gustave have had to content themselves with the other one. This is +the second year they have come to Lourdes. They are very respectable +people too.” + +Pierre nodded. During the night he had fancied he could recognise the +voice of M. Vigneron, whom the heat doubtless had incommoded. However, +the servant was now thoroughly started, and she began to enumerate the +other persons whose rooms were reached by the same passage; on the left +hand there was a priest, then a mother with three daughters, and then an +old married couple; whilst on the right lodged another gentleman who was +all alone, a young lady, too, who was unaccompanied, and then a family +party which included five young children. The hotel was crowded to its +garrets. The servants had had to give up their rooms the previous evening +and lie in a heap in the washhouse. During the night, also, some camp +bedsteads had even been set up on the landings; and one honourable +ecclesiastic, for lack of other accommodation, had been obliged to sleep +on 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 he +was very careful of his person; and Pierre, who remained alone, felt +attracted by the gay sunlight, and stepped for a moment on to the narrow +balcony outside his window. Each of the third-floor rooms on this side of +the hotel was provided with a similar balcony, having a carved-wood +balustrade. However, the young priest’s surprise was very great, for he +had scarcely stepped outside when he suddenly saw a woman protrude her +head over the balcony next to him--that of the room occupied by the +gentleman whom M. de Guersaint and the servant had been speaking of. + +And this woman he had recognised: it was Madame Volmar. There was no +mistaking her long face with its delicate drawn features, its magnificent +large eyes, those brasiers over which a veil, a dimming _moire_, seemed +to 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, made +all haste to withdraw into his apartment. A sudden light had dawned upon +him, and he now understood and could picture everything. So this was why +she had not been seen at the hospital, where little Madame Désagneaux was +always asking for her. Standing motionless, his heart upset, Pierre fell +into a deep reverie, reflecting on the life led by this woman whom he +knew, that torturing conjugal life in Paris between a fierce +mother-in-law and an unworthy husband, and then those three days of +complete liberty spent at Lourdes, that brief bonfire of passion to which +she had hastened under the sacrilegious pretext of serving the divinity. +Tears whose cause he could not even explain, tears that ascended from the +very depths of his being, from his own voluntary chastity, welled into +his 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 to +look for his hat so that he might wipe his eyes. + +Then they went out, and on crossing the threshold heard on their left +hand an unctuous voice which they recognised; it was that of M. Vigneron, +who was loudly repeating the morning prayers. A moment afterwards came a +meeting which interested them. They were walking down the passage when +they were passed by a middle-aged, thick-set, sturdy-looking gentleman, +wearing carefully trimmed whiskers. He bent his back and passed so +rapidly that they were unable to distinguish his features, but they +noticed that he was carrying a carefully made parcel. And immediately +afterwards he slipped a key into the lock of the room adjoining M. de +Guersaint’s, and opening the door disappeared noiselessly, like a shadow. + +M. de Guersaint had glanced round: “Ah! my neighbour,” said he; “he has +been to market and has brought back some delicacies, no doubt!” + +Pierre pretended not to hear, for his companion was so light-minded that +he 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 chaste +terror at the thought that the world and the flesh were there taking +their revenge, amidst all the mystical enthusiasm which he could feel +around him. + +They reached the hospital just as the patients were being brought out to +be carried to the Grotto; and they found that Marie had slept well and +was very gay. She kissed her father and scolded him when she learnt that +he had not yet decided on his trip to Gavarnie. She should really be +displeased with him, she said, if he did not go. Still with the same +restful, smiling expression, she added that she did not expect to be +cured that day; and then, assuming an air of mystery, she begged Pierre +to obtain permission for her to spend the following night before the +Grotto. This was a favour which all the sufferers ardently coveted, but +which only a few favoured ones with difficulty secured. After protesting, +anxious as he felt with regard to the effect which a night spent in the +open air might have upon her health, the young priest, seeing how unhappy +she had suddenly become, at last promised that he would make the +application. Doubtless she imagined that she would only obtain a hearing +from the Virgin when they were alone together in the slumbering +peacefulness of the night. That morning, indeed, she felt so lost among +the 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 and +the priest had again installed her in the Sainte-Honorine Ward, she gave +them their liberty for the remainder of the day. “No, don’t come to fetch +me,” she said, “I shall not go back to the Grotto this afternoon--it +would 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 his +daughter. And he and Pierre went off together, leaving her lying on her +bed, with an absorbed expression on her features, as her large, smiling +eyes wandered away into space. + +It was barely half-past ten when they got back to the Hotel of the +Apparitions; but M. de Guersaint, whom the fine weather delighted, talked +of having _déjeuner_ at once, so that he might the sooner start upon a +ramble through Lourdes. First of all, however, he wished to go up to his +room, and Pierre following him, they encountered quite a drama on their +way. The door of the room occupied by the Vignerons was wide open, and +little 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 had +made the father and mother imagine that the end had come. Madame Vigneron +was crouching on a chair, still stupefied by her fright, whilst M. +Vigneron rushed about the room, thrusting everything aside in order that +he might prepare a glass of sugared-water, to which he added a few drops +of some elixir. This draught, he exclaimed, would set the lad right +again. But all the same, it was incomprehensible. The boy was still +strong, and to think that he should have fainted like that, and have +turned as white as a chicken! Speaking in this wise, M. Vigneron glanced +at Madame Chaise, the aunt, who was standing in front of the sofa, +looking in good health that morning; and his hands shook yet more +violently at the covert idea that if that stupid attack had carried off +his son, they would no longer have inherited the aunt’s fortune. He was +quite beside himself at this thought, and eagerly opening the boy’s mouth +he compelled him to swallow the entire contents of the glass. Then, +however, when he heard Gustave sigh, and saw him open his eyes again, his +fatherly good-nature reappeared, and he shed tears, and called the lad +his dear little fellow. But on Madame Chaise drawing near to offer some +assistance, Gustave repulsed her with a sudden gesture of hatred, as +though he understood how this woman’s money unconsciously perverted his +parents, who, after all, were worthy folks. Greatly offended, the old +lady turned on her heel, and seated herself in a corner, whilst the +father and mother, at last freed from their anxiety, returned thanks to +the Blessed Virgin for having preserved their darling, who smiled at them +with his intelligent and infinitely sorrowful smile, knowing and +understanding everything as he did, and no longer having any taste for +life, 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 a +moment into the passage. “But oh! we did have a fright! Think of it, an +only son, who is so dear to us too.” + +All around them the approach of the _déjeuner_ hour was now throwing the +house into commotion. Every door was banging, and the passages and the +staircase resounded with the constant pitter-patter of feet. Three big +girls passed by, raising a current of air with the sweep of their skirts. +Some little children were crying in a neighbouring room. Then there were +old people who seemed quite scared, and distracted priests who, +forgetting their calling, caught up their cassocks with both hands, so +that they might run the faster to the dining-room. From the top to the +bottom of the house one could feel the floors shaking under the excessive +weight of all the people who were packed inside the hotel. + +“Oh, I hope that it is all over now, and that the Blessed Virgin will +cure him,” repeated M. Vigneron, before allowing his neighbours to +retire. “We are going down-stairs, for I must confess that all this has +made me feel faint. I need something to eat, I am terribly hungry.” + +When Pierre and M. de Guersaint at last left their rooms, and went +down-stairs, they found to their annoyance that there was not the +smallest table-corner vacant in the large dining-room. A most +extraordinary mob had assembled there, and the few seats that were still +unoccupied were reserved. A waiter informed them that the room never +emptied between ten and one o’clock, such was the rush of appetite, +sharpened by the keen mountain air. So they had to resign themselves to +wait, requesting the waiter to warn them as soon as there should be a +couple of vacant places. Then, scarcely knowing what to do with +themselves, they went to walk about the hotel porch, whence there was a +view 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 Majesté in person, appeared before them, clad in white from head +to foot; and with a great show of politeness he inquired if the gentlemen +would like to wait in the drawing-room. He was a stout man of +five-and-forty, and strove to bear the burden of his name in a right +royal fashion. Bald and clean-shaven, with round blue eyes in a waxy +face, displaying three superposed chins, he always deported himself with +much dignity. He had come from Nevers with the Sisters who managed the +orphan asylum, and was married to a dusky little woman, a native of +Lourdes. In less than fifteen years they had made their hotel one of the +most substantial and best patronised establishments in the town. Of +recent times, moreover, they had started a business in religious +articles, installed in a large shop on the left of the hotel porch and +managed by a young niece under Madame Majesté’s Supervision. + +“You can wait in the drawing-room, gentlemen,” again suggested the +hotel-keeper whom Pierre’s cassock rendered very attentive. + +They replied, however, that they preferred to walk about and wait in the +open air. And thereupon Majesté would not leave them, but deigned to chat +with them for a moment as he was wont to do with those of his customers +whom he desired to honour. The conversation turned at first on the +procession which would take place that night and which promised to be a +superb spectacle as the weather was so fine. There were more than fifty +thousand strangers gathered together in Lourdes that day, for visitors +had come in from all the neighbouring bathing stations. This explained +the crush at the _table d’hôte_. Possibly the town would run short of +bread as had been the case the previous year. + +“You saw what a scramble there is,” concluded Majesté, “we really don’t +know how to manage. It isn’t my fault, I assure you, if you are kept +waiting for a short time.” + +At this moment, however, a postman arrived with a large batch of +newspapers and letters which he deposited on a table in the office. He +had kept one letter in his hand and inquired of the landlord, “Have you a +Madame Maze here?” + +“Madame Maze, Madame Maze,” repeated the hotel-keeper. “No, no, certainly +not.” + +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 the +Immaculate Conception, the Blue Sisters as people call them here, I +think.” + +The postman thanked him for the information and went off, but a somewhat +bitter smile had risen to Majesté’s lips. “The Blue Sisters,” he +muttered, “ah! the Blue Sisters.” Then, darting a side glance at Pierre’s +cassock, he stopped short, as though he feared that he might say too +much. Yet his heart was overflowing; he would have greatly liked to ease +his feelings, and this young priest from Paris, who looked so +liberal-minded, could not be one of the “band” as he called all those who +discharged functions at the Grotto and coined money out of Our Lady of +Lourdes. Accordingly, little by little, he ventured to speak out. + +“I am a good Christian, I assure you, Monsieur l’Abbé,” said he. “In fact +we are all good Christians here. And I am a regular worshipper and take +the sacrament every Easter. But, really, I must say that members of a +religious 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 what +he considered to be disloyal competition. Ought not those Blue Sisters, +those Sisters of the Immaculate Conception, to have confined themselves +to their real functions, the manufacture of wafers for sacramental +purposes, and the repairing and washing of church linen? Instead of that, +however, they had transformed their convent into a vast hostelry, where +ladies who came to Lourdes unaccompanied found separate rooms, and were +able to take their meals either in privacy or in a general dining-room. +Everything was certainly very clean, very well organised and very +inexpensive, thanks to the thousand advantages which the Sisters enjoyed; +in fact, no hotel at Lourdes did so much business. “But all the same,” + continued Majesté, “I ask you if it is proper. To think of nuns selling +victuals! Besides, I must tell you that the lady superior is really a +clever 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 parted +with the Fathers of the Grotto who wanted to lay their hands on it. Yes, +Monsieur l’Abbé, she even went to Rome and gained her cause there, so +that 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 _table +d’hôte_!” + +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 longer +have either a bed or a plate at anybody’s disposal, where would you put +any additional visitors who might arrive here?” + +Majesté at once began protesting. “Ah! Monsieur l’Abbé!” said he, “one +can see very well that you don’t know the place. It’s quite true that +there is work for all of us, and that nobody has reason to complain +during the national pilgrimage. But that only lasts four or five days, +and in ordinary times the custom we secure isn’t nearly so great. For +myself, thank Heaven, I am always satisfied. My house is well known, it +occupies the same rank as the Hotel of the Grotto, where two landlords +have already made their fortunes. But no matter, it is vexing to see +those Blue Sisters taking all the cream of the custom, for instance the +ladies of the _bourgeoisie_ who spend a fortnight and three weeks here at +a stretch; and that, too, just in the quiet season, when there are not +many people here. You understand, don’t you? There are people of position +who dislike uproar; they go by themselves to the Grotto, and pray there +all day long, for days together, and pay good prices for their +accommodation without any higgling.” + +Madame Majesté, whom Pierre and M. de Guersaint had not noticed leaning +over an account-book in which she was adding up some figures, thereupon +intervened in a shrill voice: “We had a customer like that, gentlemen, +who stayed here for two months last year. She went to the Grotto, came +back, went there again, took her meals, and went to bed. And never did we +have a word of complaint from her; she was always smiling, as though to +say that she found everything very nice. She paid her bill, too, without +even looking at it. Ah! one regrets people of that kind.” + +Short, thin, very dark, and dressed in black, with a little white collar, +Madame Majesté had risen to her feet; and she now began to solicit +custom: “If you would like to buy a few little souvenirs of Lourdes +before you leave, gentlemen, I hope that you will not forget us. We have +a shop close by, where you will find an assortment of all the articles +that are most in request. As a rule, the persons who stay here are kind +enough not to deal elsewhere.” + +However, Majesté was again wagging his head, with the air of a good +Christian saddened by the scandals of the time. “Certainly,” said he, “I +don’t want to show any disrespect to the reverend Fathers, but it must in +all truth be admitted that they are too greedy. You must have seen the +shop which they have set up near the Grotto, that shop which is always +crowded, and where tapers and articles of piety are sold. A bishop +declared that it was shameful, and that the buyers and sellers ought to +be driven out of the temple afresh. It is said, too, that the Fathers run +that big shop yonder, just across the street, which supplies all the +petty dealers in the town. And, according to the reports which circulate, +they have a finger in all the trade in religious articles, and levy a +percentage on the millions of chaplets, statuettes, and medals which are +sold every year at Lourdes.” + +Majesté had now lowered his voice, for his accusations were becoming +precise, and he ended by trembling somewhat at his imprudence in talking +so confidentially to strangers. However, the expression of Pierre’s +gentle, attentive face reassured him; and so he continued with the +passion of a wounded rival, resolved to go on to the very end: “I am +willing to admit that there is some exaggeration in all this. But all the +same, it does religion no good for people to see the reverend Fathers +keeping shops like us tradesmen. For my part, of course, I don’t go and +ask for a share of the money which they make by their masses, or a +percentage on the presents which they receive, so why should they start +selling 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 be +no butchers or wine merchants left--nothing but bread to eat and water to +drink. Ah! Monsieur l’Abbé, it is no doubt nice to have the Blessed +Virgin with us, but things are none the less very bad at times.” + +A person staying at the hotel at that moment disturbed him, but he +returned just as a young girl came in search of Madame Majesté. The +damsel, who evidently belonged to Lourdes, was very pretty, small but +plump, with beautiful black hair, and a round face full of bright gaiety. + +“That is our niece Apolline,” resumed Majesté. “She has been keeping our +shop for two years past. She is the daughter of one of my wife’s +brothers, who is in poor circumstances. She was keeping sheep at Ossun, +in the neighbourhood of Bartres, when we were struck by her intelligence +and nice looks and decided to bring her here; and we don’t repent having +done so, for she has a great deal of merit, and has become a very good +saleswoman.” + +A point to which he omitted to refer, was that there were rumours current +of somewhat flighty conduct on Mademoiselle Apolline’s part. But she +undoubtedly had her value: she attracted customers by the power, +possibly, of her large black eyes, which smiled so readily. During his +sojourn at Lourdes the previous year, Gérard de Peyrelongue had scarcely +stirred from the shop she managed, and doubtless it was only the +matrimonial ideas now flitting through his head that prevented him from +returning thither. It seemed as though the Abbé des Hermoises had taken +his place, for this gallant ecclesiastic brought a great many ladies to +make purchases at the repository. + +“Ah! you are speaking of Apolline,” said Madame Majesté, at that moment +coming back from the shop. “Have you noticed one thing about her, +gentlemen--her extraordinary likeness to Bernadette? There, on the wall +yonder, is a photograph of Bernadette when she was eighteen years old.” + +Pierre and M. de Guersaint drew near to examine the portrait, whilst +Majesté exclaimed: “Bernadette, yes, certainly--she was rather like +Apolline, but not nearly so nice; she looked so sad and poor.” + +He would doubtless have gone on chattering, but just then the waiter +appeared 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 was +eager to have his _déjeuner_ and spend the remainder of that fine Sunday +out-of-doors. So he now hastened away, without paying any further +attention to Majesté, who remarked, with an amiable smile, that the +gentlemen had not had so very long to wait after all. + +To reach the table mentioned by the waiter, the architect and Pierre had +to cross the dining-room from end to end. It was a long apartment, +painted a light oak colour, an oily yellow, which was already peeling +away in places and soiled with stains in others. You realised that rapid +wear and tear went on here amidst the continual scramble of the big +eaters who sat down at table. The only ornaments were a gilt zinc clock +and a couple of meagre candelabra on the mantelpiece. Guipure curtains, +moreover, hung at the five large windows looking on to the street, which +was flooded with sunshine; some of the fierce arrow-like rays penetrating +into the room although the blinds had been lowered. And, in the middle of +the apartment, some forty persons were packed together at the _table +d’hôte_, which was scarcely eleven yards in length and did not supply +proper accommodation for more than thirty people; whilst at the little +tables standing against the walls upon either side another forty persons +sat close together, hustled by the three waiters each time that they went +by. You had scarcely reached the threshold before you were deafened by +the extraordinary uproar, the noise of voices and the clatter of forks +and plates; and it seemed, too, as if you were entering a damp oven, for +a warm, steamy mist, laden with a suffocating smell of victuals, assailed +the face. + +Pierre at first failed to distinguish anything, but, when he was +installed at the little table--a garden-table which had been brought +indoors for the occasion, and on which there was scarcely room for two +covers--he felt quite upset, almost sick, in fact, at the sight presented +by the _table d’hôte_, which his glance now enfiladed from end to end. +People had been eating at it for an hour already, two sets of customers +had followed one upon the other, and the covers were strewn about in +higgledy-piggledy fashion. On the cloth were numerous stains of wine and +sauce, while there was no symmetry even in the arrangement of the glass +fruit-stands, which formed the only decorations of the table. And one’s +astonishment increased at sight of the motley mob which was collected +there--huge priests, scraggy girls, mothers overflowing with superfluous +fat, gentlemen with red faces, and families ranged in rows and displaying +all the pitiable, increasing ugliness of successive generations. All +these people were perspiring, greedily swallowing, seated slantwise, +lacking room to move their arms, and unable even to use their hands +deftly. And amidst this display of appetite, increased tenfold by +fatigue, and of eager haste to fill one’s stomach in order to return to +the Grotto more quickly, there was a corpulent ecclesiastic who in no +wise hurried, but ate of every dish with prudent slowness, crunching his +food 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 a +sinking in the stomach ever since I have been at Lourdes. And you--are +you hungry?” + +“Yes, yes, I shall eat,” replied Pierre, though, truth to tell, he felt +quite upset. + +The _menu_ was a copious one. There was salmon, an omelet, mutton cutlets +with mashed potatoes, stewed kidneys, cauliflowers, cold meats, and +apricot tarts--everything cooked too much, and swimming in sauce which, +but for its grittiness, would have been flavourless. However, there was +some fairly fine fruit on the glass stands, particularly some peaches. +And, besides, the people did not seem at all difficult to please; they +apparently had no palates, for there was no sign of nausea. Hemmed in +between an old priest and a dirty, full-bearded man, a girl of delicate +build, who looked very pretty with her soft eyes and silken skin, was +eating some kidneys with an expression of absolute beatitude, although +the so-called “sauce” in which they swam was simply greyish water. + +“Hum!” resumed even M. de Guersaint, “this salmon is not so bad. Add a +little salt to it and you will find it all right.” + +Pierre made up his mind to eat, for after all he must take sustenance for +strength’s sake. At a little table close by, however, he had just caught +sight of Madame Vigneron and Madame Chaise, who sat face to face, +apparently waiting. And indeed, M. Vigneron and his son Gustave soon +appeared, the latter still pale, and leaning more heavily than usual on +his crutch. “Sit down next to your aunt,” said his father; “I will take +the chair beside your mother.” But just then he perceived his two +neighbours, and stepping up to them, he added: “Oh! he is now all right +again. I have been rubbing him with some eau-de-Cologne, and by-and-by he +will be able to take his bath at the piscina.” + +Thereupon M. Vigneron sat down and began to devour. But what an awful +fright 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 off +before his aunt. The latter related that whilst she was kneeling at the +Grotto the day before, she had experienced a sudden feeling of relief; in +fact, she flattered herself that she was cured of her heart complaint, +and began giving precise particulars, to which her brother-in-law +listened with dilated eyes, full of involuntary anxiety. Most certainly +he was a good-natured man, he had never desired anybody’s death; only he +felt indignant at the idea that the Virgin might cure this old woman, and +forget his son, who was so young. Talking and eating, he had got to the +cutlets, and was swallowing the mashed potatoes by the forkful, when he +fancied he could detect that Madame Chaise was sulking with her nephew. +“Gustave,” he suddenly inquired, “have you asked your aunt’s +forgiveness?” The lad, quite astonished, began staring at his father with +his 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, whilst +Gustave, who, without any show of appetite, was finishing the _noix_ of +his cutlet, which had been cut into small pieces, remained with his eyes +lowered on his plate, this time obstinately refusing to make the sorry +show of affection which was demanded of him. + +“Come, Gustave,” resumed his father, “be a good boy. You know how kind +your aunt is, and all that she intends to do for you.” + +But no, he would not yield. At that moment, indeed, he really hated that +woman, who did not die quickly enough, who polluted the affection of his +parents, to such a point that when he saw them surround him with +attentions he no longer knew whether it were himself or the inheritance +which his life represented that they wished to save. However, Madame +Vigneron, so dignified in her demeanour, came to her husband’s help. “You +really grieve me, Gustave,” said she; “ask your aunt’s forgiveness, or +you will make me quite angry with you.” + +Thereupon he gave way. What was the use of resisting? Was it not better +that his parents should obtain that money? Would he not himself die later +on, so as to suit the family convenience? He was aware of all that; he +understood everything, even when not a word was spoken. So keen was the +sense of hearing with which suffering had endowed him, that he even heard +the others’ thoughts. + +“I beg your pardon, aunt,” he said, “for not having behaved well to you +just now.” + +Then two big tears rolled from his eyes, whilst he smiled with the air of +a tender-hearted man who has seen too much of life and can no longer be +deceived by anything. Madame Chaise at once kissed him and told him that +she was not at all angry. And the Vignerons’ delight in living was +displayed 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 had +never seen such an amount of eating, amidst such perspiration, in an +atmosphere as stifling as that of a washhouse full of hot steam. The +odour of the victuals seemed to thicken into a kind of smoke. You had to +shout to make yourself heard, for everybody was talking in loud tones, +and the scared waiters raised a fearful clatter in changing the plates +and forks; not to mention the noise of all the jaw-crunching, a mill-like +grinding which was distinctly audible. What most hurt the feelings of the +young priest, however, was the extraordinary promiscuity of the _table +d’hôte_, at which men and women, young girls and ecclesiastics, were +packed together in chance order, and satisfied their hunger like a pack +of hounds snapping at offal in all haste. Baskets of bread went round and +were 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 quivered +like soft glue. They had all eaten too much already, but these viands +seemed to whet their appetites afresh, as though the idea had come to +them that nothing whatever ought to be left. The fat priest in the middle +of the table, who had shown himself such a capital knife-and-fork, was +now lingering over the fruit, having just got to his third peach, a huge +one, which he slowly peeled and swallowed in slices with an air of +compunction. + +All at once, however, the whole room was thrown into agitation. A waiter +had come in and begun distributing the letters which Madame Majesté had +finished sorting. “Hallo!” exclaimed M. Vigneron; “a letter for me! This +is surprising--I did not give my address to anybody.” Then, at a sudden +recollection, he added, “Yes I did, though; this must have come from +Sauvageot, who is filling my place at the Ministry.” He opened the +letter, his hands began to tremble, and suddenly he raised a cry: “The +chief 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 fondly +indulged: the chief clerk’s death, in order that he, Vigneron, assistant +chief clerk for ten years past, might at last rise to the supreme post, +the bureaucratic marshalship. And so great was his delight that he cast +aside all restraint. “Ah! the Blessed Virgin is certainly protecting me, +my dear. Only this morning I again prayed to her for a rise, and, you +see, she grants my prayer!” + +However, finding Madame Chaise’s eyes fixed upon his own, and seeing +Gustave 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 and +prayed to the Blessed Virgin for such personal favours as might be +desired. And so, again putting on his good-natured air, he resumed: “I +mean that the Blessed Virgin takes an interest in every one of us and +will send us all home well satisfied. Ah! the poor chief, I’m sorry for +him. I shall have to send my card to his widow.” + +In spite of all his efforts he could not restrain his exultation, and no +longer doubted that his most secret desires, those which he did not even +confess to himself, would soon be gratified. And so all honour was done +to 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 a +cup of coffee; “it is surprising that one doesn’t see more sick people +here. All these folks seem to me to have first-rate appetites.” + +After a close inspection, however, in addition to Gustave, who ate no +more than a little chicken, he ended by finding a man with a goitre +seated at the _table d’hôte_ between two women, one of whom certainly +suffered from cancer. Farther on, too, there was a girl so thin and pale +that she must surely be a consumptive. And still farther away there was a +female idiot who had made her entry leaning on two relatives, and with +expressionless eyes and lifeless features was now carrying her food to +her mouth with a spoon, and slobbering over her napkin. Perhaps there +were yet other ailing ones present who could not be distinguished among +all those noisy appetites, ailing ones whom the journey had braced, and +who were eating as they had not eaten for a long time past. The apricot +tarts, the cheese, the fruits were all engulfed amidst the increasing +disorder of the table, where at last there only remained the stains of +all 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 you +now heard. The full mouths were eagerly masticating and swallowing, in +order that they might repeat prayers and hymns again with all speed. +“Well, as we have the whole afternoon before us,” declared M. de +Guersaint, “I suggest that we should visit the town a little. I want to +see also if I can get a conveyance for my excursion, as my daughter so +particularly wishes me to make it.” + +Pierre, who was stifling, was glad indeed to leave the dining-room. In +the porch he was able to breathe again, though even there he found a +torrent of customers, new arrivals who were waiting for places. No sooner +did one of the little tables become vacant than its possession was +eagerly contested, whilst the smallest gap at the _table d’hôte_ was +instantly filled up. In this wise the assault would continue for more +than another hour, and again would the different courses of the _menu_ +appear in procession, to be engulfed amidst the crunching of jaws, the +stifling heat, and the growing nausea. + + + + +II. THE “ORDINARY.” + +WHEN Pierre and M. de Guersaint got outside they began walking slowly +amidst the ever-growing stream of the Sundayfied crowd. The sky was a +bright blue, the sun warmed the whole town, and there was a festive +gaiety in the atmosphere, the keen delight that attends those great fairs +which bring entire communities into the open air. When they had descended +the crowded footway of the Avenue de la Grotte, and had reached the +corner of the Plateau de la Merlasse, they found their way barred by a +throng which was flowing backward amidst a block of vehicles and stamping +of horses. “There is no hurry, however,” remarked M. de Guersaint. “My +idea is to go as far as the Place du Marcadal in the old town; for the +servant girl at the hotel told me of a hairdresser there whose brother +lets 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 of +the lawns stretching to the Gave, when an encounter again stopped them. +Mesdames Désagneaux and Raymonde de Jonquière were here, chatting gaily +with Gérard de Peyrelongue. Both women wore light-coloured gowns, seaside +dresses as it were, and their white silk parasols shone in the bright +sunlight. They imparted, so to say, a pretty note to the scene--a touch +of society chatter blended with the fresh laughter of youth. + +“No, no,” Madame Désagneaux was saying, “we certainly can’t go and visit +your ‘ordinary’ like that--at the very moment when all your comrades are +eating.” + +Gérard, however, with a very gallant air, insisted on their accompanying +him, turning more particularly towards Raymonde, whose somewhat massive +face was that day brightened by the radiant charm of health. + +“But it is a very curious sight, I assure you,” said the young man, “and +you would be very respectfully received. Trust yourself to me, +mademoiselle. Besides, we should certainly find M. Berthaud there, and he +would be delighted to do you the honours.” + +Raymonde smiled, her clear eyes plainly saying that she was quite +agreeable. And just then, as Pierre and M. de Guersaint drew near in +order to present their respects to the ladies, they were made acquainted +with the question under discussion. The “ordinary” was a kind of +restaurant or _table d’hôte_ which the members of the Hospitality of Our +Lady of Salvation--the bearers, the hospitallers of the Grotto, the +piscinas, and the hospitals--had established among themselves with the +view of taking their meals together at small cost. Many of them were not +rich, for they were recruited among all classes; however, they had +contrived to secure three good meals for the daily payment of three +francs apiece. And in fact they soon had provisions to spare and +distributed 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 everything +might be comfortable and orderly. + +“It must be very interesting,” said M, de Guersaint, when these +explanations had been given him. “Let us go and see it, if we are not in +the way.” + +Little Madame Désagneaux thereupon gave her consent. “Well, if we are +going in a party,” said she, “I am quite willing. But when this gentleman +first proposed to take Raymonde and me, I was afraid that it might not be +quite proper.” + +Then, as she began to laugh, the others followed her example. She had +accepted M. de Guersaint’s arm, and Pierre walked beside her on the other +hand, experiencing a sudden feeling of sympathy for this gay little +woman, who was so full of life and so charming with her fair frizzy hair +and creamy complexion. + +Behind them came Raymonde, leaning upon Gérard’s arm and talking to him +in the calm, staid voice of a young lady who holds the best principles +despite her air of heedless youth. And since here was the husband whom +she had so often dreamt of, she resolved that she would this time secure +him, make him beyond all question her own. She intoxicated him with the +perfume of health and youth which she diffused, and at the same time +astonished him by her knowledge of housewifely duties and of the manner +in which money may be economised even in the most trifling matters; for +having questioned him with regard to the purchases which he and his +comrades made for their “ordinary,” she proceeded to show him that they +might have reduced their expenditure still further. + +Meantime M. de Guersaint and Madame Désagneaux were also chatting +together: “You must be fearfully tired, madame,” said the architect. + +But with a gesture of revolt, and an exclamation of genuine anger, she +replied: “Oh no, indeed! Last night, it is true, fatigue quite overcame +me at the hospital; I sat down and dozed off, and Madame de Jonquière and +the other ladies were good enough to let me sleep on.” At this the others +again 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 a +sonorous laugh, displaying her beautiful white teeth. “Ah! a pretty nurse +I am, and no mistake! It was poor Madame de Jonquière who had to remain +on her legs all the time. I tried to coax her to come out with us just +now. 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 I +who compelled her to lie down, telling her that she could go to sleep +without any uneasiness, for we should get on all right without her--” + +So saying, the girl gave Gérard a laughing glance. He even fancied that +he could detect a faint squeeze of the fresh round arm which was resting +on his own, as though, indeed, she had wished to express her happiness at +being alone with him so that they might settle their own affairs without +any interference. This quite delighted him; and he began to explain that +if he had not had _déjeuner_ with his comrades that day, it was because +some friends had invited him to join them at the railway-station +refreshment-room at ten o’clock, and had not given him his liberty until +after 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 uproarious +laughter and chatter of youth rang out from a clump of trees which +concealed the old zinc and plaster building in which the “ordinary” was +installed. Gérard began by taking the visitors into the kitchen, a very +spacious apartment, well fitted up, and containing a huge range and an +immense table, to say nothing of numerous gigantic cauldrons. Here, +moreover, the young man called the attention of his companions to the +circumstance that the cook, a fat, jovial-looking man, had the red cross +pinned on his white jacket, being himself a member of the pilgrimage. +Then, pushing open a door, Gérard invited his friends to enter the common +room. + +It was a long apartment containing two rows of plain deal tables; and the +only other articles of furniture were numerous rush-seated tavern chairs, +with an additional table which served as a sideboard. The whitewashed +walls and the flooring of shiny, red tiles looked, however, extremely +clean amidst this intentional bareness, which was similar to that of a +monkish refectory. But, the feature of the place which more particularly +struck you, as you crossed the threshold, was the childish gaiety which +reigned there; for, packed together at the tables, were a hundred and +fifty hospitallers of all ages, eating with splendid appetites, laughing, +applauding, and singing, with their mouths full. A wondrous fraternity +united these men, who had flocked to Lourdes from every province of +France, and who belonged to all classes, and represented every degree of +fortune. Many of them knew nothing of one another, save that they met +here and elbowed one another during three days every year, living +together like brothers, and then going off and remaining in absolute +ignorance of each other during the rest of the twelvemonth. Nothing could +be more charming, however, than to meet again at the next pilgrimage, +united in the same charitable work, and to spend a few days of hard +labour and boyish delight in common once more; for it all became, as it +were, an “outing” of a number of big fellows, let loose under a lovely +sky, and well pleased to be able to enjoy themselves and laugh together. +And even the frugality of the table, with the pride of managing things +themselves, of eating the provisions which they had purchased and cooked, +added to the general good humour. + +“You see,” explained Gérard, “we are not at all inclined to be sad, +although we have so much hard work to get through. The Hospitality +numbers more than three hundred members, but there are only about one +hundred and fifty here at a time, for we have had to organise two +successive services, so that there may always be some of us on duty at +the Grotto and the hospitals.” + +The sight of the little party of visitors assembled on the threshold of +the room seemed to have increased the general delight; and Berthaud, the +superintendent of the bearers, who was lunching at the head of one of the +tables, gallantly rose up to receive the ladies. + +“But it smells very nice,” exclaimed Madame Désagneaux 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 you +gentlemen would like to join us to-morrow we should be extremely pleased +to entertain you.” + +He had at once noticed the good understanding which prevailed between +Gérard and Raymonde, and seemed delighted at it, for he greatly wished +his cousin to make this match. He laughed pleasantly, at the enthusiastic +gaiety which the young girl displayed as she began to question him. “Is +not that the Marquis de Salmon-Roquebert,” she asked, “who is sitting +over yonder between those two young men who look like shop assistants?” + +“They are, in fact, the sons of a small stationer at Tarbes,” replied +Berthaud; “and that is really the Marquis, your neighbour of the Rue de +Lille, the owner of that magnificent mansion, one of the richest and most +noble men of title in France. You see how he is enjoying our mutton +stew!” + +It was true, the millionaire Marquis seemed delighted to be able to board +himself for his three francs a day, and to sit down at table in genuine +democratic fashion by the side of petty _bourgeois_ and workmen who would +not have dared to accost him in the street. Was not that chance table +symbolical of social communion, effected by the joint practice of +charity? For his part, the Marquis was the more hungry that day, as he +had bathed over sixty patients, sufferers from all the most abominable +diseases of unhappy humanity, at the piscinas that morning. And the scene +around him seemed like a realisation of the evangelical commonalty; but +doubtless it was so charming and so gay simply because its duration was +limited to three days. + +Although M. de Guersaint had but lately risen from table, his curiosity +prompted him to taste the mutton stew, and he pronounced it perfect. +Meantime, Pierre caught sight of Baron Suire, the director of the +Hospitality, walking about between the rows of tables with an air of some +importance, as though he had allotted himself the task of keeping an eye +on everything, even on the manner in which his staff fed itself. The +young priest thereupon remembered the ardent desire which Marie had +expressed to spend the night in front of the Grotto, and it occurred to +him that the Baron might be willing to give the necessary authorisation. + +“Certainly,” replied the director, who had become quite grave whilst +listening to Pierre, “we do sometimes allow it; but it is always a very +delicate matter! You assure me at all events that this young person is +not consumptive? Well, well, since you say that she so much desires it I +will mention the matter to Father Fourcade and warn Madame de Jonquière, +so that she may let you take the young lady away.” + +He was in reality a very good-natured fellow, albeit so fond of assuming +the air of an indispensable man weighed down by the heaviest +responsibilities. In his turn he now detained the visitors, and gave them +full particulars concerning the organisation of the Hospitality. Its +members said prayers together every morning. Two board meetings were held +each day, and were attended by all the heads of departments, as well as +by the reverend Fathers and some of the chaplains. All the hospitallers +took the Sacrament as frequently as possible. And, moreover, there were +many complicated tasks to be attended to, a prodigious rotation of +duties, quite a little world to be governed with a firm hand. The Baron +spoke like a general who each year gains a great victory over the spirit +of the age; and, sending Berthaud back to finish his _déjeuner_, he +insisted on escorting the ladies into the little sanded courtyard, which +was shaded by some fine trees. + +“It is very interesting, very interesting,” repeated Madame Désagneaux. +“We are greatly obliged to you for your kindness, monsieur.” + +“Don’t mention it, don’t mention it, madame,” answered the Baron. “It is +I who am pleased at having had an opportunity to show you my little +army.” + +So far Gérard had not quitted Raymonde’s side; but M. de Guersaint and +Pierre were already exchanging glances suggestive of leave-taking, in +order that they might repair by themselves to the Place du Marcadal, when +Madame Désagneaux suddenly remembered that a friend had requested her to +send her a bottle of Lourdes water. And she thereupon asked Gérard how +she was to execute this commission. The young man began to laugh. “Will +you again accept me as a guide?” said he. “And by the way, if these +gentlemen like to come as well, I will show you the place where the +bottles are filled, corked, packed in cases, and then sent off. It is a +curious sight.” + +M. de Guersaint immediately consented; and all five of them set out +again, Madame Désagneaux still between the architect and the priest, +whilst Raymonde and Gérard brought up the rear. The crowd in the burning +sunlight was increasing; the Place du Rosaire was now overflowing with an +idle sauntering mob resembling some concourse of sight-seers on a day of +public rejoicing. + +The bottling and packing shops were situated under one of the arches on +the left-hand side of the Place. They formed a suite of three apartments +of very simple aspect. In the first one the bottles were filled in the +most ordinary of fashions. A little green-painted zinc barrel, not unlike +a watering-cask, was dragged by a man from the Grotto, and the +light-coloured bottles were then simply filled at its tap, one by one; +the blouse-clad workman entrusted with the duty exercising no particular +watchfulness to prevent the water from overflowing. In fact there was +quite a puddle of it upon the ground. There were no labels on the +bottles; the little leaden capsules placed over the corks alone bore an +inscription, and they were coated with a kind of ceruse, doubtless to +ensure preservation. Then came two other rooms which formed regular +packing shops, with carpenters’ benches, tools, and heaps of shavings. +The boxes, most frequently made for one bottle or for two, were put +together with great care, and the bottles were deposited inside them, on +beds of fine wood parings. The scene reminded one in some degree of the +packing halls for flowers at Nice and for preserved fruits at Grasse. + +Gérard went on giving explanations with a quiet, satisfied air. “The +water,” he said, “really comes from the Grotto, as you can yourselves +see, so that all the foolish jokes which one hears really have no basis. +And everything is perfectly simple, natural, and goes on in the broad +daylight. I would also point out to you that the Fathers don’t sell the +water as they are accused of doing. For instance, a bottle of water here +costs twenty centimes,* which is only the price of the bottle itself. If +you wish to have it sent to anybody you naturally have to pay for the +packing and the carriage, and then it costs you one franc and seventy +centimes.** However, you are perfectly at liberty to go to the source and +fill the flasks and cans and other receptacles that you may choose to +bring with you.” + + * Four cents, U.S.A. + + ** About 32 cents, U.S.A. + +Pierre reflected that the profits of the reverend Fathers in this respect +could not be very large ones, for their gains were limited to what they +made by manufacturing the boxes and supplying the bottles, which latter, +purchased by the thousand, certainly did not cost them so much as twenty +centimes apiece. However, Raymonde and Madame Désagneaux, as well as M. +de Guersaint, who had such a lively imagination, experienced deep +disappointment at sight of the little green barrel, the capsules, sticky +with ceruse, and the piles of shavings lying around the benches. They had +doubtless imagined all sorts of ceremonies, the observance of certain +rites in bottling the miraculous water, priests in vestments pronouncing +blessings, and choir-boys singing hymns of praise in pure crystalline +voices. For his part, Pierre, in presence of all this vulgar bottling and +packing, ended by thinking of the active power of faith. When one of +those bottles reaches some far-away sick-room, and is unpacked there, and +the sufferer falls upon his knees, and so excites himself by +contemplating and drinking the pure water that he actually brings about +the cure of his ailment, there must truly be a most extraordinary plunge +into all-powerful illusion. + +“Ah!” exclaimed Gérard as they came out, “would you like to see the +storehouse where the tapers are kept, before going to the offices? It is +only a couple of steps away.” + +And then, not even waiting for their answer, he led them to the opposite +side 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 stored +was even less entertaining than that of the packing-rooms which they had +just left. This storehouse, a kind of deep vault under one of the +right-hand arches of the Place, was divided by timber into a number of +spacious compartments, in which lay an extraordinary collection of +tapers, classified according to size. The overplus of all the tapers +offered to the Grotto was deposited here; and such was the number of +these superfluous candles that the little conveyances stationed near the +Grotto railing, ready to receive the pilgrims’ offerings, had to be +brought to the storehouse several times a day in order to be emptied +there, after which they were returned to the Grotto, and were promptly +filled again. In theory, each taper that was offered ought to have been +burnt at the feet of the Virgin’s statue; but so great was the number of +these offerings, that, although a couple of hundred tapers of all sizes +were kept burning by day and night, it was impossible to exhaust the +supply, which went on increasing and increasing. There was a rumour that +the Fathers could not even find room to store all this wax, but had to +sell it over and over again; and, indeed, certain friends of the Grotto +confessed, with a touch of pride, that the profit on the tapers alone +would have sufficed to defray all the expenses of the business. + +The quantity of these votive candles quite stupefied Raymonde and Madame +Désagneaux. How many, how many there were! The smaller ones, costing from +fifty centimes to a franc apiece, were piled up in fabulous numbers. M. +de Guersaint, desirous of getting at the exact figures, quite lost +himself in the puzzling calculation he attempted. As for Pierre, it was +in silence that he gazed upon this mass of wax, destined to be burnt in +open daylight to the glory of God; and although he was by no means a +rigid utilitarian, and could well understand that some apparent acts of +extravagance yield an illusive enjoyment and satisfaction which provide +humanity with as much sustenance as bread, he could not, on the other +hand, refrain from reflecting on the many benefits which might have been +conferred on the poor and the ailing with the money represented by all +that wax, which would fly away in smoke. + +“But come, what about that bottle which I am to send off?” abruptly asked +Madame Désagneaux. + +“We will go to the office,” replied Gérard. “In five minutes everything +will be settled.” + +They had to cross the Place du Rosaire once more and ascend the stone +stairway leading to the Basilica. The office was up above, on the left +hand, at the corner of the path leading to the Calvary. The building was +a paltry one, a hut of lath and plaster which the wind and the rain had +reduced 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 passed +through this wretched shanty, which seemed to date from the innocent days +when the foundations of the adjacent Basilica had scarcely been laid! + +The whole party went in, eager to see what might be inside. But they +simply found a wicket at which Madame Désagneaux had to stop in order to +give her friend’s name and address; and when she had paid one franc and +seventy centimes, a small printed receipt was handed her, such as you +receive on registering luggage at a railway station. + +As soon as they were outside again Gérard pointed to a large building +standing two or three hundred yards away, and resumed: “There, that is +where the Fathers reside.” + +“But we see nothing of them,” remarked Pierre. + +This observation so astonished the young man that he remained for a +moment without replying. “It’s true,” he at last said, “we do not see +them, but then they give up the custody of everything--the Grotto and all +the rest--to the Fathers of the Assumption during the national +pilgrimage.” + +Pierre looked at the building which had been pointed out to him, and +noticed that it was a massive stone pile resembling a fortress. The +windows were closed, and the whole edifice looked lifeless. Yet +everything 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, which +caught hold of all who had come to the spot, and placed both the gold and +the blood of the throng in the clutches of those reverend Fathers! +However, Gérard just then resumed in a low voice “But come, they do show +themselves, for here is the reverend superior, Father Capdebarthe +himself.” + +An ecclesiastic was indeed just passing, a man with the appearance of a +peasant, a knotty frame, and a large head which looked as though carved +with a billhook. His opaque eyes were quite expressionless, and his face, +with its worn features, had retained a loamy tint, a gloomy, russet +reflection of the earth. Monseigneur Laurence had really made a politic +selection in confiding the organisation and management of the Grotto to +those Garaison missionaries, who were so tenacious and covetous, for the +most part sons of mountain peasants and passionately attached to the +soil. + +However, the little party now slowly retraced its steps by way of the +Plateau de la Merlasse, the broad boulevard which skirts the inclined way +on the left hand and leads to the Avenue de la Grotte. It was already +past one o’clock, but people were still eating their _déjeuners_ from one +to the other end of the overflowing town. Many of the fifty thousand +pilgrims and sight-seers collected within it had not yet been able to sit +down and eat; and Pierre, who had left the _table d’hôte_ 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 sides +people were eating, eating without a pause. Hereabouts, however, in the +open air, on either side of the broad road, the hungry ones were humble +folk who had rushed upon the tables set up on either footway--tables +formed of a couple of long boards, flanked by two forms, and shaded from +the sun by narrow linen awnings. Broth and coffee were sold at these +places at a penny a cup. The little loaves heaped up in high baskets also +cost a penny apiece. Hanging from the poles which upheld the awnings were +sausages, chitterlings, and hams. Some of the open-air _restaurateurs_ +were frying potatoes, and others were concocting more or less savoury +messes of inferior meat and onions. A pungent smoke, a violent odour, +arose into the sunlight, mingling with the dust which was raised by the +continuous tramp of the promenaders. Rows of people, moreover, were +waiting at each cantine, so that each time a party rose from table fresh +customers took possession of the benches ranged beside the +oilcloth-covered planks, which were so narrow that there was scarcely +room for two bowls of soup to be placed side by side. And one and all +made 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 everything +physical had been forgotten amidst the mental flight into the legendary +heavens, the human animal suddenly appeared, again asserted itself, and +began to gorge. Moreover, under that dazzling Sunday sky, the scene was +like that of a fair-field with all the gluttony of a merrymaking +community, a display of the delight which they felt in living, despite +the multiplicity of their abominable ailments and the dearth of the +miracles they hoped for. + +“They eat, they amuse themselves; what else can one expect?” remarked +Gérard, 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 this +fashion. However, when they had got to the lower part of the boulevard +near the Grotto, his feelings were hurt at sight of the desperate +eagerness displayed by the female vendors of tapers and bouquets, who +with the rough fierceness of conquerors assailed the passers-by in bands. +They were mostly young women, with bare heads, or with kerchiefs tied +over their hair, and they displayed extraordinary effrontery. Even the +old ones were scarcely more discreet. With parcels of tapers under their +arms, they brandished the one which they offered for sale and even thrust +it into the hand of the promenader. “Monsieur,” “madame,” they called, +“buy a taper, buy a taper, it will bring you luck!” One gentleman, who +was surrounded and shaken by three of the youngest of these harpies, +almost lost the skirts of his frock-coat in attempting to escape their +clutches. Then the scene began afresh with the bouquets--large round +bouquets they were, carelessly fastened together and looking like +cabbages. “A bouquet, madame!” was the cry. “A bouquet for the Blessed +Virgin!” If the lady escaped, she heard muttered insults behind her. +Trafficking, impudent trafficking, pursued the pilgrims to the very +outskirts of the Grotto. Trade was not merely triumphantly installed in +every one of the shops, standing close together and transforming each +street into a bazaar, but it overran the footways and barred the road +with hand-carts full of chaplets, medals, statuettes, and religious +prints. On all sides people were buying almost to the same extent as they +ate, in order that they might take away with them some souvenir of this +holy Kermesse. And the bright gay note of this commercial eagerness, this +scramble of hawkers, was supplied by the urchins who rushed about through +the crowd, crying the “Journal de la Grotte.” Their sharp, shrill voices +pierced the ear: “The ‘Journal de la Grotte,’ this morning’s number, two +sous, the ‘Journal de la Grotte.’” + +Amidst the continual pushing which accompanied the eddying of the +ever-moving crowd, Gérard’s little party became separated. He and +Raymonde remained behind the others. They had begun talking together in +low tones, with an air of smiling intimacy, lost and isolated as they +were in the dense crowd. And Madame Désagneaux at last had to stop, look +back, 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 Gérard thereupon replied: “It is +understood. You have made me very happy, mademoiselle.” + +Thus the husband had been secured, the marriage decided upon, during this +charming promenade among the sights of Lourdes. Raymonde had completed +her conquest, and Gérard had at last taken a resolution, realising how +gay 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 made +the journey in the same train as ourselves?--You know whom I mean, that +lady who is so very ill, and whose husband and sister accompany her?” + +He was alluding to the Dieulafays; and they indeed were the persons whom +he now saw on the balcony of a suite of rooms which they had rented in a +new house overlooking the lawns of the Rosary. They here occupied a +first-floor, furnished with all the luxury that Lourdes could provide, +carpets, hangings, mirrors, and many other things, without mentioning a +staff of servants despatched beforehand from Paris. As the weather was so +fine that afternoon, the large armchair on which lay the poor ailing +woman had been rolled on to the balcony. You could see her there, clad in +a lace _peignoir_. Her husband, always correctly attired in a black +frock-coat, stood beside her on her right hand, whilst her sister, in a +delightful pale mauve gown, sat on her left smiling and leaning over +every now and then so as to speak to her, but apparently receiving no +reply. + +“Oh!” declared little Madame Désagneaux, “I have often heard people speak +of Madame Jousseur, that lady in mauve. She is the wife of a diplomatist +who neglects her, it seems, in spite of her great beauty; and last year +there was a deal of talk about her fancy for a young colonel who is well +known in Parisian society. It is said, however, in Catholic _salons_ that +her religious principles enabled her to conquer it.” + +They all five remained there, looking up at the balcony. “To think,” + resumed Madame Désagneaux, “that her sister, poor woman, was once her +living portrait.” And, indeed, there was an expression of greater +kindliness and more gentle gaiety on Madame Dieulafay’s face. And now you +see her--no different from a dead woman except that she is above instead +of under ground--with her flesh wasted away, reduced to a livid, boneless +thing which they scarcely dare to move. Ah! the unhappy woman! + +Raymonde thereupon assured the others that Madame Dieulafay, who had been +married scarcely two years previously, had brought all the jewellery +given her on the occasion of her wedding to offer it as a gift to Our +Lady of Lourdes; and Gérard confirmed this assertion, saying that the +jewellery had been handed over to the treasurer of the Basilica that very +morning with a golden lantern studded with gems and a large sum of money +destined for the relief of the poor. However, the Blessed Virgin could +not have been touched as yet, for the sufferer’s condition seemed, if +anything, to be worse. + +From that moment Pierre no longer beheld aught save that young woman on +that handsome balcony, that woeful, wealthy creature lying there high +above the merrymaking throng, the Lourdes mob which was feasting and +laughing in the Sunday sunshine. The two dear ones who were so tenderly +watching over her--her sister who had forsaken her society triumphs, her +husband who had forgotten his financial business, his millions dispersed +throughout the world--increased, by their irreproachable demeanour, the +woefulness of the group which they thus formed high above all other +heads, and face to face with the lovely valley. For Pierre they alone +remained; 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 part +landaus drawn by four horses, which were driven at a fast trot, and whose +bells jingled merrily. The occupants of these carriages were tourists, +visitors to the waters of Pau, Bareges, and Cauterets, whom curiosity had +attracted to Lourdes, and who were delighted with the fine weather and +quite inspirited by their rapid drive across the mountains. They would +remain at Lourdes only a few hours; after hastening to the Grotto and the +Basilica in seaside costumes, they would start off again, laughing, and +well pleased at having seen it all. In this wise families in light +attire, bands of young women with bright parasols, darted hither and +thither among the grey, neutral-tinted crowd of pilgrims, imparting to +it, in a yet more pronounced manner, the aspect of a fair-day mob, amidst +which folks of good society deign to come and amuse themselves. + +All at once Madame Désagneaux raised a cry “What, is it you, Berthe?” And +thereupon she embraced a tall, charming brunette who had just alighted +from a landau with three other young women, the whole party smiling and +animated. Everyone began talking at once, and all sorts of merry +exclamations rang out, in the delight they felt at meeting in this +fashion. “Oh! we are at Cauterets, my dear,” said the tall brunette. “And +as everybody comes here, we decided to come all four together. And your +husband, is he here with you?” + +Madame Désagneaux began protesting: “Of course not,” said she. “He is at +Trouville, 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 here +with the pilgrimage.” + +Then Madame Désagneaux offered to guide her friends, promising to show +them everything of interest in less than a couple of hours; and turning +to 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: and +Gérard also took leave, tenderly pressing Raymonde’s hand, with his eyes +fixed on hers, as though to pledge himself definitively. The women +swiftly departed, directing their steps towards the Grotto, and when +Gérard also had gone off, returning to his duties, M. de Guersaint said +to Pierre: “And the hairdresser on the Place du Marcadal, I really must +go 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 as +Marie does not need us.” + +Following the pathways between the large lawns which stretch out in front +of the Rosary, they reached the new bridge, where they had another +encounter, this time with Abbé des Hermoises, who was acting as guide to +two young married ladies who had arrived that morning from Tarbes. +Walking between them with the gallant air of a society priest, he was +showing 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-nigh +disappeared that fine, sunshiny day. At the first word which M. de +Guersaint addressed to him with respect to the hiring of a vehicle for +the trip to Gavarnie, the Abbé was seized with a dread lest he should be +obliged to leave his pretty lady-visitors: “As you please, my dear sir,” + he replied. “Kindly attend to the matter, and--you are quite right, make +the cheapest arrangements possible, for I shall have two ecclesiastics of +small means with me. There will be four of us. Let me know at the hotel +this evening at what hour we shall start.” + +Thereupon he again joined his lady-friends, and led them towards the +Grotto, 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 time +he was struck by the prodigious number of priests among the crowd. He saw +all varieties of them swarming across the bridge: priests of correct mien +who had come with the pilgrimage and who could be recognised by their air +of assurance and their clean cassocks; poor village priests who were far +more timid and badly clothed, and who, after making sacrifices in order +that they might indulge in the journey, would return home quite scared +and, finally, there was the whole crowd of unattached ecclesiastics who +had come nobody knew whence, and who enjoyed such absolute liberty that +it was difficult to be sure whether they had even said their mass that +morning. They doubtless found this liberty very agreeable; and thus the +greater number of them, like Abbé des Hermoises, had simply come on a +holiday excursion, free from all duties, and happy at being able to live +like ordinary men, lost, unnoticed as they were in the multitude around +them. And from the young, carefully groomed and perfumed priest, to the +old one in a dirty cassock and shoes down at heel, the entire species had +its representative in the throng--there were corpulent ones, others but +moderately fat, thin ones, tall ones and short ones, some whom faith had +brought and whom ardour was consuming, some also who simply plied their +calling 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 pass +before him, each with his special passion, and one and all hurrying to +the Grotto as one hurries to a duty, a belief, a pleasure, or a task. He +noticed one among the number, a very short, slim, dark man with a +pronounced Italian accent, whose glittering eyes seemed to be taking a +plan of Lourdes, who looked, indeed, like one of those spies who come and +peer around with a view to conquest; and then he observed another one, an +enormous fellow with a paternal air, who was breathing hard through +inordinate eating, and who paused in front of a poor sick woman, and +ended by slipping a five-franc piece into her hand. + +Just then, however, M. de Guersaint returned: “We merely have to go down +the boulevard and the Rue Basse,” said he. + +Pierre followed him without answering. He had just felt his cassock on +his shoulders for the first time that afternoon, for never had it seemed +so light to him as whilst he was walking about amidst the scramble of the +pilgrimage. The young fellow was now living in a state of mingled +unconsciousness and dizziness, ever hoping that faith would fall upon him +like a lightning flash, in spite of all the vague uneasiness which was +growing within him at sight of the things which he beheld. However, the +spectacle of that ever-swelling stream of priests no longer wounded his +heart; fraternal feelings towards these unknown colleagues had returned +to him; how many of them there must be who believed no more than he did +himself, and yet, like himself, honestly fulfilled their mission as +guides and consolers! + +“This boulevard is a new one, you know,” said M. de Guersaint, all at +once raising his voice. “The number of houses built during the last +twenty years is almost beyond belief. There is quite a new town here.” + +The Lapaca flowed along behind the buildings on their right and, their +curiosity inducing them to turn into a narrow lane, they came upon some +strange old structures on the margin of the narrow stream. Several +ancient mills here displayed their wheels; among them one which +Monseigneur Laurence had given to Bernadette’s parents after the +apparitions. Tourists, moreover, were here shown the pretended abode of +Bernadette, a hovel whither the Soubirous family had removed on leaving +the Rue des Petits Fossés, and in which the young girl, as she was +already boarding with the Sisters of Nevers, can have but seldom slept. +At last, by way of the Rue Basse, Pierre and his companion reached the +Place du Marcadal. + +This was a long, triangular, open space, the most animated and luxurious +of the squares of the old town, the one where the cafés, the chemists, +all the finest shops were situated. And, among the latter, one showed +conspicuously, coloured as it was a lively green, adorned with lofty +mirrors, and surmounted by a broad board bearing in gilt letters the +inscription: “Cazaban, Hairdresser”. + +M. de Guersaint and Pierre went in, but there was nobody in the salon and +they had to wait. A terrible clatter of forks resounded from the +adjoining room, an ordinary dining-room transformed into a _table +d’hôte_, in which some twenty people were having _déjeuner_ although it +was already two o’clock. The afternoon was progressing, and yet people +were still eating from one to the other end of Lourdes. Like every other +householder in the town, whatever his religious convictions might be, +Cazaban, in the pilgrimage season, let his bedrooms, surrendered his +dining-room, end sought refuge in his cellar, where, heaped up with his +family, he ate and slept, although this unventilated hole was no more +than three yards square. However, the passion for trading and moneymaking +carried all before it; at pilgrimage time the whole population +disappeared like that of a conquered city, surrendering even the beds of +its 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 the +knotty but active Pyrenean, with a long face, prominent cheek-bones, and +a sunburned complexion spotted here and there with red. His big, +glittering eyes never remained still; and the whole of his spare little +figure quivered with incessant exuberance of speech and gesture. + +“For you, monsieur--a shave, eh?” said he. “I must beg your pardon for +keeping you waiting; but my assistant has gone out, and I was in there +with my boarders. If you will kindly sit down, I will attend to you at +once.” + +Thereupon, deigning to operate in person, Cazaban began to stir up the +lather and strop the razor. He had glanced rather nervously, however, at +the cassock worn by Pierre, who without a word had seated himself in a +corner and taken up a newspaper in the perusal of which he appeared to be +absorbed. + +A short interval of silence followed; but it was fraught with suffering +for Cazaban, and whilst lathering his customer’s chin he began to +chatter: “My boarders lingered this morning such a long time at the +Grotto, monsieur, that they have scarcely sat down to _déjeuner_. You can +hear them, eh? I was staying with them out of politeness. However, I owe +myself to my customers as well, do I not? One must try to please +everybody.” + +M. de Guersaint, who also was fond of a chat, thereupon began to question +him: “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, he +answered with an air of dignity “Never, monsieur, never! For five years +past 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 pinned +on M. de Guersaint’s jacket was also calculated to render him prudent; +nevertheless his tongue won the victory. “Well, monsieur, opinions are +free, are they not?” said he. “I respect yours, but for my part I don’t +believe in all that phantasmagoria! Oh I’ve never concealed it! I was +already a republican and a freethinker in the days of the Empire. There +were 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 quite +triumphant. From that moment a stream of words poured forth from his +mouth, a stream which seemed to be inexhaustible. To begin with, he +brought the same charges as Majesté against the Fathers of the Grotto. He +reproached them for their dealings in tapers, chaplets, prints, and +crucifixes, for the disloyal manner in which they competed with those who +sold those articles as well as with the hotel and lodging-house keepers. +And he was also wrathful with the Blue Sisters of the Immaculate +Conception, for had they not robbed him of two tenants, two old ladies, +who spent three weeks at Lourdes each year? Moreover you could divine +within him all the slowly accumulated, overflowing spite with which the +old town regarded the new town--that town which had sprung up so quickly +on the other side of the castle, that rich city with houses as big as +palaces, whither flowed all the life, all the luxury, all the money of +Lourdes, so that it was incessantly growing larger and wealthier, whilst +its elder sister, the poor, antique town of the mountains, with its +narrow, grass-grown, deserted streets, seemed near the point of death. +Nevertheless the struggle still continued; the old town seemed determined +not to die, and, by lodging pilgrims and opening shops on her side, +endeavoured to compel her ungrateful junior to grant her a share of the +spoils. 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 that +the unequal conditions of the struggle intensified the rupture and turned +the high town and the low town into two irreconcilable enemies, who +preyed 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 of +theirs! They serve it up in every fashion! To think of such idolatry, +such gross superstition in the nineteenth century! Just ask them if they +have cured a single sufferer belonging to the town during the last twenty +years! Yet there are plenty of infirm people crawling about our streets. +It was our folk that benefited by the first miracles; but it would seem +that the miraculous water has long lost all its power, so far as we are +concerned. We are too near it; people have to come from a long distance +if they want it to act on them. It’s really all too stupid; why, I +wouldn’t go there even if I were offered a hundred francs!” + +Pierre’s immobility was doubtless irritating the barber. He had now begun +to shave M. de Guersaint’s right cheek; and was inveighing against the +Fathers of the Immaculate Conception, whose greed for gain was the one +cause of all the misunderstanding. These Fathers who were at home there, +since they had purchased from the Municipality the land on which they +desired to build, did not even carry out the stipulations of the contract +they had signed, for there were two clauses in it forbidding all trading, +such as the sale of the water and of religious articles. Innumerable +actions might have been brought against them. But they snapped their +fingers, and felt themselves so powerful that they no longer allowed a +single offering to go to the parish, but arranged matters so that the +whole harvest of money should be garnered by the Grotto and the Basilica. + +And, all at once, Cazaban candidly exclaimed: “If they were only +reasonable, if they would only share with us!” Then, when M. de Guersaint +had washed his face, and reseated himself, the hairdresser resumed: “And +if 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, I +assure you. I remember that in my young days when a young man was wicked +he generally had to go elsewhere. But times have changed, our manners are +no longer the same. Nowadays nearly all the girls content themselves with +selling candles and nosegays; and you must have seen them catching hold +of the passers-by and thrusting their goods into their hands! It is +really shameful to see so many bold girls about! They make a lot of +money, acquire lazy habits, and, instead of working during the winter, +simply wait for the return of the pilgrimage season. And I assure you +that the young men don’t need to go elsewhere nowadays. No, indeed! And +add to all this the suspicious floating element which swells the +population as soon as the first fine weather sets in--the coachmen, the +hawkers, the cantine keepers, all the low-class, wandering folk reeking +with grossness and vice--and you can form an idea of the honest new town +which they have given us with the crowds that come to their Grotto and +their Basilica!” + +Greatly struck by these remarks, Pierre had let his newspaper fall and +begun to listen. It was now, for the first time, that he fully realised +the difference between the two Lourdes--old Lourdes so honest and so +pious in its tranquil solitude, and new Lourdes corrupted, demoralised by +the circulation of so much money, by such a great enforced increase of +wealth, by the ever-growing torrent of strangers sweeping through it, by +the fatal rotting influence of the conflux of thousands of people, the +contagion of evil examples. And what a terrible result it seemed when one +thought of Bernadette, the pure, candid girl kneeling before the wild +primitive grotto, when one thought of all the naive faith, all the +fervent purity of those who had first begun the work! Had they desired +that the whole countryside should be poisoned in this wise by lucre and +human filth? Yet it had sufficed that the nations should flock there for +a pestilence to break out. + +Seeing that Pierre was listening, Cazaban made a final threatening +gesture 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 the +conveyance which he wished to hire. At first the hairdresser declined to +enter into the matter, pretending that they must apply to his brother at +the Champ Commun; but at last he consented to take the order. A +pair-horse landau for Gavarnie was priced at fifty francs. However, he +was so pleased at having talked so much, and so flattered at hearing +himself called an honest man, that he eventually agreed to charge only +forty francs. There were four persons in the party, so this would make +ten francs apiece. And it was agreed that they should start off at about +two in the morning, so that they might get back to Lourdes at a tolerably +early hour on the Monday evening. + +“The landau will be outside the Hotel of the Apparitions at the appointed +time,” 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 the +adjoining room. People were still eating there with that impulsive +voracity which had spread from one to the other end of Lourdes. And all +at once a voice was heard calling for more bread. + +“Excuse me,” hastily resumed Cazaban, “my boarders want me.” And +thereupon he rushed away, his hands still greasy through fingering the +comb. + +The door remained open for a second, and on the walls of the dining-room +Pierre espied various religious prints, and notably a view of the Grotto, +which surprised him; in all probability, however, the hairdresser only +hung these engravings there during the pilgrimage season by way of +pleasing his boarders. + +It was now nearly three o’clock. When the young priest and M. de +Guersaint got outside they were astonished at the loud pealing of bells +which was flying through the air. The parish church had responded to the +first stroke of vespers chiming at the Basilica; and now all the +convents, one after another, were contributing to the swelling peals. The +crystalline notes of the bell of the Carmelites mingled with the grave +notes of the bell of the Immaculate Conception; and all the joyous bells +of the Sisters of Nevers and the Dominicans were jingling together. In +this wise, from morning till evening on fine days of festivity, the +chimes winged their flight above the house-roofs of Lourdes. And nothing +could have been gayer than that sonorous melody resounding in the broad +blue heavens above the gluttonous town, which had at last lunched, and +was 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 Hospital +of Our Lady of Dolours, became extremely impatient, for she had learnt +from Madame de Jonquière that Baron Suire had obtained from Father +Fourcade the necessary permission for her to spend the night in front of +the 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 a +nice woollen shawl for you to wrap round you at daybreak, for the Gave is +close by, and the mornings are very fresh, you know, in these mountainous +parts.” + +“Oh! but the nights are so lovely, Sister, and besides, I sleep so little +here!” 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 with +the Blessed Virgin!” + +The entire ward was jealous of her; for to remain in prayer before the +Grotto all night long was the most ineffable of joys, the supreme +beatitude. It was said that in the deep peacefulness of night the chosen +ones undoubtedly beheld the Virgin, but powerful protection was needed to +obtain such a favour as had been granted to Marie; for nowadays the +reverend Fathers scarcely liked to grant it, as several sufferers had +died during the long vigil, falling asleep, as it were, in the midst of +their ecstasy. + +“You will take the Sacrament at the Grotto tomorrow morning, before you +are brought back here, won’t you, my child?” resumed Sister Hyacinthe. + +However, nine o’clock at last struck, and, Pierre not arriving, the girl +wondered whether he, usually so punctual, could have forgotten her? The +others were now talking to her of the night procession, which she would +see from beginning to end if she only started at once. The ceremonies +concluded with a procession every night, but the Sunday one was always +the finest, and that evening, it was said, would be remarkably splendid, +such, indeed, as was seldom seen. Nearly thirty thousand pilgrims would +take part in it, each carrying a lighted taper: the nocturnal marvels of +the sky would be revealed; the stars would descend upon earth. At this +thought the sufferers began to bewail their fate; what a wretched lot was +theirs, to be tied to their beds, unable to see any of those wonders. + +At last Madame de Jonquière approached Marie’s bed. “My dear girl,” said +she, “here is your father with Monsieur l’Abbé.” + +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 himself +to the little car, which gently rolled along, under the star-studded +heavens, 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 were +hurrying 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 de +la Merlasse was reached, the darkness spread out, you entered into a +great lake of shadows formed by the stretching lawns and lofty trees, and +saw nothing rising on high save the black, tapering spire of the +Basilica. + +Pierre grew rather anxious on finding that the crowd became more and more +compact as he advanced. Already on reaching the Place du Rosaire it was +difficult to take another forward step. “There is no hope of getting to +the Grotto yet awhile,” he said. “The best course would be to turn into +one of the pathways behind the pilgrims’ shelter-house and wait there.” + +Marie, however, greatly desired to see the procession start. “Oh! pray +try to go as far as the Gave,” said she. “I shall then see everything +from 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 take +care to let nobody jostle her.” + +Pierre had to begin pulling the little vehicle again. It took him a +quarter of an hour to pass under one of the arches of the inclined way on +the left hand, so great was the crush of pilgrims at that point. Then, +taking a somewhat oblique course, he ended by reaching the quay beside +the 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 the +Grotto. “Will you be all right here?” he asked. + +“Oh yes, thank you. Only you must sit me up; I shall then be able to see +much better.” + +M. de Guersaint raised her into a sitting posture, and then for his part +climbed upon the stonework running from one to the other end of the quay. +A mob of inquisitive people had already scaled it in part, like +sight-seers waiting for a display of fireworks; and they were all raising +themselves 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 were +fresh arrivals. All carried candles, the lower parts of which were +wrapped in white paper, on which a picture of Our Lady of Lourdes was +printed in blue ink. However, these candles were not yet lighted, and the +only illumination that you perceived above the billowy sea of heads was +the bright, forge-like glow of the taper-lighted Grotto. A great buzzing +arose, whiffs of human breath blew hither and thither, and these alone +enabled you to realise that thousands of serried, stifling creatures were +gathered together in the black depths, like a living sea that was ever +eddying and spreading. There were even people hidden away under the trees +beyond the Grotto, in distant recesses of the darkness of which one had +no suspicion. + +At last a few tapers began to shine forth here and there, like sudden +sparks of light spangling the obscurity at random. Their number rapidly +increased, eyots of stars were formed, whilst at other points there were +meteoric trails, milky ways, so to say, flowing midst the constellations. +The thirty thousand tapers were being lighted one by one, their beams +gradually increasing in number till they obscured the bright glow of the +Grotto and spread, from one to the other end of the promenade, the small +yellow flames of a gigantic brasier. + +“Oh! how beautiful it is, Pierre!” murmured Marie; “it is like the +resurrection of the humble, the bright awakening of the souls of the +poor.” + +“It is superb, superb!” repeated M. de Guersaint, with impassioned +artistic 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 and +unobtrusive, like the lowly; it was only their great number that supplied +the effulgence, the sun-like resplendency. Fresh ones were continually +appearing, farther and farther away, like waifs and strays. “Ah!” + murmured the young priest, “do you see that one which has just begun to +flicker, all by itself, far away--do you see it, Marie? Do you see how it +floats and slowly approaches until it is merged in the great lake of +light?” + +In the vicinity of the Grotto one could see now as clearly as in the +daytime. The trees, illumined from below, were intensely green, like the +painted trees in stage scenery. Above the moving brasier were some +motionless banners, whose embroidered saints and silken cords showed with +vivid distinctness. And the great reflection ascended to the rock, even +to the Basilica, whose spire now shone out, quite white, against the +black sky; whilst the hillsides across the Gave were likewise brightened, +and displayed the pale fronts of their convents amidst their sombre +foliage. + +There came yet another moment of uncertainty. The flaming lake, in which +each burning wick was like a little wave, rolled its starry sparkling as +though it were about to burst from its bed and flow away in a river. Then +the 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 of +disappointment. + +Pierre, who had informed himself on the matter, thereupon explained that +the procession would first of all ascend the serpentine road--constructed +at great cost up the hillside--and that it would afterwards pass behind +the Basilica, descend by the inclined way on the right hand, and then +spread out through the gardens. + +“Look!” said he; “you can see the foremost tapers ascending amidst the +greenery.” + +Then came an enchanting spectacle. Little flickering lights detached +themselves from the great bed of fire, and began gently rising, without +it being possible for one to tell at that distance what connected them +with the earth. They moved upward, looking in the darkness like golden +particles of the sun. And soon they formed an oblique streak, a streak +which suddenly twisted, then extended again until it curved once more. At +last the whole hillside was streaked by a flaming zigzag, resembling +those lightning flashes which you see falling from black skies in cheap +engravings. But, unlike the lightning, the luminous trail did not fade +away; the little lights still went onward in the same slow, gentle, +gliding manner. Only for a moment, at rare intervals, was there a sudden +eclipse; the procession, no doubt, was then passing behind some clump of +trees. But, farther on, the tapers beamed forth afresh, rising heavenward +by an intricate path, which incessantly diverged and then started upward +again. At last, however, the time came when the lights no longer +ascended, for they had reached the summit of the hill and had begun to +disappear at the last turn of the road. + +Exclamations were rising from the crowd. “They are passing behind the +Basilica,” said one. “Oh! it will take them twenty minutes before they +begin coming down on the other side,” remarked another. “Yes, madame,” + said a third, “there are thirty thousand of them, and an hour will go by +before the last of them leaves the Grotto.” + +Ever since the start a sound of chanting had risen above the low rumbling +of the crowd. The hymn of Bernadette was being sung, those sixty couplets +between which the Angelic Salutation, with its all-besetting rhythm, was +ever returning as a refrain. When the sixty couplets were finished they +were sung again; and that lullaby of “Ave, ave, ave Maria!” came back +incessantly, stupefying the mind, and gradually transporting those +thousands of beings into a kind of wide-awake dream, with a vision of +Paradise before their eyes. And, indeed, at night-time when they were +asleep, their beds would rock to the eternal tune, which they still and +ever continued singing. + +“Are we going to stop here?” asked M. de Guersaint, who speedily got +tired of remaining in any one spot. “We see nothing but the same thing +over and over again.” + +Marie, who had informed herself by listening to what was said in the +crowd, thereupon exclaimed: “You were quite right, Pierre; it would be +much better to go back yonder under the trees. I so much wish to see +everything.” + +“Yes, certainly; we will seek a spot whence you may see it all,” replied +the priest. “The only difficulty lies in getting away from here.” + +Indeed, they were now inclosed within the mob of sight-seers; and, in +order to secure a passage, Pierre with stubborn perseverance had to keep +on begging a little room for a suffering girl. + +M. de Guersaint meantime brought up the rear, screening the little +conveyance so that it might not be upset by the jostling; whilst Marie +turned her head, still endeavouring to see the sheet of flame spread out +before the Grotto, that lake of little sparkling waves which never seemed +to diminish, although the procession continued to flow from it without a +pause. + +At last they all three found themselves out of the crowd, near one of the +arches, on a deserted spot where they were able to breathe for a moment. +They now heard nothing but the distant canticle with its besetting +refrain, and they only saw the reflection of the tapers, hovering like a +luminous 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, it +seems, the scene is fairy-like.” + +But they could not think of making the ascent. Pierre at once enumerated +the difficulties. “How could we hoist ourselves to such a height with +Marie’s conveyance?” he asked. “Besides, we should have to come down +again, and that would be dangerous work in the darkness amidst all the +scrambling.” + +Marie herself preferred to remain under the trees in the gardens, where +it was very mild. So they started off, and reached the esplanade in front +of the great crowned statue of the Virgin. It was illuminated by means of +blue and yellow globes which encompassed it with a gaudy splendour; and +despite all his piety M. de Guersaint could not help finding these +decorations in execrable taste. + +“There!” exclaimed Marie, “a good place would be near those shrubs +yonder.” + +She was pointing to a shrubbery near the pilgrims’ shelter-house; and the +spot was indeed an excellent one for their purpose, as it enabled them to +see the procession come down by the gradient way on the left, and watch +it as it passed between the lawns to the new bridge and back again. +Moreover, a delightful freshness prevailed there by reason of the +vicinity of the Gave. There was nobody there as yet, and one could enjoy +deep peacefulness in the dense shade which fell from the big plane-trees +bordering the path. + +In his impatience to see the first tapers reappear as soon as they should +have passed behind the Basilica, M. de Guersaint had risen on tiptoe. “I +see nothing as yet,” he muttered, “so whatever the regulations may be I +shall 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 you +up? It is very cool here.” + +“Oh, no! I’m not cold, father!” answered Marie; “I feel so happy. It is +long since I breathed such sweet air. There must be some roses +about--can’t you smell that delicious perfume?” And turning to Pierre she +asked: “Where are the roses, my friend? Can you see them?” + +When M. de Guersaint had seated himself on the grass near the little +vehicle, it occurred to Pierre to see if there was not some bed of roses +near at hand. But is was in vain that he explored the dark lawns; he +could only distinguish sundry clumps of evergreens. And, as he passed in +front of the pilgrims’ shelter-house on his way back, curiosity prompted +him to enter it. + +This building formed a long and lofty hall, lighted by large windows upon +two sides. With bare walls and a stone pavement, it contained no other +furniture than a number of benches, which stood here and there in +haphazard fashion. There was neither table nor shelf, so that the +homeless pilgrims who had sought refuge there had piled up their baskets, +parcels, and valises in the window embrasures. Moreover, the place was +apparently empty; the poor folk that it sheltered had no doubt joined the +procession. Nevertheless, although the door stood wide open, an almost +unbearable smell reigned inside. The very walls seemed impregnated with +an odour of poverty, and in spite of the bright sunshine which had +prevailed during the day, the flagstones were quite damp, soiled and +soaked with expectorations, spilt wine, and grease. This mess had been +made by the poorer pilgrims, who with their dirty skins and wretched rags +lived in the hall, eating and sleeping in heaps on the benches. Pierre +speedily came to the conclusion that the pleasant smell of roses must +emanate 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 be +altogether unoccupied, when, against the left-hand wall, he was surprised +to espy the vague figure of a woman in black, with what seemed to be a +white parcel lying on her lap. She was all alone in that solitude, and +did 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 she +has 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, in +the stubborn hope of curing her. In her arms, too, she had brought her to +Lourdes; in her arms she had carried her to the Grotto; in her arms she +had rocked her to sleep, having neither a room of her own, nor even a +hospital bed at her disposal. + +“Isn’t the poor little thing any better?” asked Pierre, whose heart ached +at the sight. + +“No, Monsieur l’Abbé; no, I think not.” + +“But you are very badly off here on this bench. You should have made an +application to the pilgrimage managers instead of remaining like this, in +the street, as it were. Some accommodation would have been found for your +little girl, at any rate; that’s certain.” + +“Oh! what would have been the use of it, Monsieur l’Abbé? She is all +right on my lap. And besides, should I have been allowed to stay with +her? No, no, I prefer to have her on my knees; it seems to me that it +will end by curing her.” Two big tears rolled down the poor woman’s +motionless cheeks, and in her stifled voice she continued: “I am not +penniless. I had thirty sous when I left Paris, and I still have ten +left. All I need is a little bread, and she, poor darling, can no longer +drink any milk even. I have enough to last me till we go back, and if she +gets well again, oh! we shall be rich, rich, rich!” + +She had leant forward while speaking, and by the flickering light of a +lantern near by, gazed at Rose, who was breathing faintly, with parted +lips. “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’Abbé? We only have one day left; still, I don’t despair; and I +shall again pray all night long without moving from here. She will be +cured to-morrow; we must live till then.” + +Infinite pity was filling the heart of Pierre, who, fearing that he also +might weep, now went away. “Yes, yes, my poor woman, we must hope, still +hope,” said he, as he left her there among the scattered benches, in that +deserted, malodorous hall, so motionless in her painful maternal passion +as to hold her own breath, fearful lest the heaving of her bosom should +awaken 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, and +those roses? Are there any near here?” + +He did not wish to sadden her by telling her what he had seen, so he +simply answered: “No, I have searched the lawns; there are none.” + +“How singular!” she rejoined, in a thoughtful way. “The perfume is both +so sweet and penetrating. You can smell it, can’t you? At this moment it +is wonderfully strong, as though all the roses of Paradise were flowering +around us in the darkness.” + +A low exclamation from her father interrupted her. M. de Guersaint had +risen to his feet again on seeing some specks of light shine out above +the gradient ways on the left side of the Basilica. “At last! Here they +come!” said he. + +It was indeed the head of the procession again appearing; and at once the +specks of light began to swarm and extend in long, wavering double files. +The darkness submerged everything except these luminous points, which +seemed to be at a great elevation, and to emerge, as it were, from the +black depths of the Unknown. And at the same time the everlasting +canticle was again heard, but so lightly, for the procession was far +away, 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 the +Calvary to see everything.” With the obstinacy of a child he kept on +returning to his first idea, again and again complaining that they had +chosen “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 mournful +laugh she added: “Go; you know very well that nobody will run away with +me.” + +He at first refused to act upon the suggestion, but, unable to resist his +desire, 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 under +the trees. I will tell you of all that I may see up there.” + +Then Pierre and Marie remained alone in that dim, solitary nook, whence +came such a perfume of roses, albeit no roses could be found. And they +did not speak, but in silence watched the procession, which was now +coming down from the hill with a gentle, continuous, gliding motion. + +A double file of quivering stars leapt into view on the left-hand side of +the Basilica, and then followed the monumental, gradient way, whose curve +is gradually described. At that distance you were still unable to see the +pilgrims themselves, and you beheld simply those well-disciplined +travelling lights tracing geometrical lines amidst the darkness. Under +the 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 architectural +lines--the tapering spire of the Basilica, the cyclopean arches of the +gradient ways, the heavy, squat façade of the Rosary--became more +distinctly visible. And with that ceaseless torrent of bright sparks, +flowing slowly downward with the stubborn persistence of a stream which +has overflowed its banks and can be stopped by nothing, there came as it +were an aurora, a growing, invading mass of light, which would at last +spread its glory over the whole horizon. + +“Look, look, Pierre!” cried Marie, in an access of childish joy. “There +is no end of them; fresh ones are ever shining out.” + +Indeed, the sudden appearances of the little lights continued with +mechanical regularity, as though some inexhaustible celestial source were +pouring forth all those solar specks. The head of the procession had just +reached the gardens, near the crowned statue of the Virgin, so that as +yet the double file of flames merely outlined the curves of the Rosary +and the broad inclined way. However, the approach of the multitude was +foretokened by the perturbation of the atmosphere, by the gusts of human +breath coming from afar; and particularly did the voices swell, the +canticle of Bernadette surging with the clamour of a rising tide, through +which, 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. It +seems 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 night +whilst I was asleep. And now it is again taking possession of me, rocking +me, wafting me above the ground.” Then she broke off to say: “Here they +come, 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 a +parallel path. It took more than a quarter of an hour to execute this +movement, during which the double file of tapers resembled two long +parallel streams of flame. That which ever excited one’s admiration was +the ceaseless march of this serpent of fire, whose golden coils crept so +gently over the black earth, winding, stretching into the far distance, +without the immense body ever seeming to end. There must have been some +jostling and scrambling every now and then, for some of the luminous +lines shook and bent as though they were about to break; but order was +soon re-established, and then the slow, regular, gliding movement set in +afresh. There now seemed to be fewer stars in the heavens; it was as +though a milky way had fallen from on high, rolling its glittering dust +of worlds, and transferring the revolutions of the planets from the +empyrean to earth. A bluish light streamed all around; there was naught +but heaven left; the buildings and the trees assumed a visionary aspect +in the mysterious glow of those thousands of tapers, whose number still +and 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 it +is! Look, Pierre, is it not beautiful?” + +However, since the procession had been going by at so short a distance +from them it had ceased to be a rhythmic march of stars which no human +hand appeared to guide, for amidst the stream of light they could +distinguish the figures of the pilgrims carrying the tapers, and at times +even recognise them as they passed. First they espied La Grivotte, who, +exaggerating her cure, and repeating that she had never felt in better +health, had insisted upon taking part in the ceremony despite the +lateness of the hour; and she still retained her excited demeanour, her +dancing gait in that cool night air, which often made her shiver. Then +the Vignerons appeared; the father at the head of the party, raising his +taper on high, and followed by Madame Vigneron and Madame Chaise, who +dragged their weary legs; whilst little Gustave, quite worn out, kept on +tapping the sanded path with his crutch, his right hand covered meantime +with all the wax that had dripped upon it. Every sufferer who could walk +was there, among others Elise Rouquet, who, with her bare red face, +passed by like some apparition from among the damned. Others were +laughing; Sophie Couteau, the little girl who had been miraculously +healed the previous year, was quite forgetting herself, playing with her +taper as though it were a switch. Heads followed heads without a pause, +heads of women especially, more often with sordid, common features, but +at times wearing an exalted expression, which you saw for a second ere it +vanished amidst the fantastic illumination. And there was no end to that +terrible march past; fresh pilgrims were ever appearing. Among them +Pierre and Marie noticed yet another little black shadowy figure, gliding +along in a discreet, humble way; it was Madame Maze, whom they would not +have recognised if she had not for a moment raised her pale face, down +which the tears were streaming. + +“Look!” exclaimed Pierre; “the first tapers in the procession are +reaching the Place du Rosaire, and I am sure that half of the pilgrims +are still in front of the Grotto.” + +Marie had raised her eyes. Up yonder, on the left-hand side of the +Basilica, she could see other lights incessantly appearing with that +mechanical kind of movement which seemed as though it would never cease. +“Ah!” she said, “how many, how many distressed souls there are! For each +of those little flames is a suffering soul seeking deliverance, is it +not?” + +Pierre had to lean over in order to hear her, for since the procession +had been streaming by, so near to them, they had been deafened by the +sound of the endless canticle, the hymn of Bernadette. The voices of the +pilgrims rang out more loudly than ever amidst the increasing vertigo; +the couplets became jumbled together--each batch of processionists +chanted a different one with the ecstatic voices of beings possessed, who +can no longer hear themselves. There was a huge indistinct clamour, the +distracted clamour of a multitude intoxicated by its ardent faith. And +meantime 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. de +Guersaint before them again. “Ah! my children,” he said, “I did not want +to linger too long up there, I cut through the procession twice in order +to get back to you. But what a sight, what a sight it is! It is certainly +the first beautiful thing that I have seen since I have been here!” + Thereupon he began to describe the procession as he had beheld it from +the Calvary height. “Imagine,” said he, “another heaven, a heaven down +below reflecting that above, a heaven entirely filled by a single immense +constellation. The swarming stars seem to be lost, to lie in dim faraway +depths; and the trail of fire is in form like a monstrance--yes, a real +monstrance, the base of which is outlined by the inclined ways, the stem +by the two parallel paths, and the Host by the round lawn which crowns +them. It is a monstrance of burning gold, shining out in the depths of +the darkness with a perpetual sparkle of moving stars. Nothing else seems +to exist; it is gigantic, paramount. I really never saw anything so +extraordinary before!” + +He was waving his arms, beside himself, overflowing with the emotion of +an artist. + +“Father dear,” said Marie, tenderly, “since you have come back you ought +to go to bed. It is nearly eleven o’clock, and you know that you have to +start 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, come +back early to-morrow evening, because you’ll see, you’ll see--” She +stopped short, not daring to express her conviction that she would be +cured. + +“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 you +by-and-by after he has taken me to the Grotto. I sha’n’t have any further +need of anybody; the first bearer who passes can take me back to the +hospital to-morrow morning.” + +Pierre had not interrupted her, and now he simply said: “No, no, Marie, I +shall stay. Like you, I shall spend the night at the Grotto.” + +She opened her mouth to insist and express her displeasure. But he had +spoken those words so gently, and she had detected in them such a +dolorous 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 between +you. I know that you are both very sensible. And now good-night, and +don’t be at all uneasy about me.” + +He gave his daughter a long, loving kiss, pressed the young priest’s +hands, and then went off, disappearing among the serried ranks of the +procession, which he once more had to cross. + +Then they remained alone in their dark, solitary nook under the spreading +trees, 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 to +linger there while the tapers continued marching past, and, after a +turning movement, assembled on the Place du Rosaire. What delighted +Pierre was that nothing of all the daytime junketing remained. It seemed +as though a purifying breeze had come down from the mountains, sweeping +away all the odour of strong meats, the greedy Sunday delights, the +scorching, pestilential, fair-field dust which, at an earlier hour, had +hovered above the town. Overhead there was now only the vast sky, studded +with pure stars, and the freshness of the Gave was delicious, whilst the +wandering breezes were laden with the perfumes of wild flowers. The +mysterious Infinite spread far around in the sovereign peacefulness of +night, and nothing of materiality remained save those little +candle-flames which the young priest’s companion had compared to +suffering souls seeking deliverance. All was now exquisitely restful, +instinct with unlimited hope. Since Pierre had been there all the +heart-rending memories of the afternoon, of the voracious appetites, the +impudent simony, and the poisoning of the old town, had gradually left +him, allowing him to savour the divine refreshment of that beautiful +night, in which his whole being was steeped as in some revivifying water. + +A feeling of infinite sweetness had likewise come over Marie, who +murmured: “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 the +worries of her hard profession as a teacher forced to run hither and +thither giving lessons. And that simple mention of her sister, of whom +Marie had not spoken since her arrival at Lourdes, but whose figure now +unexpectedly arose in her mind’s eye, sufficed to evoke a vision of all +the past. + +Then, without exchanging a word, Marie and Pierre lived their childhood’s +days afresh, playing together once more in the neighbouring gardens +parted by the quickset hedge. But separation came on the day when he +entered the seminary and when she kissed him on the cheeks, vowing that +she would never forget him. Years went by, and they found themselves +forever parted: he a priest, she prostrated by illness, no longer with +any hope of ever being a woman. That was their whole story--an ardent +affection of which they had long been ignorant, then absolute severance, +as though they were dead, albeit they lived side by side. They again +beheld the sorry lodging whence they had started to come to Lourdes after +so much battling, so much discussion--his doubts and her passionate +faith, which last had conquered. And it seemed to them truly delightful +to find themselves once more quite alone together, in that dark nook on +that lovely night, when there were as many stars upon earth as there were +in heaven. + +Marie had hitherto retained the soul of a child, a spotless soul, as her +father said, good and pure among the purest. Stricken low in her +thirteenth year, she had grown no older in mind. Although she was now +three-and-twenty, she was still a child, a child of thirteen, who had +retired within herself, absorbed in the bitter catastrophe which had +annihilated her. You could tell this by the frigidity of her glance, by +her absent expression, by the haunted air she ever wore, unable as she +was to bestow a thought on anything but her calamity. And never was +woman’s soul more pure and candid, arrested as it had been in its +development. She had had no other romance in life save that tearful +farewell to her friend, which for ten long years had sufficed to fill her +heart. During the endless days which she had spent on her couch of +wretchedness, she had never gone beyond this dream--that if she had grown +up in health, he doubtless would not have become a priest, in order to +live near her. She never read any novels. The pious works which she was +allowed 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 where +she lived in seclusion; and, in past years, when she had been taken from +one to the other end of France, from one inland spa to another, she had +passed through the crowds like a somnambulist who neither sees nor hears +anything, possessed, as she was, by the idea of the calamity that had +befallen her, the bond which made her a sexless thing. Hence her purity +and childishness; hence she was but an adorable daughter of suffering, +who, despite the growth of her sorry flesh, harboured nothing in her +heart save that distant awakening of passion, the unconscious love of her +thirteenth year. + +Her hand sought Pierre’s in the darkness, and when she found it, coming +to meet her own, she, for a long time, continued pressing it. Ah! how +sweet it was! Never before, indeed, had they tasted such pure and perfect +joy in being together, far from the world, amidst the sovereign +enchantment of darkness and mystery. Around them nothing subsisted, save +the revolving stars. The lulling hymns were like the very vertigo that +bore them away. And she knew right well that after spending a night of +rapture at the Grotto, she would, on the morrow, be cured. Of this she +was, indeed, absolutely convinced; she would prevail upon the Blessed +Virgin to listen to her; she would soften her, as soon as she should be +alone, imploring her face to face. And she well understood what Pierre +had wished to say a short time previously, when expressing his desire to +spend the whole night outside the Grotto, like herself. Was it not that +he intended to make a supreme effort to believe, that he meant to fall +upon his knees like a little child, and beg the all-powerful Mother to +restore his lost faith? Without need of any further exchange of words, +their clasped hands repeated all those things. They mutually promised +that they would pray for each other, and so absorbed in each other did +they become that they forgot themselves, with such an ardent desire for +one another’s cure and happiness, that for a moment they attained to the +depths of the love which offers itself in sacrifice. It was divine +enjoyment. + +“Ah!” murmured Pierre, “how beautiful is this blue night, this infinite +darkness, which has swept away all the hideousness of things and beings, +this deep, fresh peacefulness, in which I myself should like to bury my +doubts!” + +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, my +friend? Where can they be since you could not see them?” + +“Yes, yes, I smell them, but there are none,” he replied. “I should +certainly have seen them, for I hunted everywhere.” + +“How can you say that there are no roses when they perfume the air around +us, when we are steeped in their aroma? Why, there are moments when the +scent 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 are +no roses. They must be invisible, or they may be the very grass we tread +and the spreading trees that are around us; their perfume may come from +the soil itself, from the torrent which flows along close by, from the +woods 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 clasped +hands form a bouquet.” + +“Yes, they smell delightfully sweet; but it is from you, Marie, that the +perfume now ascends, as though the roses were budding from your hair.” + +Then they ceased speaking. The procession was still gliding along, and at +the corner of the Basilica bright sparks were still appearing, flashing +suddenly from out of the obscurity, as though spurting from some +invisible source. The vast train of little flames, marching in double +file, threw a riband of light across the darkness. But the great sight +was now on the Place du Rosaire, where the head of the procession, still +continuing its measured evolutions, was revolving and revolving in a +circle which ever grew smaller, with a stubborn whirl which increased the +dizziness of the weary pilgrims and the violence of their chants. And +soon 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 the +brasier grew larger and larger--there was first a pool, then a lake of +light. The whole vast Place du Rosaire changed at last into a burning +ocean, rolling its little sparkling wavelets with the dizzy motion of a +whirlpool that never rested. A reflection like that of dawn whitened the +Basilica; while the rest of the horizon faded into deep obscurity, amidst +which you only saw a few stray tapers journeying alone, like glowworms +seeking their way with the help of their little lights. However, a +straggling rear-guard of the procession must have climbed the Calvary +height, for up there, against the sky, some moving stars could also be +seen. Eventually the moment came when the last tapers appeared down +below, marched round the lawns, flowed away, and were merged in the sea +of flame. Thirty thousand tapers were burning there, still and ever +revolving, quickening their sparkles under the vast calm heavens where +the planets had grown pale. A luminous glow ascended in company with the +strains of the canticle which never ceased. And the roar of voices +incessantly repeating the refrain of “Ave, ave, ave Maria!” was like the +very crackling of those hearts of fire which were burning away in prayers +in order that souls might be saved. + +The candles had just been extinguished, one by one, and the night was +falling again, paramount, densely black, and extremely mild, when Pierre +and Marie perceived that they were still there, hand in hand, hidden away +among the trees. In the dim streets of Lourdes, far off, there were now +only some stray, lost pilgrims inquiring their way, in order that they +might get to bed. Through the darkness there swept a rustling sound--the +rustling of those who prowl and fall asleep when days of festivity draw +to a close. But the young priest and the girl lingered in their nook +forgetfully, never stirring, but tasting delicious happiness amidst the +perfume of the invisible roses. + + + + +IV. THE VIGIL + +WHEN Pierre dragged Marie in her box to the front of the Grotto, and +placed her as near as possible to the railing, it was past midnight, and +about a hundred persons were still there, some seated on the benches, but +the greater number kneeling as though prostrated in prayer. The Grotto +shone from afar, with its multitude of lighted tapers, similar to the +illumination round a coffin, though all that you could distinguish was a +star-like blaze, from the midst of which, with visionary whiteness, +emerged the statue of the Virgin in its niche. The hanging foliage +assumed an emerald sheen, the hundreds of crutches covering the vault +resembled an inextricable network of dead wood on the point of +reflowering. And the darkness was rendered more dense by so great a +brightness, the surroundings became lost in a deep shadow in which +nothing, neither walls nor trees, remained; whilst all alone ascended the +angry and continuous murmur of the Gave, rolling along beneath the +gloomy, boundless sky, now heavy with a gathering storm. + +“Are you comfortable, Marie?” gently inquired Pierre. “Don’t you feel +chilly?” + +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 require +anyone now that I am with her.” + +Her voice died away, she was already falling into an ecstasy, her hands +clasped, her eyes raised towards the white statue, in a beatific +transfiguration of the whole of her poor suffering face. + +Yet Pierre remained a few minutes longer beside her. He would have liked +to wrap her in the shawl, for he perceived the trembling of her little +wasted hands. But he feared to annoy her, so confined himself to tucking +her in like a child; whilst she, slightly raised, with her elbows on the +edges 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 to +collect his thoughts, when his glance fell upon a woman kneeling in the +gloom. Dressed in black, she was so slim, so discreet, so unobtrusive, so +wrapt in darkness, that at first he had not noticed her. After a while, +however, he recognised her as Madame Maze. The thought of the letter +which she had received during the day then recurred to him. And the sight +of her filled him with pity; he could feel for the forlornness of this +solitary woman, who had no physical sore to heal, but only implored the +Blessed Virgin to relieve her heart-pain by converting her inconstant +husband. The letter had no doubt been some harsh reply, for, with bowed +head, she seemed almost annihilated, filled with the humility of some +poor beaten creature. It was only at night-time that she readily forgot +herself there, happy at disappearing, at being able to weep, suffer +martyrdom, and implore the return of the lost caresses, for hours +together, without anyone suspecting her grievous secret. Her lips did not +even move; it was her wounded heart which prayed, which desperately +begged for its share of love and happiness. + +Ah! that inextinguishable thirst for happiness which brought them all +there, wounded either in body or in spirit; Pierre also felt it parching +his throat, in an ardent desire to be quenched. He longed to cast himself +upon his knees, to beg the divine aid with the same humble faith as that +woman. But his limbs were as though tied; he could not find the words he +wanted, and it was a relief when he at last felt someone touch him on the +arm. “Come with me, Monsieur l’Abbé, if you do not know the Grotto,” said +a 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 the +Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation. This benevolent and simple man no +doubt felt some affection for him. He therefore accepted his offer, and +followed 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’Abbé,” said he, “this is the time when one can +really be comfortable here. For my part, whenever I come to spend a few +days at Lourdes, I seldom retire to rest before daybreak, as I have +fallen 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 to +be in the abode of the Blessed Virgin!” + +He smiled with a kindly air, doing the honours of the Grotto like an old +frequenter of the place, somewhat enfeebled by age, but full of genuine +affection for this delightful nook. Moreover, in spite of his great +piety, he was in no way ill at ease there, but talked on and explained +matters with the familiarity of a man who felt himself to be the friend +of Heaven. + +“Ah! you are looking at the tapers,” he said. “There are about two +hundred of them which burn together night and day; and they end by making +the place warm. It is even warm here in winter.” + +Indeed, Pierre was beginning to feel incommoded by the warm odour of the +wax. Dazzled by the brilliant light into which he was penetrating, he +gazed at the large, central, pyramidal holder, all bristling with little +tapers, and resembling a luminous clipped yew glistening with stars. In +the background, a straight holder, on a level with the ground, upheld the +large tapers, which, like the pipes of an organ, formed a row of uneven +height, some of them being as large as a man’s thigh. And yet other +holders, resembling massive candelabra, stood here and there on the +jutting parts of the rock. The vault of the Grotto sank towards the left, +where the stone seemed baked and blackened by the eternal flames which +had been heating it for years. And the wax was perpetually dripping like +fine snow; the trays of the holders were smothered with it, whitened by +its ever-thickening dust. In fact, it coated the whole rock, which had +become quite greasy to the touch; and to such a degree did it cover the +ground that accidents had occurred, and it had been necessary to spread +some mats about to prevent persons from slipping. + +“You see those large ones there,” obligingly continued Baron Suire. “They +are the most expensive and cost sixty francs apiece; they will continue +burning 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 been +time to remove to the storehouse.” + +Then he pointed to the furniture, which comprised a harmonium covered +with a cloth, a substantial dresser with several large drawers in which +the sacred vestments were kept, some benches and chairs reserved for the +privileged few who were admitted during the ceremonies, and finally a +very handsome movable altar, which was adorned with engraved silver +plates, the gift of a great lady, and--for fear of injury from +dampness--was only brought out on the occasions of remunerative +pilgrimages. + +Pierre was disturbed by all this well-meant chatter. His religious +emotion lost some of its charm. In spite of his lack of faith, he had, on +entering, experienced a feeling of agitation, a heaving of the soul, as +though the mystery were about to be revealed to him. It was at the same +time both an anxious and a delicious feeling. And he beheld things which +deeply stirred him: bunches of flowers, lying in a heap at the Virgin’s +feet, with the votive offerings of children--little faded shoes, a tiny +iron 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 wished +to consecrate, the rock was quite worn away and polished. Millions of +ardent lips had pressed kisses on the wall with such intensity of love +that the stone was as though calcined, streaked with black veins, shining +like marble. + +However, he stopped short at last opposite a cavity in which lay a +considerable pile of letters and papers of every description. + +“Ah! I was forgetting,” hastily resumed Baron Suire; “this is the most +interesting part of it. These are the letters which the faithful throw +into the Grotto through the railing every day. We gather them up and +place them there; and in the winter I amuse myself by glancing through +them. You see, we cannot burn them without opening them, for they often +contain money--francs, half-francs, and especially postage-stamps.” + +He stirred up the letters, and, selecting a few at random, showed the +addresses, and opened them to read. Nearly all of them were letters from +illiterate persons, with the superscription, “To Our Lady of Lourdes,” + scrawled on the envelopes in big, irregular handwriting. Many of them +contained 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 be +preserved, a marriage to be effected. Other letters, however, were angry +ones, taking the Blessed Virgin to task for not having had the politeness +to acknowledge a former communication by granting the writer’s prayers. +Then there were still others, written in a finer hand, with carefully +worded phrases containing confessions and fervent entreaties; and these +were from women who confided to the Queen of Heaven things which they +dared 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 this +dedication: “To my good Mother.” In short, they every day received the +correspondence of a most powerful Queen, to whom both prayers and secrets +were addressed, and who was expected to reply with favours and kindnesses +of every kind. The franc and half-franc pieces were simple tokens of love +to propitiate her; while, as for the postage-stamps, these could only be +sent for convenience’ sake, in lieu of coined money; unless, indeed, they +were sent guilelessly, as in the case of a peasant woman who had added a +postscript 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 nice +ones among them, much less foolish than you might imagine. During a +period of three years I constantly found some very interesting letters +from a lady who did nothing without relating it to the Blessed Virgin. +She was a married woman, and entertained a most dangerous passion for a +friend of her husband’s. Well, Monsieur l’Abbé, she overcame it; the +Blessed Virgin answered her by sending her an armour for her chastity, an +all-divine power to resist the promptings of her heart.” Then he broke +off to say: “But come and seat yourself here, Monsieur l’Abbé. You will +see how comfortable you will be.” + +Pierre went and placed himself beside him on a bench on the left hand, at +the spot where the rock sloped down. This was a deliciously reposeful +corner, and neither the one nor the other spoke; a profound silence had +ensued, when, behind him, Pierre heard an indistinct murmur, a light +crystalline voice, which seemed to come from the Invisible. He gave a +start, 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 one +of the iron plates protecting the spring, mentioning that it was thus +closed up in order to prevent freethinkers from throwing poison into it. +For a moment this extraordinary idea quite amazed the priest; but he +ended by attributing it entirely to the Baron, who was, indeed, very +childish. The latter, meantime, was vainly struggling with the padlock, +which opened by a combination of letters, and refused to yield to his +endeavours. “It is singular,” he muttered; “the word is _Rome_, and I am +positive that it hasn’t been changed. The damp destroys everything. Every +two 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 the +holders, he at last succeeded in unfastening the brass padlock, which was +covered with _vert-de-gris_. Then, the plate having been raised, the +spring appeared to view. Upon a bed of muddy gravel, in a fissure of the +rock, there was a limpid stream, quite tranquil, but seemingly spreading +over a rather large surface. The Baron explained that it had been +necessary to conduct it to the fountains through pipes coated with +cement; and he even admitted that, behind the piscinas, a large cistern +had been dug in which the water was collected during the night, as +otherwise the small output of the source would not suffice for the daily +requirements. + +“Will you taste it?” he suddenly asked. “It is much better here, fresh +from 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 the +taper. 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 it +brought with it from the distant mountain slopes. + +“Come, drink some!” said the Baron, who had already dipped and filled a +glass which was kept there handy. The priest had no choice but to empty +it; it was good pure, water, fresh and transparent, like that which flows +from all the lofty uplands of the Pyrenees. + +After refastening the padlock, they both returned to the bench. Now and +again Pierre could still hear the spring flowing behind him, with a music +resembling the gentle warble of some unseen bird. And now the Baron again +raised his voice, giving him the history of the Grotto at all times and +seasons, in a pathetic babble, replete with puerile details. + +The summer was the roughest season, for then came the great itinerant +pilgrimage crowds, with the uproarious fervour of thousands of eager +beings, all praying and vociferating together. But with the autumn came +the rain, those diluvial rains which beat against the Grotto entrance for +days 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 missionaries +accompanying them. Of all the old provinces of France, it was Brittany +that sent the most devout pilgrims, whole parishes arriving together, the +men as numerous as the women, and all displaying a pious deportment, a +simple and unostentatious faith, such as might edify the world. Then came +the winter, December with its terrible cold, its dense snow-drifts +blocking the mountain ways. But even then families put up at the hotels, +and, despite everything, faithful worshippers--all those who, fleeing the +noise of the world, wished to speak to the Virgin in the tender intimacy +of solitude--still came every morning to the Grotto. Among them were some +whom no one knew, who appeared directly they felt certain they would be +alone there to kneel and love like jealous lovers; and who departed, +frightened away by the first suspicion of a crowd. And how warm and +pleasant the place was throughout the foul winter weather! In spite of +rain and wind and snow, the Grotto still continued flaring. Even during +nights of howling tempest, when not a soul was there, it lighted up the +empty darkness, blazing like a brasier of love that nothing could +extinguish. The Baron related that, at the time of the heavy snowfall of +the previous winter, he had spent whole afternoons there, on the bench +where they were then seated. A gentle warmth prevailed, although the spot +faced the north and was never reached by a ray of sunshine. No doubt the +circumstance of the burning tapers continually heating the rock explained +this generous warmth; but might one not also believe in some charming +kindness on the part of the Virgin, who endowed the spot with perpetual +springtide? And the little birds were well aware of it; when the snow on +the ground froze their feet, all the finches of the neighbourhood sought +shelter there, fluttering about in the ivy around the holy statue. At +length came the awakening of the real spring: the Gave, swollen with +melted snow, and rolling on with a voice of thunder: the trees, under the +action of their sap, arraying themselves in a mantle of greenery, whilst +the 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 some +most delightful winter days here all alone. I saw no one but a woman, who +leant against the railing to avoid kneeling in the snow. She was quite +young, twenty-five perhaps, and very pretty--dark, with magnificent blue +eyes. She never spoke, and did not even seem to pray, but remained there +for hours together, looking intensely sad. I do not know who she was, nor +have 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 fallen +asleep. With his hands clasped upon his belly, his chin resting on his +chest, he slept as peacefully as a child, a smile hovering the while +about 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 old +man, whose dreams are of the angels. And now Pierre tasted all the charms +of the solitude. It was indeed true that a feeling of peacefulness and +comfort permeated the soul in this rocky nook. It was occasioned by the +somewhat stifling fumes of the burning wax, by the transplendent ecstasy +into which one sank amidst the glare of the tapers. The young priest +could no longer distinctly see the crutches on the roof, the votive +offerings hanging from the sides, the altar of engraved silver, and the +harmonium in its wrapper, for a slow intoxication seemed to be stealing +over him, a gradual prostration of his whole being. And he particularly +experienced the divine sensation of having left the living world, of +having attained to the far realms of the marvellous and the superhuman, +as though that simple iron railing yonder had become the very barrier of +the Infinite. + +However, a slight noise on his left again disturbed him. It was the +spring flowing, ever flowing on, with its bird-like warble. Ah! how he +would have liked to fall upon his knees and believe in the miracle, to +acquire a certain conviction that that divine water had gushed from the +rock solely for the healing of suffering humanity. Had he not come there +to prostrate himself and implore the Virgin to restore the faith of his +childhood? Why, then, did he not pray, why did he not beseech her to +bring him back to grace? His feeling of suffocation increased, the +burning tapers dazzled him almost to the point of giddiness. And, all at +once, the recollection came to him that for two days past, amidst the +great freedom which priests enjoyed at Lourdes, he had neglected to say +his mass. He was in a state of sin, and perhaps it was the weight of this +transgression which was oppressing his heart. He suffered so much that he +was at last compelled to rise from his seat and walk away. He gently +closed the gate behind him, leaving Baron Suire still asleep on the +bench. Marie, he found, had not stirred, but was still raised on her +elbows, 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, albeit +slightly 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 so +happy! I shall see her, I feel it. Ah! what joy!” + +So, after slightly pulling up her shawl, he went forth into the night, a +prey to indescribable agitation. Beyond the bright glow of the Grotto was +a night as black as ink, a region of darkness, into which he plunged at +random. Then, as his eyes became accustomed to this gloom, he found +himself near the Gave, and skirted it, following a path shaded by tall +trees, where he again came upon a refreshing obscurity. This shade and +coolness, both so soothing, now brought him relief. And his only surprise +was that he had not fallen on his knees in the Grotto, and prayed, even +as Marie was praying, with all the power of his soul. What could be the +obstacle within him? Whence came the irresistible revolt which prevented +him from surrendering himself to faith even when his overtaxed, tortured +being longed to yield? He understood well enough that it was his reason +alone which protested, and the time had come when he would gladly have +killed that voracious reason, which was devouring his life and preventing +him from enjoying the happiness allowed to the ignorant and the simple. +Perhaps, had he beheld a miracle, he might have acquired enough strength +of 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 him +so deeply that he stopped short, his trembling arms uplifted towards the +star-spangled vault of heaven. What a lovely night it was!--so deep and +mysterious, so airy and fragrant; and what joy rained down at the hope +that eternal health might be restored, that eternal love might ever +revive, even as spring returns! Then he continued his walk, following the +path to the end. But his doubts were again coming back to him; when you +need a miracle to gain belief, it means that you are incapable of +believing. There is no need for the Almighty to prove His existence. +Pierre also felt uneasy at the thought that, so long as he had not +discharged his priestly duties by saying his mass, his prayers would not +be answered. Why did he not go at once to the church of the Rosary, whose +altars, from midnight till noon, are placed at the disposal of the +priests who come from a distance? Thus thinking, he descended by another +path, again finding himself beneath the trees, near the leafy spot whence +he and Marie had watched the procession of tapers. Not a light now +remained, there was but a boundless expanse of gloom. + +Here Pierre experienced a fresh attack of faintness, and as though to +gain time, he turned mechanically into the pilgrims’ shelter-house. Its +door had remained wide open; still this failed to sufficiently ventilate +the spacious hall, which was now full of people. On the very threshold +Pierre felt oppressed by the stifling heat emanating from the multitude +of 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 way +with extreme care in order to avoid treading upon outstretched limbs; for +the overcrowding was extraordinary, and many persons, unable to find room +on the benches, had stretched themselves on the pavement, on the damp +stone slabs fouled by all the refuse of the day. And on all sides +indescribable promiscuousness prevailed: prostrated by overpowering +weariness, men, women, and priests were lying there, pell-mell, at +random, open-mouthed and utterly exhausted. A large number were snoring, +seated on the slabs, with their backs against the walls and their heads +drooping on their chests. Others had slipped down, with limbs +intermingled, and one young girl lay prostrate across an old country +priest, who in his calm, childlike slumber was smiling at the angels. It +was like a cattle-shed sheltering poor wanderers of the roads, all those +who were homeless on that beautiful holiday night, and who had dropped in +there and fallen fraternally asleep. Still, there were some who found no +repose in their feverish excitement, but turned and twisted, or rose up +to finish eating the food which remained in their baskets. Others could +be seen lying perfectly motionless, their eyes wide open and fixed upon +the gloom. The cries of dreamers, the wailing of sufferers, arose amidst +general snoring. And pity came to the heart, a pity full of anguish, at +sight 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 realm +of some mystical dream. Pierre was on the point of withdrawing, feeling +sick at heart, when a low continuous moan attracted his attention. He +looked, and recognised Madame Vincent, on the same spot and in the same +position as before, still nursing little Rose upon her lap. “Ah! Monsieur +l’Abbé,” the poor woman murmured, “you hear her; she woke up nearly an +hour ago, and has been sobbing ever since. Yet I assure you I have not +moved even a finger, I felt so happy at seeing her sleep.” + +The priest bent down, examining the little one, who had not even the +strength to raise her eyelids. A plaintive cry no stronger than a breath +was coming from her lips; and she was so white that he shuddered, for he +felt 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 knew +all that I have been saying to her: ‘My jewel, my treasure, my angel, I +beseech you cry no more. Be good; the Blessed Virgin will cure you!’ And +yet she still cries on.” + +With these words the poor creature burst out sobbing, her big tears +falling on the face of the child, whose rattle still continued. “Had it +been daylight,” she resumed, “I would long ago have left this hall, the +more especially as she disturbs the others. There is an old lady yonder +who has already complained. But I fear it may be chilly outside; and +besides, 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 then +hastened away to avoid bursting into tears like the sorrowing mother. And +he went straight to the Rosary, as though he were determined to conquer +death. + +He had already beheld the Rosary in broad daylight, and had been +displeased by the aspect of this church, which the architect, fettered by +the rockbound site, had been obliged to make circular and low, so that it +seemed crushed beneath its great cupola, which square pillars supported. +The worst was that, despite its archaic Byzantine style, it altogether +lacked any religious appearance, and suggested neither mystery nor +meditation. Indeed, with the glaring light admitted by the cupola and the +broad glazed doors it was more like some brand-new corn-market. And then, +too, it was not yet completed: the decorations were lacking, the bare +walls against which the altars stood had no other embellishment than some +artificial roses of coloured paper and a few insignificant votive +offerings; and this bareness heightened the resemblance to some vast +public hall. Moreover, in time of rain the paved floor became as muddy as +that of a general waiting-room at a railway station. The high altar was a +temporary structure of painted wood. Innumerable rows of benches filled +the central rotunda, benches free to the public, on which people could +come and rest at all hours, for night and day alike the Rosary remained +open to the swarming pilgrims. Like the shelter-house, it was a cow-shed +in which the Almighty received the poor ones of the earth. + +On entering, Pierre felt himself to be in some common hall trod by the +footsteps of an ever-changing crowd. But the brilliant sunlight no longer +streamed on the pallid walls, the tapers burning at every altar simply +gleamed like stars amidst the uncertain gloom which filled the building. +A solemn high mass had been celebrated at midnight with extraordinary +pomp, amidst all the splendour of candles, chants, golden vestments, and +swinging, steaming censers; but of all this glorious display there now +remained only the regulation number of tapers necessary for the +celebration of the masses at each of the fifteen altars ranged around the +edifice. These masses began at midnight and did not cease till noon. +Nearly four hundred were said during those twelve hours at the Rosary +alone. Taking the whole of Lourdes, where there were altogether some +fifty altars, more than two thousand masses were celebrated daily. And so +great was the abundance of priests, that many had extreme difficulty in +fulfilling their duties, having to wait for hours together before they +could find an altar unoccupied. What particularly struck Pierre that +evening, was the sight of all the altars besieged by rows of priests +patiently 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 the +weariness of all the waiting ones was so great, that most of them were +seated 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 the +others? However, the scene determined him against doing so. At every +altar, at every mass, a crowd of pilgrims was gathered, communicating in +all haste with a sort of voracious fervour. Each pyx was filled and +emptied incessantly; the priests’ hands grew tired in thus distributing +the bread of life; and Pierre’s surprise increased at the sight. Never +before had he beheld a corner of this earth so watered by the divine +blood, whence faith took wing in such a flight of souls. It was like a +return to the heroic days of the Church, when all nations prostrated +themselves beneath the same blast of credulity in their terrified +ignorance which led them to place their hope of eternal happiness in an +Almighty God. He could fancy himself carried back some eight or nine +centuries, to the time of great public piety, when people believed in the +approaching end of the world; and this he could fancy the more readily as +the crowd of simple folk, the whole host that had attended high mass, was +still 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 asylum +where consolation awaited them both by day and by night? Those who knew +not where to sleep, who had not found room even at the shelter place, +came to the Rosary, where sometimes they succeeded in finding a vacant +seat on a bench, at others sufficient space to lie down on the +flagstones. And others who had beds awaiting them lingered there for the +joy of passing a whole night in that divine abode, so full of beautiful +dreams. Until daylight the concourse and promiscuity were extraordinary; +every row of benches was occupied, sleeping persons were scattered in +every corner and behind every pillar; men, women, children were leaning +against each other, their heads on one another’s shoulders, their breath +mingling in calm unconsciousness. It was the break-up of a religious +gathering overwhelmed by sleep, a church transformed into a chance +hospital, its doors wide open to the lovely August night, giving access +to all who were wandering in the darkness, the good and the bad, the +weary and the lost. And all over the place, from each of the fifteen +altars, the bells announcing the elevation of the Host incessantly +sounded, whilst from among the mob of sleepers bands of believers now and +again arose, went and received the sacrament, and then returned to mingle +once more with the nameless, shepherdless flock which the semi-obscurity +enveloped like a veil. + +With an air of restless indecision, Pierre was still wandering through +the 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 that +his turn was at length arriving he felt so faint that he feared he might +not 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 the +vestry 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 neighbouring +benches. Pierre thereupon said his mass in the same way as he said it at +Paris, like a worthy man fulfilling a professional duty. He outwardly +maintained an air of sincere faith. But, contrary to what he had expected +from the two feverish days through which he had just gone, from the +extraordinary and agitating surroundings amidst which he had spent the +last few hours, nothing moved him nor touched his heart. He had hoped +that a great commotion would overpower him at the moment of the +communion, when the divine mystery is accomplished; that he would find +himself in view of Paradise, steeped in grace, in the very presence of +the Almighty; but there was no manifestation, his chilled heart did not +even throb, he went on to the end pronouncing the usual words, making the +regulation gestures, with the mechanical accuracy of the profession. In +spite of his effort to be fervent, one single idea kept obstinately +returning to his mind--that the vestry was far too small, since such an +enormous number of masses had to be said. How could the sacristans manage +to distribute the holy vestments and the cloths? It puzzled him, and +engaged his thoughts with absurd persistency. + +At length, to his surprise, he once more found himself outside. Again he +wandered through the night, a night which seemed to him utterly void, +darker and stiller than before. The town was lifeless, not a light was +gleaming. There only remained the growl of the Gave, which his accustomed +ears no longer heard. And suddenly, similar to a miraculous apparition, +the Grotto blazed before him, illumining the darkness with its +everlasting brasier, which burnt with a flame of inextinguishable love. +He had returned thither unconsciously, attracted no doubt by thoughts of +Marie. Three o’clock was about to strike, the benches before the Grotto +were emptying, and only some twenty persons remained there, dark, +indistinct forms, kneeling in slumberous ecstasy, wrapped in divine +torpor. It seemed as though the night in progressing had increased the +gloom, and imparted a remote visionary aspect to the Grotto. All faded +away amidst delicious lassitude, sleep reigned supreme over the dim, +far-spreading country side; whilst the voice of the invisible waters +seemed to be merely the breathing of this pure slumber, upon which the +Blessed Virgin, all white with her aureola of tapers, was smiling. And +among the few unconscious women was Madame Maze, still kneeling, with +clasped hands and bowed head, but so indistinct that she seemed to have +melted away amidst her ardent prayer. + +Pierre, however, had immediately gone up to Marie. He was shivering, and +fancied that she must be chilled by the early morning air. “I beseech +you, Marie, cover yourself up,” said he. “Do you want to suffer still +more?” And thereupon he drew up the shawl which had slipped off her, and +endeavoured 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 had +left her a couple of hours previously. With her elbows resting on the +edges of her box, she kept herself raised, her soul still lifted towards +the Blessed Virgin and her face transfigured, beaming with a celestial +joy. Her lips moved, though no sound came from them. Perhaps she was +still carrying on some mysterious conversation in the world of +enchantments, dreaming wide awake, as she had been doing ever since he +had 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, and +she smiled at me, slightly nodding her head to let me know that she heard +me 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 four +o’clock in the afternoon, when the Blessed Sacrament passes by, that I +shall be cured!” + +He listened to her in deep agitation. Had she been sleeping with her eyes +wide open? Was it in a dream that she had seen the marble figure of the +Blessed Virgin bend its head and smile? A great tremor passed through him +at the thought that this poor child had prayed for him. And he walked up +to the railing, and dropped upon his knees, stammering: “O Marie! O +Marie!” without knowing whether this heart-cry were intended for the +Virgin 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, the +waiting for the miracle which he had come to seek for himself, the sudden +revelation, the thunderclap which was to sweep away his unbelief and +restore him, rejuvenated and triumphant, to the faith of the +simple-minded. He surrendered himself, he wished that some mighty power +might ravage his being and transform it. But, even as before whilst +saying his mass, he heard naught within him but an endless silence, felt +nothing but a boundless vacuum. There was no divine intervention, his +despairing heart almost seemed to cease beating. And although he strove +to pray, to fix his mind wholly upon that powerful Virgin, so +compassionate to poor humanity, his thoughts none the less wandered, won +back by the outside world, and again turning to puerile trifles. Within +the Grotto, on the other side of the railing, he had once more caught +sight of Baron Suire, still asleep, still continuing his pleasant nap +with his hands clasped in front of him. Other things also attracted his +attention: the flowers deposited at the feet of the Virgin, the letters +cast there as though into a heavenly letter-box, the delicate lace-like +work of wax which remained erect around the flames of the larger tapers, +looking like some rich silver ornamentation. Then, without any apparent +reason, his thoughts flew away to the days of his childhood, and his +brother Guillaume’s face rose before him with extreme distinctness. He +had not seen him since their mother’s death. He merely knew that he led a +very secluded life, occupying himself with scientific matters, in a +little house in which he had buried himself with a mistress and two big +dogs; and he would have known nothing more about him, but for having +recently read his name in a newspaper in connection with some +revolutionary attempt. It was stated that he was passionately devoting +himself to the study of explosives, and in constant intercourse with the +leaders of the most advanced parties. Why, however, should Guillaume +appear to him in this wise, in this ecstatic spot, amidst the mystical +light of the tapers,--appear to him, moreover, such as he had formerly +known him, so good, affectionate, and brotherly, overflowing with charity +for every affliction! The thought haunted him for a moment, and filled +him with painful regret for that brotherliness now dead and gone. Then, +with hardly a moment’s pause, his mind reverted to himself, and he +realised that he might stubbornly remain there for hours without +regaining faith. Nevertheless, he felt a sort of tremor pass through him, +a final hope, a feeling that if the Blessed Virgin should perform the +great miracle of curing Marie, he would at last believe. It was like a +final delay which he allowed himself, an appointment with Faith for that +very day, at four o’clock in the afternoon, when, according to what the +girl had told him, the Blessed Sacrament would pass by. And at this +thought his anguish at once ceased, he remained kneeling, worn out with +fatigue and overcome by invincible drowsiness. + +The hours passed by, the resplendent illumination of the Grotto was still +projected into the night, its reflection stretching to the neighbouring +hillsides and whitening the walls of the convents there. However, Pierre +noticed it grow paler and paler, which surprised him, and he roused +himself, feeling thoroughly chilled; it was the day breaking, beneath a +leaden sky overcast with clouds. He perceived that one of those storms, +so sudden in mountainous regions, was rapidly rising from the south. The +thunder could already be heard rumbling in the distance, whilst gusts of +wind swept along the roads. Perhaps he also had been sleeping, for he no +longer beheld Baron Suire, whose departure he did not remember having +witnessed. There were scarcely ten persons left before the Grotto, though +among them he again recognised Madame Maze with her face hidden in her +hands. However, when she noticed that it was daylight and that she could +be seen, she rose up, and vanished at a turn of the narrow path leading +to the convent of the Blue Sisters. + +Feeling anxious, Pierre went up to Marie to tell her she must not remain +there any longer, unless she wished to get wet through. “I will take you +back to the hospital,” said he. + +She refused and then entreated: “No, no! I am waiting for mass; I +promised to communicate here. Don’t trouble about me, return to the hotel +at once, and go to bed, I implore you. You know very well that covered +vehicles are sent here for the sick whenever it rains.” + +And she persisted in refusing to leave, whilst on his side he kept on +repeating that he did not wish to go to bed. A mass, it should be +mentioned, was said at the Grotto early every morning, and it was a +divine joy for the pilgrims to be able to communicate, amidst the glory +of the rising sun, after a long night of ecstasy. And now, just as some +large drops of rain were beginning to fall, there came the priest, +wearing a chasuble and accompanied by two acolytes, one of whom, in order +to protect the chalice, held a large white silk umbrella, embroidered +with gold, over him. + +Pierre, after pushing Marie’s little conveyance close to the railing, so +that the girl might be sheltered by the overhanging rock, under which the +few other worshippers had also sought refuge, had just seen her receive +the sacrament with ardent fervour, when his attention was attracted by a +pitiful 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 with +outstretched arms she was offering to the Blessed Virgin. Unable to stay +any longer at the shelter-house owing to the complaints caused by the +child’s constant moaning, she had carried her off into the night, and +during 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 her +revolt against the unjust sufferings which had so sorely stricken this +poor little being, so feeble and so pure, and as yet quite incapable of +sin. Was it not abominable that the grip of disease should for weeks have +been incessantly torturing her child, whose cry she knew not how to +quiet? She carried her about, rocking her in her arms as she went wildly +along the paths, obstinately hoping that she would at last get her to +sleep, and so hush that wail which was rending her heart. And suddenly, +utterly worn-out, sharing each of her daughter’s death pangs, she found +herself 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 Divine +Grace, heal her!” + +She had fallen on her knees, and with quivering, outstretched arms was +still offering her expiring daughter, in a paroxysm of hope and desire +which seemed to raise her from the ground. And the rain, which she never +noticed, beat down behind her with the fury of an escaped torrent, whilst +violent claps of thunder shook the mountains. For one moment she thought +her prayer was granted, for Rose had slightly shivered as though visited +by the archangel, her face becoming quite white, her eyes and mouth +opening wide; and with one last little gasp she ceased to cry. + +“O Virgin, Mother of Our Redeemer, heal her! O Virgin, All-powerful +Mother, heal her!” + +But the poor woman felt her child become even lighter in her extended +arms. And now she became afraid at no longer hearing her moan, at seeing +her 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 loud +heart-rending cry rang out, the cry of the mother, surpassing even the +din of the thunder in the storm, whose violence was increasing. Her child +was dead. And she rose up erect, turned her back on that deaf Virgin who +let little children die, and started off like a madwoman beneath the +lashing downpour, going straight before her without knowing whither, and +still and ever carrying and nursing that poor little body which she had +held in her arms during so many days and nights. A thunderbolt fell, +shivering one of the neighbouring trees, as though with the stroke of a +giant axe, amidst a great crash of twisted and broken branches. + +Pierre had rushed after Madame Vincent, eager to guide and help her. But +he was unable to follow her, for he at once lost sight of her behind the +blurring curtain of rain. When he returned, the mass was drawing to an +end, and, as soon as the rain fell less violently, the officiating priest +went off under the white silk umbrella embroidered with gold. Meantime a +kind of omnibus awaited the few patients to take them back to the +hospital. + +Marie pressed Pierre’s hands. “Oh! how happy I am!” she said. “Do not +come for me before three o’clock this afternoon.” + +On being left amidst the rain, which had now become an obstinate fine +drizzle, Pierre re-entered the Grotto and seated himself on the bench +near the spring. He would not go to bed, for in spite of his weariness he +dreaded sleep in the state of nervous excitement in which he had been +plunged ever since the day before. Little Rose’s death had increased his +fever; he could not banish from his mind the thought of that heart-broken +mother, wandering along the muddy paths with the dead body of her child. +What could be the reasons which influenced the Virgin? He was amazed that +she could make a choice. Divine Mother as she was, he wondered how her +heart could decide upon healing only ten out of a hundred sufferers--that +ten per cent. of miracles which Doctor Bonamy had proved by statistics. +He, Pierre, had already asked himself the day before which ones he would +have chosen had he possessed the power of saving ten. A terrible power in +all truth, a formidable selection, which he would never have had the +courage 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, was +not that the desire which rose from each heart? And the Virgin seemed to +him to be cruel, badly informed, as harsh and indifferent as even +impassible nature, distributing life and death at random, or in +accordance with laws which mankind knew nothing of. + +The rain was at last leaving off, and Pierre had been there a couple of +hours when he felt that his feet were damp. He looked down, and was +greatly surprised, for the spring was overflowing through the gratings. +The soil of the Grotto was already covered; whilst outside a sheet of +water was flowing under the benches, as far as the parapet against the +Gave. The late storms had swollen the waters in the neighbourhood. Pierre +thereupon reflected that this spring, in spite of its miraculous origin, +was subject to the laws that governed other springs, for it certainly +communicated with some natural reservoirs, wherein the rain penetrated +and 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 he +took off his hat to relieve his burning brow. Despite all the fatigue of +that terrible night of vigil, he did not think of sleeping. He was kept +erect by that rebellion of his whole being which he could not quiet. +Eight o’clock was striking, and he walked at random under the glorious +morning sun, now shining forth in a spotless sky, which the storm seemed +to 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 a +deal of ground, and was now below the station, near the municipal +hospital. He was hesitating at a point where the road forked, not knowing +which 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; “do +you want to know your way?” + +“No, thanks, no,” replied Pierre, somewhat disturbed. “I spent the night +at the Grotto with that young patient to whom I am so much attached, and +my heart was so upset that I have been walking about in the hope it would +do me good, before returning to the hotel to take a little sleep.” + +The doctor continued looking at him, clearly detecting the frightful +struggle which was raging within him, the despair which he felt at being +unable to sink asleep in faith, the suffering which the futility of all +his efforts brought him. “Ah, my poor child!” murmured M. Chassaigne; and +in a fatherly way he added: “Well, since you are walking, suppose we take +a 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 shall +have.” + +For his part, the doctor took a walk of a couple of hours’ duration each +morning, 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, and +knelt on the tomb of his wife and daughter, which, at all seasons, he +decked with flowers. And afterwards he would roam along the roads, with +tearful eyes, never returning home until fatigue compelled him. + +With a wave of the hand, Pierre accepted his proposal, and in perfect +silence they went, side by side, down the sloping road. They remained for +a long time without speaking; the doctor seemed more overcome than was +his wont that morning; it was as though his chat with his dear lost ones +had made his heart bleed yet more copiously. He walked along with his +head 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 in +the sunlight on that lovely morning. The road now followed the Gave on +its right bank, on the other side of the new town; and you could see the +gardens, the inclined ways, and the Basilica. And, all at once, the +Grotto appeared, with the everlasting flare of its tapers, now paling in +the 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 had +perceived the Grotto, he glanced in surprise at his old friend, and once +more relapsed into the astonishment which had come over him a couple of +days previously on finding this man of science, this whilom atheist and +materialist, so overwhelmed by grief that he was now a believer, longing +for the one delight of meeting his dear ones in another life. His heart +had swept his reason away; old and lonely as he was, it was only the +illusion that he would live once more in Paradise, where loving souls +meet again, that prolonged his life on earth. This thought increased the +young priest’s discomfort. Must he also wait until he had grown old and +endured equal sufferings in order to find a refuge in faith? + +Still walking beside the Gave, leaving the town farther and farther +behind them, they were lulled as it were by the noise of those clear +waters rolling over the pebbles between banks shaded by trees. And they +still remained silent, walking on with an equal step, each, on his own +side, 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 her +once--afterwards.” He relapsed into silence for a moment, and then began +chatting: “In 1858, you know, at the time of the apparitions, I was +thirty years of age. I was in Paris, still young in my profession, and +opposed to all supernatural notions, so that I had no idea of returning +to my native mountains to see a girl suffering from hallucinations. Five +or six years later, however, some time about 1864, I passed through +Lourdes, and was inquisitive enough to pay Bernadette a visit. She was +then still at the asylum with the Sisters of Nevers.” + +Pierre remembered that one of the reasons of his journey had been his +desire to complete his inquiry respecting Bernadette. And who could tell +if grace might not come to him from that humble, lovable girl, on the day +when he should be convinced that she had indeed fulfilled a mission of +divine love and forgiveness? For this consummation to ensue it would +perhaps suffice that he should know her better and learn to feel that she +was really the saint, the chosen one, as others believed her to have +been. + +“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 have +greatly liked to calm and comfort the young priest whose soul was so +grievously tortured by doubt. “Oh! willingly, my poor child!” he +answered. “I should be so happy to help you on the path to light. You do +well to love Bernadette--that may save you; for since all those old-time +things I have deeply reflected on her case, and I declare to you that I +never met a more charming creature, or one with a better heart.” + +Then, to the slow rhythm of their footsteps along the well-kept, sunlit +road, in the delightful freshness of morning, the doctor began to relate +his visit to Bernadette in 1864. She had then just attained her twentieth +birthday, the apparitions had taken place six years previously, and she +had 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 at +the asylum in order to shield her from public inquisitiveness. She found +an occupation there, helping them in sundry petty duties; but she was +very often taken ill, and would spend weeks at a time in her bed. The +doctor had been particularly struck by her beautiful eyes, pure, candid, +and frank, like those of a child. The rest of her face, said he, had +become somewhat spoilt; her complexion was losing its clearness, her +features had grown less delicate, and her general appearance was that of +an ordinary servant-girl, short, puny, and unobtrusive. Her piety was +still keen, but she had not seemed to him to be the ecstatical, excitable +creature that many might have supposed; indeed, she appeared to have a +rather positive mind which did not indulge in flights of fancy; and she +invariably had some little piece of needlework, some knitting, some +embroidery in her hand. In a word, she appeared to have entered the +common path, and in nowise resembled the intensely passionate female +worshippers of the Christ. She had no further visions, and never of her +own accord spoke of the eighteen apparitions which had decided her life. +To learn anything it was necessary to interrogate her, to address precise +questions to her. These she would briefly answer, and then seek to change +the conversation, as though she did not like to talk of such mysterious +things. If wishing to probe the matter further, you asked her the nature +of the three secrets which the Virgin had confided to her, she would +remain silent, simply averting her eyes. And it was impossible to make +her contradict herself; the particulars she gave invariably agreed with +her original narrative, and, indeed, she always seemed to repeat the same +words, with the same inflections of the voice. + +“I had her in hand during the whole of one afternoon,” continued Doctor +Chassaigne, “and there was not the variation of a syllable in her story. +It was disconcerting. Still, I am prepared to swear that she was not +lying, that she never lied, that she was altogether incapable of +falsehood.” + +Pierre boldly ventured to discuss this point. “But won’t you admit, +doctor, the possibility of some disorder of the will?” he asked. “Has it +not been proved, is it not admitted nowadays, that when certain +degenerate creatures with childish minds fall into an hallucination, a +fancy of some kind or other, they are often unable to free themselves +from it, especially when they remain in the same environment in which the +phenomenon 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 his +arm, he replied: “Ah! my child, you ask me too much. You know very well +that I am now only a poor old man, who prides himself but little on his +science, and no longer claims to be able to explain anything. However, I +do of course know of that famous medical-school example of the young girl +who allowed herself to waste away with hunger at home, because she +imagined that she was suffering from a serious complaint of the digestive +organs, but who nevertheless began to eat when she was taken elsewhere. +However, that is but one circumstance, and there are so many +contradictory cases.” + +For a moment they became silent, and only the rhythmical sound of their +steps was heard along the road. Then the doctor resumed: “Moreover, it is +quite true that Bernadette shunned the world, and was only happy in her +solitary corner. She was never known to have a single intimate female +friend, any particular human love for anybody. She was kind and gentle +towards all, but it was only for children that she showed any lively +affection. And as, after all, the medical man is not quite dead within +me, I will confess to you that I have sometimes wondered if she remained +as pure in mind, as, most undoubtedly, she did remain in body. However, I +think 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 the +tender interest which she took in the orphan asylum built by the Sisters +of Nevers, farther along this very road. Poor little girls are received +into it, and shielded from the perils of the highways. And if Bernadette +wished it to be extremely large, so as to lodge all the little lambs in +danger, was it not because she herself remembered having roamed the roads +with bare feet, and still trembled at the idea of what might have become +of her but for the help of the Blessed Virgin?” + +Then, resuming his narrative, he went on telling Pierre of the crowds +that flocked to see Bernadette and pay her reverence in her asylum at +Lourdes. This had proved a source of considerable fatigue to her. Not a +day went by without a stream of visitors appearing before her. They came +from all parts of France, some even from abroad; and it soon proved +necessary to refuse the applications of those who were actuated by mere +inquisitiveness, and to grant admittance only to the genuine believers, +the members of the clergy, and the people of mark on whom the doors could +not well have been shut. A Sister was always present to protect +Bernadette against the excessive indiscretion of some of her visitors, +for questions literally rained upon her, and she often grew faint through +having to repeat her story so many times. Ladies of high position fell on +their knees, kissed her gown, and would have liked to carry a piece of it +away as a relic. She also had to defend her chaplet, which in their +excitement they all begged her to sell to them for a fabulous amount. One +day a certain marchioness endeavoured to secure it by giving her another +one which she had brought with her--a chaplet with a golden cross and +beads of real pearls. Many hoped that she would consent to work a miracle +in their presence; children were brought to her in order that she might +lay her hands upon them; she was also consulted in cases of illness, and +attempts were made to purchase her influence with the Virgin. Large sums +were offered to her. At the slightest sign, the slightest expression of a +desire to be a queen, decked with jewels and crowned with gold, she would +have been overwhelmed with regal presents. And while the humble remained +on their knees on her threshold, the great ones of the earth pressed +round her, and would have counted it a glory to act as her escort. It was +even related that one among them, the handsomest and wealthiest of +princes, came one clear sunny April day to ask her hand in marriage. + +“But what always struck and displeased me,” said Pierre, “was her +departure from Lourdes when she was two-and-twenty, her sudden +disappearance and sequestration in the convent of Saint Gildard at +Nevers, whence she never emerged. Didn’t that give a semblance of truth +to those spurious rumours of insanity which were circulated? Didn’t it +help people to suppose that she was being shut up, whisked away for fear +of some indiscretion on her part, some naive remark or other which might +have 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 was +spirited away.” + +Doctor Chassaigne gently shook his head. “No, no,” said he, “there was no +story prepared in advance in this affair, no big melodrama secretly +staged and afterwards performed by more or less unconscious actors. The +developments came of themselves, by the sole force of circumstances; and +they were always very intricate, very difficult to analyse. Moreover, it +is certain that it was Bernadette herself who wished to leave Lourdes. +Those incessant visits wearied her, she felt ill at ease amidst all that +noisy worship. All that _she_ desired was a dim nook where she might live +in peace, and so fierce was she at times in her disinterestedness, that +when money was handed to her, even with the pious intent of having a mass +said or a taper burnt, she would fling it upon the floor. She never +accepted anything for herself or for her family, which remained in +poverty. And with such pride as she possessed, such natural simplicity, +such a desire to remain in the background, one can very well understand +that she should have wished to disappear and cloister herself in some +lonely spot so as to prepare herself to make a good death. Her work was +accomplished; she had initiated this great movement scarcely knowing how +or why; and she could really be of no further utility. Others were about +to 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, who +thenceforth became the real masters, whilst millions of money were +raining down on Lourdes from the whole world.” + +“Oh! certainly; I don’t pretend that any attempt was made to detain her +here!” exclaimed the doctor. “Frankly, I even believe that she was in +some degree urged into the course she took. She ended by becoming +somewhat of an incumbrance. It was not that any annoying revelations were +feared from her; but remember that with her extreme timidity and frequent +illnesses she was scarcely ornamental. Besides, however small the room +which she took up at Lourdes, however obedient she showed herself, she +was 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 should +withdraw 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 was +made was in saying that it was a question of screening her from the +enterprises of the world, as though it were feared that she might fall +into the sin of pride, by growing vain of the saintly fame with which the +whole 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 became +calm 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 to +love her. But you must not think, Pierre, that I am completely brutified +by belief. If I nowadays acknowledge the existence of an unseen power, if +I feel a need of believing in another, better, and more just life, I +nevertheless know right well that there are men remaining in this world +of ours; and at times, even when they wear the cowl or the cassock, the +work they do is vile.” + +There came another interval of silence. Each was continuing his dream +apart from the other. Then the doctor resumed: “I will tell you of a +fancy which has often haunted me. Suppose we admit that Bernadette was +not the shy, simple child we knew her to be; let us endow her with a +spirit of intrigue and domination, transform her into a conqueress, a +leader of nations, and try to picture what, in that case, would have +happened. 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 a +gold mitre on her head. She would distribute the miracles; with a +sovereign gesture her little hand would lead the multitudes to heaven. +All the lustre and glory would come from her, she being the saint, the +chosen one, the only one that had been privileged to see the Divinity +face to face. And indeed nothing would seem more just, for she would +triumph after toiling, enjoy the fruit of her labour in all glory. But +you see, as it happens, she is defrauded, robbed. The marvellous harvests +sown by her are reaped by others. During the twelve years which she lived +at Saint Gildard, kneeling in the gloom, Lourdes was full of victors, +priests in golden vestments chanting thanksgivings, and blessing churches +and monuments erected at a cost of millions. She alone did not behold the +triumph of the new faith, whose author she had been. You say that she +dreamt it all. Well, at all events, what a beautiful dream it was, a +dream 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, before +returning to the town. In front of them the Gave, deep at this point of +its course, was rolling blue waters tinged with dark moire-like +reflections, whilst, farther on, rushing hurriedly over a bed of large +stones, 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 the +mountains. + +Whilst listening to that story of how Bernadette had been exploited and +suppressed, 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 the +injustice of nature, of that law which wills that the strong should +devour the weak. Then, all at once raising his head, he inquired: “And +did you also know Abbé 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. Those +who do not know his story can know nothing, understand nothing, of the +drama enacted here.” + +Thereupon he related that story at length. Abbé Peyramale was the parish +priest of Lourdes at the time of the apparitions. A native of the region, +tall, broad-shouldered, with a powerful leonine head, he was extremely +intelligent, very honest and goodhearted, though at times violent and +domineering. He seemed built for combat. An enemy of all pious +exaggerations, discharging the duties of his ministry in a broad, liberal +spirit, he regarded the apparitions with distrust when he first heard of +them, refused to believe in Bernadette’s stories, questioned her, and +demanded proofs. It was only at a later stage, when the blast of faith +became irresistible, upsetting the most rebellious minds and mastering +the multitude, that he ended, in his turn, by bowing his head; and when +he was finally conquered, it was more particularly by his love for the +humble and the oppressed which he could not restrain when he beheld +Bernadette threatened with imprisonment. The civil authorities were +persecuting one of his flock; at this his shepherd’s heart awoke, and, in +her defence, he gave full reign to his ardent passion for justice. +Moreover, the charm which the child diffused had worked upon him; he felt +her to be so candid, so truthful, that he began to place a blind faith in +her and love her even as everybody else loved her. Moreover, why should +he have curtly dismissed all questions of miracles, when miracles abound +in the pages of Holy Writ? It was not for a minister of religion, +whatever his prudence, to set himself up as a sceptic when entire +populations were falling on their knees and the Church seemed to be on +the eve of another great triumph. Then, too, he had the nature of one who +leads men, who stirs up crowds, who builds, and in this affair he had +really found his vocation, the vast field in which he might exercise his +energy, the great cause to which he might wholly devote himself with all +his passionate ardour and determination to succeed. + +From that moment, then, Abbé Peyramale had but one thought, to execute +the orders which the Virgin had commissioned Bernadette to transmit to +him. He caused improvements to be carried out at the Grotto. A railing +was placed in front of it; pipes were laid for the conveyance of the +water from the source, and a variety of work was accomplished in order to +clear the approaches. However, the Virgin had particularly requested that +a chapel might be built; and he wished to have a church, quite a +triumphal Basilica. He pictured everything on a grand scale, and, full of +confidence in the enthusiastic help of Christendom, he worried the +architects, requiring them to design real palaces worthy of the Queen of +Heaven. As a matter of fact, offerings already abounded, gold poured from +the most distant dioceses, a rain of gold destined to increase and never +end. Then came his happy years: he was to be met among the workmen at all +hours, instilling activity into them like the jovial, good-natured fellow +he was, constantly on the point of taking a pick or trowel in hand +himself, 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 danger +of death on the fourth of April, 1864, when the first procession started +from his parish church to the Grotto, a procession of sixty thousand +pilgrims, which wound along the streets amidst an immense concourse of +spectators. + +On the day when Abbé 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 a +former episcopal secretary, Father Sempé, whom he had appointed warden of +the Missionaries of Geraison, a community founded by himself. Father +Sempé was a sly, spare little man, to all appearance most disinterested +and humble, but in reality consumed by all the thirst of ambition. At the +outset he kept in his place, serving the parish priest of Lourdes like a +faithful subordinate, attending to matters of all kinds in order to +lighten the other’s work, and acquiring information on every possible +subject in his desire to render himself indispensable. He must soon have +realised what a rich farm the Grotto was destined to become, and what a +colossal revenue might be derived from it, if only a little skill were +exercised. And thenceforth he no longer stirred from the episcopal +residence, but ended by acquiring great influence over the calm, +practical Bishop, who was in great need of money for the charities of his +diocese. And thus it was that during Abbé Peyramale’s illness Father +Sempé succeeded in effecting a separation between the parish of Lourdes +and the domain of the Grotto, which last he was commissioned to manage at +the head of a few Fathers of the Immaculate Conception, over whom the +Bishop placed him as Father Superior. + +The struggle soon began, one of those covert, desperate, mortal struggles +which are waged under the cloak of ecclesiastical discipline. There was a +pretext for rupture all ready, a field of battle on which the longer +purse would necessarily end by conquering. It was proposed to build a new +parish church, larger and more worthy of Lourdes than the old one already +in existence, which was admitted to have become too small since the +faithful had been flocking into the town in larger and larger numbers. +Moreover, it was an old idea of Abbé Peyramale, who desired to carry out +the Virgin’s orders with all possible precision. Speaking of the Grotto, +she had said that people would go “thither in procession”; and the Abbé +had always seen the pilgrims start in procession from the town, whither +they were expected to return in the same fashion, as indeed had been the +practice on the first occasions after the apparitions. A central point, a +rallying spot, was therefore required, and the Abbé’s dream was to erect +a magnificent church, a cathedral of gigantic proportions, which would +accommodate a vast multitude. Builder as he was by temperament, +impassioned artisan working for the glory of Heaven, he already pictured +this cathedral springing from the soil, and rearing its clanging belfry +in 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 temple +where he would be the pontiff, and triumph in company with the sweet +memory of Bernadette, in full view of the spot of which both he and she +had been so cruelly dispossessed. Naturally enough, bitterly as he felt +that act of spoliation, the building of this new parish church was in +some degree his revenge, his share of all the glory, besides being a task +which would enable him to utilise both his militant activity and the +fever that had been consuming him ever since he had ceased going to the +Grotto, by reason of his soreness of heart. + +At the outset of the new enterprise there was again a flash of +enthusiasm. At the prospect of seeing all the life and all the money flow +into the new city which was springing from the ground around the +Basilica, the old town, which felt itself thrust upon one side, espoused +the cause of its priest. The municipal council voted a sum of one hundred +thousand francs, which, unfortunately, was not to be paid until the new +church should be roofed in. Abbé Peyramale had already accepted the plans +of his architect--plans which, he had insisted, should be on a grand +scale--and had also treated with a contractor of Chartres, who engaged to +complete the church in three or four years if the promised supplies of +funds should be regularly forthcoming. The Abbé believed that offerings +would assuredly continue raining down from all parts, and so he launched +into this big enterprise without any anxiety, overflowing with a careless +bravery, and fully expecting that Heaven would not abandon him on the +road. He even fancied that he could rely upon the support of Monseigneur +Jourdan, 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 was +necessary and meritorious. And it seemed, too, as though Father Sempé, +with his customary humility, had bowed to the inevitable and accepted +this vexatious competition, which would compel him to relinquish a share +of the plunder; for he now pretended to devote himself entirely to the +management of the Grotto, and even allowed a collection-box for +contributions to the building of the new parish church to be placed +inside the Basilica. + +Then, however, the secret, rageful struggle began afresh. Abbé Peyramale, +who was a wretched manager, exulted on seeing his new church so rapidly +take shape. The work was being carried on at a fast pace, and he troubled +about nothing else, being still under the delusion that the Blessed +Virgin would find whatever money might be needed. Thus he was quite +stupefied 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 when +he was unable to make the stipulated payments. In all this there had been +so much skilfully combined strangulation, of which he only became aware +later on. Father Sempé, however, had once more prevailed on the Bishop to +grant his favour exclusively to the Grotto. There was even a talk of some +confidential circulars distributed through the various dioceses, so that +the many sums of money offered by the faithful should no longer be sent +to the parish. The voracious, insatiable Grotto was bent upon securing +everything, and to such a point were things carried that five hundred +franc notes slipped into the collection-box at the Basilica were kept +back; the box was rifled and the parish robbed. Abbé Peyramale, however, +in his passion for the rising church, his child, continued fighting most +desperately, ready if need were to give his blood. He had at first +treated with the contractor in the name of the vestry; then, when he was +at a loss how to pay, he treated in his own name. His life was bound up +in the enterprise, he wore himself out in the heroic efforts which he +made. Of the four hundred thousand francs that he had promised, he had +only been able to pay two hundred thousand; and the municipal council +still obstinately refused to hand over the hundred thousand francs which +it had voted, until the new church should be covered in. This was acting +against the town’s real interests. However, it was said that Father Sempé +was trying to bring influence to bear on the contractor. And, all at +once, the work was stopped. + +From that moment the death agony began. Wounded in the heart, the Abbé +Peyramale, the broad-shouldered mountaineer with the leonine face, +staggered and fell like an oak struck down by a thunderbolt. He took to +his bed, and never left it alive. Strange stories circulated: it was said +that Father Sempé had sought to secure admission to the parsonage under +some pious pretext, but in reality to see if his much-dreaded adversary +were really mortally stricken; and it was added, that it had been +necessary to drive him from the sick-room, where his presence was an +outrageous scandal. Then, when the unhappy priest, vanquished and steeped +in bitterness, was dead, Father Sempé was seen triumphing at the funeral, +from which the others had not dared to keep him away. It was affirmed +that he openly displayed his abominable delight, that his face was +radiant that day with the joy of victory. He was at last rid of the only +man who had been an obstacle to his designs, whose legitimate authority +he had feared. He would no longer be forced to share anything with +anybody now that both the founders of Our Lady of Lourdes had been +suppressed--Bernadette placed in a convent, and Abbé Peyramale lowered +into the ground. The Grotto was now his own property, the alms would come +to him alone, and he could do what he pleased with the eight hundred +thousand francs* or so which were at his disposal every year. He would +complete the gigantic works destined to make the Basilica a +self-supporting centre, and assist in embellishing the new town in order +to increase the isolation of the old one and seclude it behind its rock, +like an insignificant parish submerged beneath the splendour of its +all-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 church +was slumbering inside its wooden fence, it was none the less more than +half built. The vaulted aisles were already erected. And the imperfect +pile remained there like a threat, for the town might some day attempt to +finish it. Like Abbé Peyramale, therefore, it must be killed for good, +turned into an irreparable ruin. The secret labour therefore continued, a +work of refined cruelty and slow destruction. To begin with, the new +parish priest, a simple-minded creature, was cowed to such a point that +he no longer opened the envelopes containing remittances for the parish; +all the registered letters were at once taken to the Fathers. Then the +site selected for the new parish church was criticised, and the diocesan +architect was induced to draw up a report stating that the old church was +still in good condition and of ample size for the requirements of the +community. Moreover, influence was brought to bear on the Bishop, and +representations were made to him respecting the annoying features of the +pecuniary difficulties which had arisen with the contractor. With a +little imagination poor Peyramale was transformed into a violent, +obstinate madman, through whose undisciplined zeal the Church had almost +been compromised. And, at last, the Bishop, forgetting that he himself +had blessed the foundation-stone, issued a pastoral letter laying the +unfinished church under interdict, and prohibiting all religious services +in it. This was the supreme blow. Endless lawsuits had already begun; the +contractor, who had only received two hundred thousand francs for the +five hundred thousand francs’ worth of work which had been executed, had +taken proceedings against Abbé Peyramale’s heir-at-law, the vestry, and +the town, for the last still refused to pay over the amount which it had +voted. At first the Prefect’s Council declared itself incompetent to deal +with 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 hundred +thousand francs and the heir-at-law to finish the church. At the same +time the vestry was put out of court. However, there was a fresh appeal +to the Council of State, which quashed this judgment, and condemned the +vestry, and, in default, the heir-at-law, to pay the contractor. Neither +party being solvent, matters remained in this position. The lawsuits had +lasted fifteen years. The town had now resignedly paid over the hundred +thousand francs, and only two hundred thousand remained owing to the +contractor. However, the costs and the accumulated interest had so +increased the amount of indebtedness that it had risen to six hundred +thousand francs; and as, on the other hand, it was estimated that four +hundred thousand francs would be required to finish the church, a million +was needed to save this young ruin from certain destruction. The Fathers +of the Grotto were thenceforth able to sleep in peace; they had +assassinated the poor church; it was as dead as Abbé Peyramale himself. + +The bells of the Basilica rang out triumphantly, and Father Sempé reigned +as a victor at the conclusion of that great struggle, that dagger warfare +in which not only a man but stones also had been done to death in the +shrouding gloom of intriguing sacristies. And old Lourdes, obstinate and +unintelligent, paid a hard penalty for its mistake in not giving more +support to its minister, who had died struggling, killed by his love for +his parish, for now the new town did not cease to grow and prosper at the +expense of the old one. All the wealth flowed to the former: the Fathers +of the Grotto coined money, financed hotels and candle shops, and sold +the water of the source, although a clause of their agreement with the +municipality expressly prohibited them from carrying on any commercial +pursuits. + +The whole region began to rot and fester; the triumph of the Grotto had +brought about such a passion for lucre, such a burning, feverish desire +to possess and enjoy, that extraordinary perversion set in, growing worse +and worse each day, and changing Bernadette’s peaceful Bethlehem into a +perfect Sodom or Gomorrah. Father Sempé had ensured the triumph of his +Divinity by spreading human abominations all around and wrecking +thousands of souls. Gigantic buildings rose from the ground, five or six +millions of francs had already been expended, everything being sacrificed +to the stern determination to leave the poor parish out in the cold and +keep the entire plunder for self and friends. Those costly, colossal +gradient ways had only been erected in order to avoid compliance with the +Virgin’s express desire that the faithful should come to the Grotto in +procession. 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 not +be called going to the Grotto in procession: it was simply so much +revolving in a circle. However, the Fathers cared little about that; they +had succeeded in compelling people to start from their premises and +return to them, in order that they might be the sole proprietors of the +affair, the opulent farmers who garnered the whole harvest. Abbé +Peyramale lay buried in the crypt of his unfinished, ruined church, and +Bernadette, who had long since dragged out her life of suffering in the +depths of a convent far away, was now likewise sleeping the eternal sleep +under a flagstone in a chapel. + +Deep silence fell when Doctor Chassaigne had finished this long +narrative. Then, with a painful effort, he rose to his feet again: “It +will soon be ten o’clock, my dear child,” said he, “and I want you to +take a little rest. Let us go back.” + +Pierre followed him without speaking; and they retraced their steps +toward the town at a more rapid pace. + +“Ah! yes,” resumed the doctor, “there were great iniquities and great +sufferings in it all. But what else could you expect? Man spoils and +corrupts the most beautiful things. And you cannot yet understand all the +woeful sadness of the things of which I have been talking to you. You +must see them, lay your hand on them. Would you like me to show you +Bernadette’s room and Abbé 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’clock +procession, and you can come with me.” + +Then they spoke no further, each becoming absorbed in his reverie once +more. + +The Gave, now upon their right hand, was flowing through a deep gorge, a +kind of cleft into which it plunged, vanishing from sight among the +bushes. But at intervals a clear stretch of it, looking like unburnished +silver, would appear to view; and, farther on, after a sudden turn in the +road, they found it flowing in increased volume across a plain, where it +spread at times into glassy sheets which must often have changed their +beds, for the gravelly soil was ravined on all sides. The sun was now +becoming very hot, and was already high in the heavens, whose limpid +azure assumed a deeper tinge above the vast circle of mountains. + +And it was at this turn of the road that Lourdes, still some distance +away, reappeared to the eyes of Pierre and Doctor Chassaigne. In the +splendid morning atmosphere, amid a flying dust of gold and purple rays, +the town shone whitely on the horizon, its houses and monuments becoming +more and more distinct at each step which brought them nearer. And the +doctor, still silent, at last waved his arm with a broad, mournful +gesture 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 his +words. + +The flare of the Grotto, fainter now that the sun was shining, could +already be espied amidst the greenery. And soon afterwards the gigantic +monumental works spread out: the quay with its freestone parapet skirting +the Gave, whose course had been diverted; the new bridge connecting the +new gardens with the recently opened boulevard; the colossal gradient +ways, the massive church of the Rosary, and, finally, the slim, tapering +Basilica, rising above all else with graceful pride. Of the new town +spread all around the monuments, the wealthy city which had sprung, as +though by enchantment, from the ancient impoverished soil, the great +convents and the great hotels, you could, at this distance, merely +distinguish a swarming of white façades and a scintillation of new +slates; whilst, in confusion, far away, beyond the rocky mass on which +the crumbling castle walls were profiled against the sky, appeared the +humble roofs of the old town, a jumble of little time-worn roofs, +pressing timorously against one another. And as a background to this +vision of the life of yesterday and to-day, the little and the big Gers +rose up beneath the splendour of the everlasting sun, and barred the +horizon with their bare slopes, which the oblique rays were tingeing with +streaks of pink and yellow. + +Doctor Chassaigne insisted on accompanying Pierre to the Hotel of the +Apparitions, and only parted from him at its door, after reminding him of +their appointment for the afternoon. It was not yet eleven o’clock. +Pierre, whom fatigue had suddenly mastered, forced himself to eat before +going to bed, for he realised that want of food was one of the chief +causes of the weakness which had come over him. He fortunately found a +vacant seat at the _table d’hôte_, and made some kind of a _déjeuner_, +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 to +tell the servant to awake him at three o’clock. + +However, on lying down, the fever that consumed him at first prevented +him 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 before +daybreak, and would only return in the evening. What a delightful gift +was thoughtlessness, thought Pierre. For his own part, with his limbs +worn out by weariness and his mind distracted, he was sad unto death. +Everything seemed to conspire against his willing desire to regain the +faith of his childhood. The tale of Abbé Peyramale’s tragic adventures +had simply aggravated the feeling of revolt which the story of +Bernadette, chosen and martyred, had implanted in his breast. And thus he +asked himself whether his search after the truth, instead of restoring +his faith, would not rather lead him to yet greater hatred of ignorance +and credulity, and to the bitter conviction that man is indeed all alone +in the world, with naught to guide him save his reason. + +At last he fell asleep, but visions continued hovering around him in his +painful slumber. He beheld Lourdes, contaminated by Mammon, turned into a +spot of abomination and perdition, transformed into a huge bazaar, where +everything was sold, masses and souls alike! He beheld also Abbé +Peyramale, dead and slumbering under the ruins of his church, among the +nettles which ingratitude had sown there. And he only grew calm again, +only tasted the delights of forgetfulness when a last pale, woeful vision +had faded from his gaze--a vision of Bernadette upon her knees in a +gloomy corner at Nevers, dreaming of her far-away work, which she was +never, never to behold. + + + + + +THE FOURTH DAY + + + + +I. THE BITTERNESS OP DEATH + +AT the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours, that morning, Marie remained +seated on her bed, propped up by pillows. Having spent the whole night at +the Grotto, she had refused to let them take her back there. And, as +Madame de Jonquière approached her, to raise one of the pillows which was +slipping 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 into +vacancy, 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 her +neighbour; she was delighted with the sudden stillness which had fallen. +One of the windows overlooking the courtyard had been opened, and the +glorious morning sunshine entered in one broad beam, whose golden dust +was dancing over her bed and streaming upon her pale hands. It was indeed +pleasant to find this room, so dismal at nighttime with its many beds of +sickness, its unhealthy atmosphere, and its nightmare groans, thus +suddenly filled with sunlight, purified by the morning air, and wrapped +in such delicious silence! “Why don’t you try to sleep a little?” + maternally inquired Madame de Jonquière. “You must be quite worn out by +your vigil.” + +Marie, who felt so light and cheerful that she no longer experienced any +pain, 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 going +to be cured!” + +At this the superintendent laughed. “Then why didn’t you let them take +you to the Grotto?” she asked. “You won’t know what to do with yourself +all 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. “Last +night, you know, I saw her bend her head towards me and smile. I quite +understood her, I could hear her voice, although she never opened her +lips. When the Blessed Sacrament passes at four o’clock I shall be +cured.” + +Madame de Jonquière tried to calm her, feeling rather anxious at the +species of somnambulism in which she beheld her. However, the sick girl +went 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 the +girl 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 almost +transparent, so wasted had they become through illness; whilst her +glorious fair hair, which had fallen over her shoulders, seemed like the +very effulgence of the great luminary enveloping her. The trill of a bird +came in from the courtyard, and quite enlivened the tremulous silence of +the ward. Some child who could not be seen must also have been playing +close by, for now and again a soft laugh could be heard ascending in the +warm air which was so delightfully calm. + +“Well,” said Madame de Jonquière by way of conclusion, “don’t sleep then, +as you don’t wish to. But keep quite quiet, and it will rest you all the +same.” + +Meantime Madame Vetu was expiring in the adjoining bed. They had not +dared to take her to the Grotto, for fear they should see her die on the +way. For some little time she had lain there with her eyes closed; and +Sister Hyacinthe, who was watching, had beckoned to Madame Désagneaux in +order 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 with +increasing anxiety. The mask upon her face had turned more yellow than +ever, and now looked like a coating of mud; her eyes too had become more +sunken, her lips seemed to have grown thinner, and the death rattle had +begun, a slow, pestilential wheezing, polluted by the cancer which was +finishing its destructive work. All at once she raised her eyelids, and +was 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? Immense +sadness showed itself in her eyes, a despairing regret of life. It was +not 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 the +abominable torture of such a journey, to have prayed both day and night, +and then, instead of having her prayer granted, to die when others +recovered! + +However, she could do no more than murmur “Oh! how I suffer; oh! how I +suffer. Do something, anything, to relieve this pain, I beseech you.” + +Little Madame Désagneaux, with her pretty milk-white face showing amidst +her mass of fair, frizzy hair, was quite upset. She was not used to +deathbed scenes, she would have given half her heart, as she expressed +it, to see that poor woman recover. And she rose up and began to question +Sister Hyacinthe, who was also in tears but already resigned, knowing as +she did that salvation was assured when one died well. Could nothing +really be done, however? Could not something be tried to ease the dying +woman? Abbé Judaine had come and administered the last sacrament to her a +couple of hours earlier that very morning. She now only had Heaven to +look to; it was her only hope, for she had long since given up expecting +aid from the skill of man. + +“No, no! we must do something,” exclaimed Madame Désagneaux. And +thereupon she went and fetched Madame de Jonquière from beside Marie’s +bed. “Look how this poor creature is suffering, madame!” she exclaimed. +“Sister Hyacinthe says that she can only last a few hours longer. But we +cannot 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 at +once.” + +They seldom thought of the doctor in the wards. It only occurred to the +ladies to send for him when a case was at its very worst, when one of +their patients was howling with pain. Sister Hyacinthe, who herself felt +surprised at not having thought of Ferrand, whom she believed to be in an +adjoining 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 Jonquière made Madame Désagneaux +help her in slightly raising the dying woman’s head, thinking that this +might relieve her. The two ladies happened to be alone there that +morning, all the other lady-hospitallers having gone to their devotions +or their private affairs. However, from the end of the large deserted +ward, where, amidst the warm quiver of the sunlight such sweet +tranquillity prevailed, there still came at intervals the light laughter +of the unseen child. + +“Can it be Sophie who is making such a noise?” suddenly asked the +lady-superintendent, whose nerves were somewhat upset by all the worry of +the death which she foresaw. Then quickly walking to the end of the ward, +she found that it was indeed Sophie Couteau--the young girl so +miraculously healed the previous year--who, seated on the floor behind a +bed, had been amusing herself, despite her fourteen years, in making a +doll out of a few rags. She was now talking to it, so happy, so absorbed +in her play, that she laughed quite heartily. “Hold yourself up, +mademoiselle,” said she. “Dance the polka, that I may see how you can do +it! One! two! dance, turn, kiss the one you like best!” + +Madame de Jonquière, however, was now coming up. “Little girl,” she said, +“we have one of our patients here in great pain, and not expected to +recover. You must not laugh so loud.” + +“Ah! madame, I didn’t know,” replied Sophie, rising up, and becoming +quite serious, although still holding the doll in her hand. “Is she going +to 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 slightest +sign of fear, but with her large eyes burning with curiosity, she began +to watch Madame Vetu’s death agony. In her nervous state, Madame +Désagneaux was growing impatient at the delay in the doctor’s arrival; +whilst Marie, still enraptured, and resplendent in the sunlight, seemed +unconscious of what was taking place about her, wrapt as she was in +delightful expectancy of the miracle. + +Not having found Ferrand in the small apartment near the linen-room which +he usually occupied, Sister Hyacinthe was now searching for him all over +the building. During the past two days the young doctor had become more +bewildered than ever in that extraordinary hospital, where his assistance +was only sought for the relief of death pangs. The small medicine-chest +which he had brought with him proved quite useless; for there could be no +thought of trying any course of treatment, as the sick were not there to +be 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, in +order to deaden the severer sufferings. He had been fairly amazed when +accompanying Doctor Bonamy on a round through the wards. It had resolved +itself into a mere stroll, the doctor, who had only come out of +curiosity, taking no interest in the patients, whom he neither questioned +nor examined. He solely concerned himself with the pretended cases of +cure, stopping opposite those women whom he recognised from having seen +them at his office where the miracles were verified. One of them had +suffered from three complaints, only one of which the Blessed Virgin had +so far deigned to cure; but great hopes were entertained respecting the +other two. Sometimes, when a wretched woman, who the day before had +claimed to be cured, was questioned with reference to her health, she +would reply that her pains had returned to her. However, this never +disturbed the doctor’s serenity; ever conciliatory, the good man declared +that Heaven would surely complete what Heaven had begun. Whenever there +was an improvement in health, he would ask if it were not something to be +thankful for. And, indeed, his constant saying was: “There’s an +improvement already; be patient!” What he most dreaded were the +importunities of the lady-superintendents, who all wished to detain him +to show him sundry extraordinary cases. Each prided herself on having the +most serious illnesses, the most frightful, exceptional cases in her +ward; so that she was eager to have them medically authenticated, in +order that she might share in the triumph should cure supervene. One +caught the doctor by the arm and assured him that she felt confident she +had a leper in her charge; another entreated him to come and look at a +young girl whose back, she said, was covered with fish’s scales; whilst a +third, whispering in his ear, gave him some terrible details about a +married lady of the best society. He hastened away, however, refusing to +see even one of them, or else simply promising to come back later on when +he was not so busy. As he himself said, if he listened to all those +ladies, the day would pass in useless consultations. However, he at last +suddenly stopped opposite one of the miraculously cured inmates, and, +beckoning Ferrand to his side, exclaimed: “Ah! now here is an interesting +cure!” and Ferrand, utterly bewildered, had to listen to him whilst he +described all the features of the illness, which had totally disappeared +at the first immersion in the piscina. + +At last Sister Hyacinthe, still wandering about, encountered Abbé +Judaine, who informed her that the young doctor had just been summoned to +the Family Ward. It was the fourth time he had gone thither to attend to +Brother Isidore, whose sufferings were as acute as ever, and whom he +could only fill with opium. In his agony, the Brother merely asked to be +soothed a little, in order that he might gather together sufficient +strength to return to the Grotto in the afternoon, as he had not been +able to do so in the morning. However, his pains increased, and at last +he swooned away. + +When the Sister entered the ward she found the doctor seated at the +missionary’s bedside. “Monsieur Ferrand,” she said, “come up-stairs with +me to the Sainte-Honorine Ward at once. We have a patient there at the +point of death.” + +He smiled at her; indeed, he never beheld her without feeling brighter +and comforted. “I will come with you, Sister,” he replied. “But you’ll +wait a minute, won’t you? I must try to restore this poor man.” + +She waited patiently and made herself useful. The Family Ward, situated +on the ground-floor, was also full of sunshine and fresh air which +entered through three large windows opening on to a narrow strip of +garden. In addition to Brother Isidore, only Monsieur Sabathier had +remained in bed that morning, with the view of obtaining a little rest; +whilst Madame Sabathier, taking advantage of the opportunity, had gone to +purchase a few medals and pictures, which she intended for presents. +Comfortably seated on his bed, his back supported by some pillows, the +ex-professor was rolling the beads of a chaplet between his fingers. He +was no longer praying, however, but merely continuing the operation in a +mechanical manner, his eyes, meantime, fixed upon his neighbour, whose +attack he was following with painful interest. + +“Ah! Sister,” said he to Sister Hyacinthe, who had drawn near, “that poor +Brother fills me with admiration. Yesterday I doubted the Blessed Virgin +for a moment, seeing that she did not deign to hear me, though I have +been coming here for seven years past; but the example set me by that +poor martyr, so resigned amidst his torments, has quite shamed me for my +want of faith. You can have no idea how grievously he suffers, and you +should see him at the Grotto, with his eyes glowing with divine hope! It +is really sublime! I only know of one picture at the Louvre--a picture by +some unknown Italian master--in which there is the head of a monk +beatified by a similar faith.” + +The man of intellect, the ex-university-professor, reared on literature +and art, was reappearing in this poor old fellow, whose life had been +blasted, and who had desired to become a free patient, one of the poor of +the earth, in order to move the pity of Heaven. He again began thinking +of his own case, and with tenacious hopefulness, which the futility of +seven journeys to Lourdes had failed to destroy, he added: “Well, I still +have this afternoon, since we sha’n’t leave till to-morrow. The water is +certainly very cold, but I shall let them dip me a last time; and all the +morning I have been praying and asking pardon for my revolt of yesterday. +When the Blessed Virgin chooses to cure one of her children, it only +takes her a second to do so; is that not so, Sister? May her will be +done, and blessed be her name!” + +Passing the beads of the chaplet more slowly between his fingers, he +again began saying his “Aves” and “Paters,” whilst his eyelids drooped on +his flabby face, to which a childish expression had been returning during +the many years that he had been virtually cut off from the world. + +Meantime Ferrand had signalled to Brother Isidore’s sister, Marthe, to +come to him. She had been standing at the foot of the bed with her arms +hanging 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 and +spent her scanty savings, without being of any use save to watch him +suffer. Accordingly, when the doctor told her to take the invalid in her +arms and raise him up a little, she felt quite happy at being of some +service 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 pain +which he felt burning his right side, as though a red-hot iron were being +applied to it. However, he remained so weak that, when he wished to +speak, it became necessary to place one’s ear close to his mouth in order +to catch what he said. With a slight sign he had begged Ferrand to bend +over him. “You are the doctor, monsieur, are you not?” he faltered. “Give +me sufficient strength that I may go once more to the Grotto, this +afternoon. I am certain that, if I am able to go, the Blessed Virgin will +cure me.” + +“Why, of course you shall go,” replied the young man. “Don’t you feel +ever 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 the +liver is attacked and the abscess has worked its way outside, it means +the end. Sweating, fever, and delirium follow. But the Blessed Virgin +will touch the sore with her little finger and it will be healed. Oh! I +implore you all, take me to the Grotto, even if I should be unconscious!” + +Sister Hyacinthe had also approached, and leant over him. “Be easy, dear +Brother,” said she. “You shall go to the Grotto after _déjeuner_, and we +will all pray for you.” + +At length, in despair at these delays and extremely anxious about Madame +Vetu, she was able to get Ferrand away. Still, the Brother’s state filled +her with pity; and, as they ascended the stairs, she questioned the +doctor, asking him if there were really no more hope. The other made a +gesture expressive of absolute hopelessness. It was madness to come to +Lourdes 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 unfortunate +enough not to be a believer.” + +But she smiled in her turn, like an indulgent friend who tolerates the +shortcomings 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 many +people, we go amongst such pagans that it would be difficult to shock +us.” + +Up above, in the Sainte-Honorine Ward, they found Madame Vetu still +moaning, a prey to most intolerable suffering. Madame de Jonquière and +Madame Désagneaux had remained beside the bed, their faces turning pale, +their hearts distracted by that death-cry, which never ceased. And when +they consulted Ferrand in a whisper, he merely replied, with a slight +shrug of the shoulders, that she was a lost woman, that it was only a +question of hours, perhaps merely of minutes. All he could do was to +stupefy her also, in order to ease the atrocious death agony which he +foresaw. She was watching him, still conscious, and also very obedient, +never refusing the medicine offered her. Like the others, she now had but +one ardent desire--to go back to the Grotto--and she gave expression to +it in the stammering accents of a child who fears that its prayer may not +be granted: “To the Grotto--will you? To the Grotto!” + +“You shall be taken there by-and-by, I promise you,” said Sister +Hyacinthe. “But you must be good. Try to sleep a little to gain some +strength.” + +The sick woman appeared to sink into a doze, and Madame de Jonquière then +thought that she might take Madame Désagneaux with her to the other end +of the ward to count the linen, a troublesome business, in which they +became quite bewildered, as some of the articles were missing. Meantime +Sophie, seated on the bed opposite Madame Vetu, had not stirred. She had +laid her doll on her lap, and was waiting for the lady’s death, since +they 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 a +hole 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. She +may go off at any moment. I fear hemorrhage.” Then, catching sight of +Marie 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 is +so young, so sweet, and so sorely afflicted. Just look at her now! Isn’t +she pretty? One might think her a saint amid all this sunshine, with her +large, ecstatic eyes, and her golden hair shining like an aureola!” + +Ferrand watched Marie for a moment with interest. Her absent air, her +indifference to all about her, the ardent faith, the internal joy which +so completely absorbed her, surprised him. “She will recover,” he +murmured, as though giving utterance to a prognostic. “She will recover.” + +Then he rejoined Sister Hyacinthe, who had seated herself in the +embrasure of the lofty window, which stood wide open, admitting the warm +air of the courtyard. The sun was now creeping round, and only a narrow +golden ray fell upon her white coif and wimple. Ferrand stood opposite to +her, leaning against the window bar and watching her while she sewed. “Do +you know, Sister,” said he, “this journey to Lourdes, which I undertook +to 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, assisting +you in your admirable work. And if you only knew how grateful I am to +you, what sincere affection and reverence I feel for you!” + +She raised her head to look him straight in the face, and began jesting +without the least constraint. She was really delicious, with her pure +lily-white complexion, her small laughing mouth, and adorable blue eyes +which ever smiled. And you could realise that she had grown up in all +innocence and devotion, slender and supple, with all the appearance of a +girl 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, the +most sisterly of beings. You are the sweetest memory in my life, the +memory I evoke whenever I need to be encouraged and sustained. Do you no +longer remember the month we spent together, in my poor room, when I was +so ill and you so affectionately nursed me?” + +“Of course, of course I remember it! Why, I never had so good a patient +as you. You took all I offered you; and when I tucked you in, after +changing 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 a +rather pronounced nose, superb eyes, and red lips showing under his black +moustache. But she seemed to be simply pleased at seeing him there before +her moved almost to tears. + +“Ah! Sister, I should have died if it hadn’t been for you,” he said. “It +was through having you that I was cured.” + +Then, as they gazed at one another, with tender gaiety of heart, the +memory of that adorable month recurred to them. They no longer heard +Madame Vetu’s death moans, nor beheld the ward littered with beds, and, +with all its disorder, resembling some infirmary improvised after a +public catastrophe. They once more found themselves in a small attic at +the top of a dingy house in old Paris, where air and light only reached +them through a tiny window opening on to a sea of roofs. And how charming +it 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 from +her convent like a comrade who fears nothing! It was thus that she nursed +women, children, and men, as chance ordained, feeling perfectly happy so +long as she had something to do, some sufferer to relieve. She never +displayed any consciousness of her sex; and he, on his side, never seemed +to have suspected that she might be a woman, except it were for the +extreme softness of her hands, the caressing accents of her voice, the +beneficent gentleness of her manner; and yet all the tender love of a +mother, all the affection of a sister, radiated from her person. During +three weeks, as she had said, she had nursed him like a child, helping +him in and out of bed, and rendering him every necessary attention, +without the slightest embarrassment or repugnance, the holy purity born +of suffering and charity shielding them both the while. They were indeed +far removed from the frailties of life. And when he became convalescent, +what a happy existence began, how joyously they laughed, like two old +friends! She still watched over him, scolding him and gently slapping his +arms when he persisted in keeping them uncovered. He would watch her +standing at the basin, washing him a shirt in order to save him the +trifling expense of employing a laundress. No one ever came up there; +they were quite alone, thousands of miles away from the world, delighted +with this solitude, in which their youth displayed such fraternal gaiety. + +“Do you remember, Sister, the morning when I was first able to walk +about?” asked Ferrand. “You helped me to get up, and supported me whilst +I awkwardly stumbled about, no longer knowing how to use my legs. We did +laugh 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. I +refused to touch them unless you ate some with me. And then we took them +in turn, one at a time, until the paper was emptied; and they were very +nice.” + +“Yes, yes, very nice. It was the same with the currant syrup: you would +only drink it when I took some also.” + +Thereupon they laughed yet louder; these recollections quite delighted +them. But a painful sigh from Madame Vetu brought them back to the +present. Ferrand leant over and cast a glance at the sick woman, who had +not stirred. The ward was still full of a quivering peacefulness, which +was only broken by the clear voice of Madame Désagneaux counting the +linen. Stifling with emotion, the young man resumed in a lower tone: “Ah! +Sister, were I to live a hundred years, to know every joy, every +pleasure, I should never love another woman as I love you!” + +Then Sister Hyacinthe, without, however, showing any confusion, bowed her +head and resumed her sewing. An almost imperceptible blush tinged her +lily-white skin with pink. + +“I also love you well, Monsieur Ferrand,” she said, “but you must not +make me vain. I only did for you what I do for so many others. It is my +business, you see. And there was really only one pleasant thing about it +all, that the Almighty cured you.” + +They were now again interrupted. La Grivotte and Elise Rouquet had +returned from the Grotto before the others. La Grivotte at once squatted +down 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 an +inordinate appetite and a feverish need of motion. For the moment, +however, Elise Rouquet’s case interested him still more; for it had now +become evident that the lupus, the sore which was eating away her face, +was showing signs of cure. She had continued bathing her face at the +miraculous fountain, and had just come from the Verification Office, +where Doctor Bonamy had triumphed. Ferrand, quite surprised, went and +examined the sore, which, although still far from healed, was already +paler in colour and slightly desiccated, displaying all the symptoms of +gradual cure. And the case seemed to him so curious, that he resolved to +make some notes upon it for one of his old masters at the medical +college, who was studying the nervous origin of certain skin diseases due +to faulty nutrition. + +“Have you felt any pricking sensation?” he asked. + +“Not at all, monsieur,” she replied. “I bathe my face and tell my beads +with my whole soul, and that is all.” + +La Grivotte, who was vain and jealous, and ever since the day before had +been 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 on +seeing Madame Vetu raise herself in a frightful fit of nausea. In spite +of her haste, however, she was too late with the basin; the sick woman +had brought up another discharge of black matter, similar to soot; but, +this time, some blood was mixed with it, little specks of violet-coloured +blood. It was the hemorrhage coming, the near end which Ferrand had been +dreading. + +“Send for the superintendent,” he said in a low voice, seating himself at +the bedside. + +Sister Hyacinthe ran for Madame de Jonquière. The linen having been +counted, she found her deep in conversation with her daughter Raymonde, +at some distance from Madame Désagneaux, who was washing her hands. + +Raymonde had just escaped for a few minutes from the refectory, where she +was 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 and +misery, quite disgusted her. And taking advantage of the half-hour still +remaining before the return of the patients, she had hurried up-stairs, +where, out of breath, with a rosy face and shining eyes, she had thrown +her 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 Jonquière did not understand. “What’s settled, my child?” she +asked. + +Then Raymonde lowered her voice, and, with a faint blush, replied: “My +marriage!” + +It was now the mother’s turn to rejoice. Lively satisfaction appeared +upon her face, the fat face of a ripe, handsome, and still agreeable +woman. She at once beheld in her mind’s eye their little lodging in the +Rue Vaneau, where, since her husband’s death, she had reared her daughter +with great difficulty upon the few thousand francs he had left her. This +marriage, however, meant a return to life, to society, the good old times +come back once more. + +“Ah! my child, how happy you make me!” she exclaimed. + +But a feeling of uneasiness suddenly restrained her. God was her witness +that for three years past she had been coming to Lourdes through pure +motives of charity, for the one great joy of nursing His beloved +invalids. 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 the +suitable young men who swarmed at the Grotto was certainly her last +thought. It was a thought which came to her, of course, but merely as +something that was possible, though she never mentioned it. However, her +happiness, wrung an avowal from her: + +“Ah! my child, your success doesn’t surprise me. I prayed to the Blessed +Virgin 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 Gérard’s arm +the day before, for she did not wish to speak of such things until she +was triumphant, certain of having at last secured a husband. And now it +was indeed settled, as she had exclaimed so gaily: that very morning she +had again seen the young man at the Grotto, and he had formally become +engaged to her. M. Berthaud would undoubtedly ask for her hand on his +cousin’s behalf before they took their departure from Lourdes. + +“Well,” declared Madame de Jonquière, who was now convinced, smiling, and +delighted at heart, “I hope you will be happy, since you are so sensible +and do not need my aid to bring your affairs to a successful issue. Kiss +me.” + +It was at this moment that Sister Hyacinthe arrived to announce Madame +Vetu’s imminent death. Raymonde at once ran off. And Madame Désagneaux, +who was wiping her hands, began to complain of the lady-assistants, who +had all disappeared precisely on the morning when they were most wanted. +“For instance,” said she, “there’s Madame Volmar. I should like to know +where she can have got to. She has not been seen, even for an hour, ever +since our arrival.” + +“Pray leave Madame Volmar alone!” replied Madame de Jonquière with some +asperity. “I have already told you that she is ill.” + +They both hastened to Madame Vetu. Ferrand stood there waiting; and +Sister Hyacinthe having asked him if there were indeed nothing to be +done, he shook his head. The dying woman, relieved by her first emesis, +now lay inert, with closed eyes. But, a second time, the frightful nausea +returned to her, and she brought up another discharge of black matter +mingled with violet-coloured blood. Then she had another short interval +of calm, during which she noticed La Grivotte, who was greedily devouring +her hunk of bread on the mattress on the floor. + +“She is cured, isn’t she?” the poor woman asked, feeling that she herself +was 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. But +almost immediately she became resigned, and they heard her add very +faintly, “It is the young ones who ought to remain.” + +Then her eyes, which remained wide open, looked round, as though bidding +farewell to all those persons, whom she seemed surprised to see about +her. She attempted to smile as she encountered the eager gaze of +curiosity which little Sophie Couteau still fixed upon her: the charming +child 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 be +growing beautiful, now that the sore was healing. But what especially +charmed the dying woman was the sight of Marie, so lovely in her ecstasy. +She watched her for a long time, constantly attracted towards her, as +towards a vision of light and joy. Perhaps she fancied that she already +beheld one of the saints of Paradise amid the glory of the sun. + +Suddenly, however, the fits of vomiting returned, and now she solely +brought up blood, vitiated blood, the colour of claret. The rush was so +great that it bespattered the sheet, and ran all over the bed. In vain +did Madame de Jonquière and Madame Désagneaux bring cloths; they were +both very pale and scarce able to remain standing. Ferrand, knowing how +powerless he was, had withdrawn to the window, to the very spot where he +had so lately experienced such delicious emotion; and with an instinctive +movement, of which she was surely unconscious, Sister Hyacinthe had +likewise 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 that +has burnt out.” + +Madame Vetu, who was now utterly exhausted, with a thin red stream still +flowing from her mouth, looked fixedly at Madame de Jonquière whilst +faintly moving her lips. The lady-superintendent thereupon bent over her +and heard these slowly uttered words: + +“About my husband, madame--the shop is in the Rue Mouffetard--oh! it’s +quite 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, I +cleaned 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 now +here’s the end.--Tell him my body had better remain here at Lourdes, on +account of the expense.--And he must marry again; it’s necessary for one +in trade--his cousin--tell him his cousin--” + +The rest became a confused murmur. Her weakness was too great, her breath +was halting. Yet her eyes continued open and full of life, amid her pale, +yellow, waxy mask. And those eyes seemed to fix themselves despairingly +on the past, on all that which soon would be no more: the little +clockmaker’s shop hidden away in a populous neighbourhood; the gentle +humdrum existence, with a toiling husband who was ever bending over his +watches; the great pleasures of Sunday, such as watching children fly +their kites upon the fortifications. And at last these staring eyes gazed +vainly into the frightful night which was gathering. + +A last time did Madame de Jonquière lean over her, seeing that her lips +were 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 cure +me.” + +And then Madame Vetu expired, very gently. + +As though this were all that she had been waiting for, little Sophie +Couteau jumped from the bed quite satisfied, and went off to play with +her doll again at the far end of the ward. Neither La Grivotte, who was +finishing her bread, nor Elise Rouquet, busy with her mirror, noticed the +catastrophe. However, amidst the cold breath which seemingly swept by, +while Madame de Jonquière and Madame Désagneaux--the latter of whom was +unaccustomed to the sight of death--were whispering together in +agitation, Marie emerged from the expectant rapture in which the +continuous, unspoken prayer of her whole being had plunged her so long. +And when she understood what had happened, a feeling of sisterly +compassion--the compassion of a suffering companion, on her side certain +of cure--brought tears to her eyes. + +“Ah! the poor woman!” she murmured; “to think that she has died so far +from home, in such loneliness, at the hour when others are being born +anew!” + +Ferrand, who, in spite of professional indifference, had also been +stirred by the scene, stepped forward to verify the death; and it was on +a sign from him that Sister Hyacinthe turned up the sheet, and threw it +over the dead woman’s face, for there could be no question of removing +the corpse at that moment. The patients were now returning from the +Grotto in bands, and the ward, hitherto so calm, so full of sunshine, was +again filling with the tumult of wretchedness and pain--deep coughing and +feeble shuffling, mingled with a noisome smell--a pitiful display, in +fact, 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 the +last day that the national pilgrimage would spend at Lourdes, and Father +Fourcade, in his morning address, had said that it would be necessary to +make a supreme effort of fervour and faith to obtain from Heaven all that +it might be willing to grant in the way of grace and prodigious cure. So, +from two o’clock in the afternoon, twenty thousand pilgrims were +assembled there, feverish, and agitated by the most ardent hopes. From +minute to minute the throng continued increasing, to such a point, +indeed, that Baron Suire became alarmed, and came out of the Grotto to +say 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 the +task of keeping order, for there were neither guardians nor policemen, of +any sort present; and it was for this reason that the President of the +Association was so alarmed. However, Berthaud, under grave circumstances, +was a leader whose words commanded attention, and who was endowed with +energy that could be relied on. + +“Be easy,” said he; “I will be answerable for everything. I shall not +move from here until the four-o’clock procession has passed by.” + +Nevertheless, he signalled to Gérard to approach. + +“Give your men the strictest instructions,” he said to him. “Only those +persons who have cards should be allowed to pass. And place your men +nearer each other; tell them to hold the cord tight.” + +Yonder, beneath the ivy which draped the rock, the Grotto opened, with +the eternal flaring of its candles. From a distance it looked rather +squat and misshapen, a very narrow and modest aperture for the breath of +the Infinite which issued from it, turning all faces pale and bowing +every head. The statue of the Virgin had become a mere white spot, which +seemed to move amid the quiver of the atmosphere, heated by the small +yellow flames. To see everything it was necessary to raise oneself; for +the silver altar, the harmonium divested of its housing, the heap of +bouquets flung there, and the votive offerings streaking the smoky walls +were scarcely distinguishable from behind the railing. And the day was +lovely; never yet had a purer sky expanded above the immense crowd; the +softness of the breeze in particular seemed delicious after the storm of +the night, which had brought down the over-oppressive heat of the two +first days. + +Gérard had to fight his way with his elbows in order to repeat the orders +to his men. The crowd had already begun pushing. “Two more men here!” he +called. “Come, four together, if necessary, and hold the rope well!” + +The general impulse was instinctive and invincible; the twenty thousand +persons assembled there were drawn towards the Grotto by an irresistible +attraction, in which burning curiosity mingled with the thirst for +mystery. All eyes converged, every mouth, hand, and body was borne +towards the pale glitter of the candles and the white moving speck of the +marble 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, it +had been necessary to inclose it with a stout rope which the bearers at +intervals of two or three yards grasped with both hands. Their orders +were to let nobody pass excepting the sick provided with hospital cards +and the few persons to whom special authorisations had been granted. They +limited themselves, therefore, to raising the cords and then letting them +fall behind the chosen ones, without heeding the supplications of the +others. In fact they even showed themselves somewhat rough, taking a +certain pleasure in exercising the authority with which they were +invested 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 their +loins to avoid being swept away. + +While the benches before the Grotto and the vast reserved space were +filling with sick people, handcarts, and stretchers, the crowd, the +immense crowd, swayed about on the outskirts. Starting from the Place du +Rosaire, it extended to the bottom of the promenade along the Gave, where +the pavement throughout its entire length was black with people, so dense +a human sea that all circulation was prevented. On the parapet was an +interminable line of women--most of them seated, but some few standing so +as to see the better--and almost all carrying silk parasols, which, with +holiday-like gaiety, shimmered in the sunlight. The managers had wished +to keep a path open in order that the sick might be brought along; but it +was ever being invaded and obstructed, so that the carts and stretchers +remained 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 blind +rolling towards the light of the candles that had to be contended +against. No accident had ever happened there, notwithstanding the +excitement, which gradually increased and threw the people into the +unruly delirium of faith. + +However, Baron Suire again forced his way through the throng. “Berthaud! +Berthaud!” he called, “see that the _défile_ is conducted less rapidly. +There are women and children stifling.” + +This time Berthaud gave a sign of impatience. “Ah! hang it, I can’t be +everywhere! Close the gate for a moment if it’s necessary.” + +It was a question of the march through the Grotto which went on +throughout the afternoon. The faithful were permitted to enter by the +door on the left, and made their exit by that on the right. + +“Close the gate!” exclaimed the Baron. “But that would be worse; they +would all get crushed against it!” + +As it happened Gérard was there, thoughtlessly talking for an instant +with Raymonde, who was standing on the other side of the cord, holding a +bowl of milk which she was about to carry to a paralysed old woman; and +Berthaud ordered the young fellow to post two men at the entrance gate of +the iron railing, with instructions only to allow the pilgrims to enter +by tens. When Gérard had executed this order, and returned, he found +Berthaud laughing and joking with Raymonde. She went off on her errand, +however, and the two men stood watching her while she made the paralysed +woman drink. + +“She is charming, and it’s settled, eh?” said Berthaud. “You are going to +marry 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 more +sensible. 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 sure +whether the march through the Grotto was now being accomplished in a +methodical manner, without any crushing. For hours the same unbroken tide +rolled in--women, men, and children from all parts of the world, all who +chose, all who passed that way. As a result, the crowd was singularly +mixed: there were beggars in rags beside neat _bourgeois_, peasants of +either sex, well dressed ladies, servants with bare hair, young girls +with bare feet, and others with pomatumed hair and foreheads bound with +ribbons. Admission was free; the mystery was open to all, to unbelievers +as well as to the faithful, to those who were solely influenced by +curiosity as well as to those who entered with their hearts faint with +love. And it was a sight to see them, all almost equally affected by the +tepid odour of the wax, half stifling in the heavy tabernacle air which +gathered beneath the rocky vault, and lowering their eyes for fear of +slipping on the gratings. Many stood there bewildered, not even bowing, +examining the things around with the covert uneasiness of indifferent +folks astray amidst the redoubtable mysteries of a sanctuary. But the +devout 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 contact +sufficed to bless them. And the _défile_ continued, continued without end +during days and months as it had done for years; and it seemed as if the +whole world, all the miseries and sufferings of humanity, came in turn +and passed in the same hypnotic, contagious kind of round, through that +rocky nook, ever in search of happiness. + +When Berthaud had satisfied himself that everything was working well, he +walked about like a mere spectator, superintending his men. Only one +matter remained to trouble him: the procession of the Blessed Sacrament, +during which such frenzy burst forth that accidents were always to be +feared. + +This last day seemed likely to be a very fervent one, for he already felt +a tremor of exalted faith rising among the crowd. The treatment needed +for miraculous care was drawing to an end; there had been the fever of +the journey, the besetting influence of the same endlessly repeated +hymns, and the stubborn continuation of the same religious exercises; and +ever and ever the conversation had been turned on miracles, and the mind +fixed on the divine illumination of the Grotto. Many, not having slept +for three nights, had reached a state of hallucination, and walked about +in a rageful dream. No repose was granted them, the continual prayers +were like whips lashing their souls. The appeals to the Blessed Virgin +never ceased; priest followed priest in the pulpit, proclaiming the +universal dolour and directing the despairing supplications of the +throng, during the whole time that the sick remained with hands clasped +and eyes raised to heaven before the pale, smiling, marble statue. + +At that moment the white stone pulpit against the rock on the right of +the 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 a +stout man with an unctuous diction, famous for his rhetorical successes. +However, all eloquence here consisted in displaying the strength of one’s +lungs in a violent delivery of the phrase or cry which the whole crowd +had to repeat; for the addresses were nothing more than so much +vociferation interspersed with “Ayes” and “Paters.” + +The priest, who had just finished the Rosary, strove to increase his +stature by stretching his short legs, whilst shouting the first appeal of +the litanies which he improvised, and led in his own way, according to +the 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 out +at full swing, and the voices of the crowd responded in a dolorous +murmur: + +“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 a +cry home with greater force, he would repeat it thrice; while the docile +crowd would do the same, quivering under the enervating effect of the +persistent lamentation, which increased the fever. + +The litanies continued, and Berthaud went back towards the Grotto. Those +who defiled through it beheld an extraordinary sight when they turned and +faced the sick. The whole of the large space between the cords was +occupied by the thousand or twelve hundred patients whom the national +pilgrimage had brought with it; and beneath the vast, spotless sky on +that radiant day there was the most heart-rending jumble of sufferers +that one could behold. The three hospitals of Lourdes had emptied their +chambers of horror. To begin with, those who were still able to remain +seated had been piled upon the benches. Many of them, however, were +propped up with cushions, whilst others kept shoulder to shoulder, the +strong ones supporting the weak. Then, in front of the benches, before +the Grotto itself, were the more grievously afflicted sufferers lying at +full length; the flagstones disappearing from view beneath this woeful +assemblage, which was like a large, stagnant pool of horror. There was an +indescribable block of vehicles, stretchers, and mattresses. Some of the +invalids in little boxes not unlike coffins had raised themselves up and +showed above the others, but the majority lay almost on a level with the +ground. There were some lying fully dressed on the check-patterned ticks +of mattresses; whilst others had been brought with their bedding, so that +only their heads and pale hands were seen outside the sheets. Few of +these pallets were clean. Some pillows of dazzling whiteness, which by a +last feeling of coquetry had been trimmed with embroidery, alone shone +out among all the filthy wretchedness of all the rest--a fearful +collection 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 were +fully attired being jumbled together in the blinding light of day. + +And all forms of disease were there, the whole frightful procession +which, twice a day, left the hospitals to wend its way through horrified +Lourdes. There were the heads eaten away by eczema, the foreheads crowned +with roseola, and the noses and mouths which elephantiasis had +transformed into shapeless snouts. Next, the dropsical ones, swollen out +like leathern bottles; the rheumatic ones with twisted hands and swollen +feet, 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 to +skeletons. Then the deformities, the contractions, the twisted trunks, +the twisted arms, the necks all awry; all the poor broken, pounded +creatures, motionless in their tragic, marionette-like postures. Then the +poor rachitic girls displaying their waxen complexions and slender necks +eaten into by sores; the yellow-faced, besotted-looking women in the +painful stupor which falls on unfortunate creatures devoured by cancer; +and the others who turned pale, and dared not move, fearing as they did +the shock of the tumours whose weighty pain was stifling them. On the +benches sat bewildered deaf women, who heard nothing, but sang on all the +same, and blind ones with heads erect, who remained for hours turned +toward the statue of the Virgin which they could not see. And there was +also the woman stricken with imbecility, whose nose was eaten away, and +who laughed with a terrifying laugh, displaying the black, empty cavern +of her mouth; and then the epileptic woman, whom a recent attack had left +as pale as death, with froth still at the corners of her lips. + +But sickness and suffering were no longer of consequence, since they were +all there, seated or stretched with their eyes upon the Grotto. The poor, +fleshless, earthy-looking faces became transfigured, and began to glow +with hope. Anchylosed hands were joined, heavy eyelids found the strength +to rise, exhausted voices revived as the priest shouted the appeals. At +first there was nothing but indistinct stuttering, similar to slight +puffs of air rising, here and there above the multitude. Then the cry +ascended and spread through the crowd itself from one to the other end of +the immense square. + +“Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us!” cried the priest in his +thundering 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, who +had asked to be brought there early, wishing to choose his place like an +old _habitué_ who knew the cosy corners. Moreover, it seemed to him that +it 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 her +faithful in order not to forget them. However, for the seven years that +he had been coming there he had nursed this one hope of being some day +noticed by her, of touching her, and of obtaining his cure, if not by +selection, at least by seniority. This merely needed patience on his part +without the firmness of his faith being in the least shaken by his way of +thinking. Only, like a poor, resigned man just a little weary of being +always put off, he sometimes allowed himself diversions. For instance, he +had obtained permission to keep his wife near him, seated on a +camp-stool, and he liked to talk to her, and acquaint her with his +reflections. + +“Raise me a little, my dear,” said he. “I am slipping. I am very +uncomfortable.” + +Attired in trousers and a coarse woollen jacket, he was sitting upon his +mattress, 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 Brother +Isidore, whom they had succeeded in bringing in spite of everything, and +who was lying upon a neighbouring mattress, with a sheet drawn up to his +chin, and nothing protruding but his wasted hands, which lay clasped upon +the blanket. + +“Ah! the poor man,” said M. Sabathier. “It’s very imprudent, but the +Blessed Virgin is so powerful when she chooses!” + +He took up his chaplet again, but once more broke off from his devotions +on perceiving Madame Maze, who had just glided into the reserved +space--so slender and unobtrusive that she had doubtless slipped under +the ropes without being noticed. She had seated herself at the end of a +bench and, very quiet and motionless, did not occupy more room there than +a child. And her long face, with its weary features, the face of a woman +of two-and-thirty faded before her time, wore an expression of unlimited +sadness, infinite abandonment. + +“And so,” resumed M. Sabathier in a low voice, again addressing his wife +after attracting her attention by a slight movement of the chin, “it’s +for the conversion of her husband that this lady prays. You came across +her this morning in a shop, didn’t you?” + +“Yes, yes,” replied Madame Sabathier. “And, besides, I had some talk +about her with another lady who knows her. Her husband is a +commercial-traveller. He leaves her for six months at a time, and goes +about 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 cannot +accustom herself to his neglect, and comes to pray the Blessed Virgin to +give him back to her. At this moment, it appears, he is close by, at +Luchon, with two ladies--two sisters.” + +M. Sabathier signed to his wife to stop. He was now looking at the +Grotto, again becoming a man of intellect, a professor whom questions of +art had formerly impassioned. “You see, my dear,” he said, “they have +spoilt the Grotto by endeavouring to make it too beautiful. I am certain +it looked much better in its original wildness. It has lost its +characteristic 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 one +of his neighbours, more fervent, more sedate than himself? Feeling +anxious on the point, he reverted to his customary modesty and patience, +and with dull, expressionless eyes again began waiting for the good +pleasure of Heaven. + +Moreover, the sound of a fresh voice helped to bring him back to this +annihilation, in which nothing was left of the cultured reasoner that he +had formerly been. It was another preacher who had just entered the +pulpit, 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 shall +heal!” + +“Holy Virgin of virgins, breathe upon our sores, and our sores shall +heal!” + +At the end of the first bench, skirting the central path, which was +becoming crowded, the Vigneron family had succeeded in finding room for +themselves. They were all there: little Gustave, seated in a sinking +posture, with his crutch between his legs; his mother, beside him, +following the prayers like a punctilious _bourgeoise_; his aunt, Madame +Chaise, on the other side, so inconvenienced by the crowd that she was +stifling; and M. Vigneron, who remained silent and, for a moment, had +been examining Madame Chaise attentively. + +“What is the matter with you, my dear?” he inquired. “Do you feel +unwell?” + +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 the +agitation, fever, and scramble of a pilgrimage could not be very good for +heart-disease. Of course he did not desire anybody’s death, he had never +asked the Blessed Virgin for any such thing. If his prayer for +advancement had already been granted through the sudden death of his +chief, it must certainly be because Heaven had already ordained the +latter’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 will +of God, which generally requires that the aged should go off before the +young. Nevertheless, his hope unconsciously became so keen that he could +not help exchanging a glance with his wife, to whom had come the same +involuntary 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 of +water, mademoiselle? One of our relatives here is losing consciousness.” + +But Madame Chaise refused the offer with a gesture. She was getting +better, recovering her breath with an effort. “No, I want nothing, thank +you,” she gasped. “There, I’m better--still, I really thought this time +that I should stifle!” + +Her fright left her trembling, with haggard eyes in her pale face. She +again joined her hands, and begged the Blessed Virgin to save her from +other attacks and cure her; while the Vignerons, man and wife, honest +folk both of them, reverted to the covert prayer for happiness that they +had come to offer up at Lourdes: a pleasant old age, deservedly gained by +twenty years of honesty, with a respectable fortune which in later years +they would go and enjoy in the country, cultivating flowers. On the other +hand, little Gustave, who had seen and noted everything with his bright +eyes and intelligence sharpened by suffering, was not praying, but +smiling at space, with his vague enigmatical smile. What could be the use +of his praying? He knew that the Blessed Virgin would not cure him, and +that he would die. + +However, M. Vigneron could not remain long without busying himself about +his neighbours. Madame Dieulafay, who had come late, had been deposited +in the crowded central pathway; and he marvelled at the luxury about the +young woman, that sort of coffin quilted with white silk, in which she +was lying, attired in a pink dressing-gown trimmed with Valenciennes +lace. The husband in a frock-coat, and the sister in a black gown of +simple but marvellous elegance, were standing by; while Abbé Judaine, +kneeling near the sufferer, finished offering up a fervent prayer. + +When the priest had risen, M. Vigneron made him a little room on the +bench beside him; and he then took the liberty of questioning him. “Well, +Monsieur le Curé, does that poor young woman feel a little better?” + +Abbé Judaine made a gesture of infinite sadness. + +“Alas! no. I was full of so much hope! It was I who persuaded the family +to come. Two years ago the Blessed Virgin showed me such extraordinary +grace by curing my poor lost eyes, that I hoped to obtain another favour +from 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 was +expressionless, with ashen hue, similar to a mask of death, amidst the +lace. “It’s really very sad,” he murmured. + +“And if you had seen her last summer!” resumed the priest. “They have +their country seat at Saligny, my parish, and I often dined with them. I +cannot help feeling sad when I look at her elder sister, Madame Jousseur, +that lady in black who stands there, for she bears a strong resemblance +to her; and the poor sufferer was even prettier, one of the beauties of +Paris. And now compare them together--observe that brilliancy, that +sovereign grace, beside that poor, pitiful creature--it oppresses one’s +heart--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 him +in his faith, he displayed a naive admiration for beauty, wealth, and +power, which he had never envied. Nevertheless, he ventured to express a +doubt, a scruple, which troubled his usual serenity. “For my part, I +should have liked her to come here with more simplicity, without all +that surrounding of luxury, because the Blessed Virgin prefers the +humble--But I understand very well that there are certain social +exigencies. And, then, her husband and sister love her so! Remember that +he has forsaken his business and she her pleasures in order to come here +with her; and so overcome are they at the idea of losing her that their +eyes are never dry, they always have that bewildered look which you can +notice. So they must be excused for trying to procure her the comfort of +looking beautiful until the last hour.” + +M. Vigneron nodded his head approvingly. Ah! it was certainly not the +wealthy who had the most luck at the Grotto! Servants, country folk, poor +beggars, were cured, while ladies returned home with their ailments +unrelieved, notwithstanding their gifts and the big candles they had +burnt. And, in spite of himself, Vigneron then looked at Madame Chaise, +who, having recovered from her attack, was now reposing with a +comfortable air. + +But a tremor passed through the crowd and Abbé Judaine spoke again: “Here +is Father Massias coming towards the pulpit. He is a saint; listen to +him.” + +They knew him, and were aware that he could not make his appearance +without every soul being stirred by sudden hope, for it was reported that +the miracles were often brought to pass by his great fervour. His voice, +full of tenderness and strength, was said to be appreciated by the +Virgin. + +All heads were therefore uplifted and the emotion yet further increased +when Father Fourcade was seen coming to the foot of the pulpit, leaning +on the shoulder of his well-beloved brother, the preferred of all; and he +stayed there, so that he also might hear him. His gouty foot had been +paining him more acutely since the morning, so that it required great +courage on his part to remain thus standing and smiling. The increasing +exaltation of the crowd made him happy, however; he foresaw prodigies and +dazzling cures which would redound to the glory of Mary and Jesus. + +Having ascended the pulpit, Father Massias did not at once speak. He +seemed, very tall, thin, and pale, with an ascetic face, elongated the +more by his discoloured beard. His eyes sparkled, and his large eloquent +mouth protruded passionately. + +“Lord, save us, for we perish!” he suddenly cried; and in a fever, which +increased minute by minute, the transported crowd repeated: “Lord, save +us, for we perish!” + +Then he opened his arms and again launched forth his flaming cry, as if +he had torn it from his glowing heart: “Lord, if it be Thy will, Thou +canst 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 only +say the word, and I shall be healed!” + +“Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under my roof, but only +say the word, and I shall be healed!” + +Marthe, Brother Isidore’s sister, had now begun to talk in a whisper to +Madame Sabathier, near whom she had at last seated herself. They had +formed an acquaintance at the hospital; and, drawn together by so much +suffering, the servant had familiarly confided to the _bourgeoise_ how +anxious she felt about her brother; for she could plainly see that he had +very little breath left in him. The Blessed Virgin must be quick indeed +if she desired to save him. It was already a miracle that they had been +able 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 from +her lips. Then a flood of past memories suddenly returned to her; and +with her utterance thickened by prolonged silence, she began to relieve +her 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 remained +with our priest, who ended by placing him among the Christian Brothers. +The elder ones took over the property, and, for my part, I preferred +going 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 the +while at her husband, who was devoutly repeating each of Father Massias’s +appeals. + +“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, had +brought a bad sickness back with him. And, when I ran to see him, he told +me he should die if he did not leave for Lourdes, but that he couldn’t +make the journey, because he had nobody to accompany him. Then, as I had +eighty francs saved up, I gave up my place, and we set out together. You +see, madame, if I am so fond of him, it’s because he used to bring me +gooseberries 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 from +them. 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, his +poor face--” + +It was, in fact, a lamentable spectacle. Madame Sabathier’s heart was +quite upset when she observed Brother Isidore so yellow, cadaverous, +steeped in a cold sweat of agony. Above the sheet he still only showed +his clasped hands and his face encircled with long scanty hair; but if +those wax-like hands seemed lifeless, if there was not a feature of that +long-suffering face that stirred, its eyes were still alive, +inextinguishable eyes of love, whose flame sufficed to illumine the whole +of his expiring visage--the visage of a Christ upon the cross. And never +had the contrast been so clearly marked between his low forehead and +unintelligent, loutish, peasant air, and the divine splendour which came +from his poor human mask, ravaged and sanctified by suffering, sublime at +this last hour in the passionate radiance of his faith. His flesh had +melted, as it were; he was no longer a breath, nothing but a look, a +light. + +Since he had been set down there his eyes had not strayed from the statue +of the Virgin. Nothing else existed around him. He did not see the +enormous multitude, he did not even hear the wild cries of the priests, +the incessant cries which shook this quivering crowd. His eyes alone +remained to him, his eyes burning with infinite tenderness, and they were +fixed 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 in +her. For an instant, however, his mouth half opened and his drawn visage +relaxed as an expression of celestial beatitude came over it. Then +nothing more stirred, his eyes remained wide open, still obstinately +fixed upon the white statue. + +A few seconds elapsed. Marthe had felt a cold breath, chilling the roots +of her hair. “I say, madame, look!” she stammered. + +Madame Sabathier, who felt anxious, pretended that she did not +understand. “What is it, my girl?” + +“My brother! look! He no longer moves. He opened his mouth, and has not +stirred since.” Then they both shuddered, feeling certain he was dead. He +had, indeed, just passed away, without a rattle, without a breath, as if +life had escaped in his glance, through his large, loving eyes, ravenous +with passion. He had expired gazing upon the Virgin, and nothing could +have been so sweet; and he still continued to gaze upon her with his dead +eyes, as though with ineffable delight. + +“Try to close his eyes,” murmured Madame Sabathier. “We shall soon know +then.” + +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 time +they reopened, and again looked at the Virgin with invincible obstinacy. +He was dead, and Marthe had to leave his eyes wide open, steeped in +unbounded 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. There +had been whisperings, and uneasiness was already spreading. But what +course could be adopted? It was impossible to carry off the corpse amidst +such a mob, during the prayers, without incurring the risk of creating a +disastrous effect. The best plan would be to leave it there, pending a +favourable moment. The poor fellow scandalised no one, he did not seem +any more dead now than he had seemed ten minutes previously, and +everybody would think that his flaming eyes were still alive, ardently +appealing to the divine compassion of the Blessed Virgin. + +Only a few persons among those around knew the truth. M. Sabathier, quite +scared, had made a questioning sign to his wife, and on being answered by +a prolonged affirmative nod, he had returned to his prayers without any +rebellion, though he could not help turning pale at the thought of the +mysterious almighty power which sent death when life was asked for. The +Vignerons, who were very much interested, leaned forward, and whispered +as though in presence of some street accident, one of those petty +incidents which in Paris the father sometimes related on returning home +from the Ministry, and which sufficed to occupy them all, throughout the +evening. Madame Jousseur, for her part, had simply turned round and +whispered a word or two in M. Dieulafay’s ear, and then they had both +reverted to the heart-rending contemplation of their own dear invalid; +whilst Abbé Judaine, informed by M. Vigneron, knelt down, and in a low, +agitated voice recited the prayers for the dead. Was he not a Saint, that +missionary who had returned from a deadly climate, with a mortal wound in +his side, to die there, beneath the smiling gaze of the Blessed Virgin? +And Madame Maze, who also knew what had happened, suddenly felt a taste +for death, and resolved that she would implore Heaven to suppress her +also, in unobtrusive fashion, if it would not listen to her prayer and +give her back her husband. + +But the cry of Father Massias rose into a still higher key, burst forth +with 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 am +perishing, save me!” + +Then, in quick succession, and in higher and higher keys, the appeals +went 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 to +the extraordinary passion which overflowed from all hearts, had likewise +raised his arms, and was shouting the appeals in his thundering voice as +though to compel the intervention of Heaven. And the exaltation was still +increasing beneath this blast of desire, whose powerful breath bowed +every head in turn, spreading even to the young women who, in a spirit of +mere curiosity, sat watching the scene from the parapet of the Gave; for +these also turned pale under their sunshades. + +Miserable humanity was clamouring from the depths of its abyss of +suffering, and the clamour swept along, sending a shudder down every +spine, for one and all were plunged in agony, refusing to die, longing to +compel God to grant them eternal life. Ah! life, life! that was what all +those unfortunates, who had come so far, amid so many obstacles, +wanted--that was the one boon they asked for in their wild desire to live +it over again, to live it always! O Lord, whatever our misery, whatever +the torment of our life may be, cure us, grant that we may begin to live +again and suffer once more what we have suffered already. However unhappy +we 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 possible +moment, never leave it, indeed, if such be Thy good pleasure. And even +when we no longer implore a physical cure, but a moral favour, it is +still happiness that we ask Thee for; happiness, the thirst for which +alone consumes us. O Lord, grant that we may be happy and healthy; let us +live, ay, let us live forever! + +This wild cry, the cry of man’s furious desire for life, came in broken +accents, 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 from +giving way under the unconscious pressure of the crowd. Baron Suire, in +despair, kept on making signs, begging someone to come to his assistance; +for the Grotto was now invaded, and the march past had become the mere +trampling of a flock rushing to its passion. In vain did Gérard again +leave 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 everybody +rushed in, passing like a torrent between the flaring candles, throwing +bouquets and letters to the Virgin, and kissing the rock, which the +pressure of millions of inflamed lips had polished. It was faith run +wild, the great power that nothing henceforth could stop. + +And now, whilst Gérard stood there, hemmed in against the iron railing, +he heard two countrywomen, whom the advance was bearing onward, raise +loud exclamations at sight of the sufferers lying on the stretchers +before them. One of them was so greatly impressed by the pallid face of +Brother Isidore, whose large dilated eyes were still fixed on the statue +of the Virgin, that she crossed herself, and, overcome by devout +admiration, murmured: “Oh! look at that one; see how he is praying with +his whole heart, and how he gazes on Our Lady of Lourdes!” + +The other peasant woman thereupon replied “Oh! she will certainly cure +him, he is so beautiful!” + +Indeed, as the dead man lay there, his eyes still fixedly staring whilst +he continued his prayer of love and faith, his appearance touched every +heart. No one in that endless, streaming throng could behold him without +feeling edified. + + + + +III. MARIE’S CURE + +IT was good Abbé Judaine who was to carry the Blessed Sacrament in the +four-o’clock procession. Since the Blessed Virgin had cured him of a +disease of the eyes, a miracle with which the Catholic press still +resounded, he had become one of the glories of Lourdes, was given the +first place, and honoured with all sorts of attentions. + +At half-past three he rose, wishing to leave the Grotto, but the +extraordinary concourse of people quite frightened him, and he feared he +would be late if he did not succeed in getting out of it. Fortunately +help came to him in the person of Berthaud. “Monsieur le Curé,” exclaimed +the superintendent of the bearers, “don’t attempt to pass out by way of +the Rosary; you would never arrive in time. The best course is to ascend +by 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 a +path 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 we +manage to pass with the procession presently?” + +This procession was Berthaud’s remaining anxiety. Even on ordinary days +it provoked wild excitement, which forced him to take special measures; +and what would now happen, as it wended its way through this dense +multitude of thirty thousand persons, consumed by such a fever of faith, +already on the verge of divine frenzy? Accordingly, in a sensible way, he +took advantage of this opportunity to give Abbé Judaine the best advice. + +“Ah! Monsieur le Curé, pray impress upon your colleagues of the clergy +that they must not leave any space between their ranks; they should come +on slowly, one close behind the other. And, above all, the banners should +be firmly grasped, so that they may not be overthrown. As for yourself, +Monsieur le Curé, see that the canopy-bearers are strong, tighten the +cloth around the monstrance, and don’t be afraid to carry it in both +hands with all your strength.” + +A little frightened by this advice, the priest went on expressing his +thanks. “Of course, of course; you are very good,” said he. “Ah! +monsieur, how much I am indebted to you for having helped me to escape +from all those people!” + +Then, free at last, he hastened towards the Basilica by the narrow +serpentine path which climbs the hill; while his companion again plunged +into the mob, to return to his post of inspection. + +At that same moment Pierre, who was bringing Marie to the Grotto in her +little cart, encountered on the other side, that of the Place du Rosaire, +the impenetrable wall formed by the crowd. The servant at the hotel had +awakened him at three o’clock, so that he might go and fetch the young +girl at the hospital. There seemed to be no hurry; they apparently had +plenty of time to reach the Grotto before the procession. However, that +immense throng, that resisting, living wall, through which he did not +know how to break, began to cause him some uneasiness. He would never +succeed in passing with the little car if the people did not evince some +obligingness. “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 Grotto +sparkling in the distance, and standing on tiptoe so as to lose nothing +of the sight, did not move, however. Besides, the clamour of the litanies +was so loud at this moment that they did not even hear the young priest’s +entreaties. + +Then Pierre began again: “Pray stand on one side, gentlemen; allow me to +pass. A little room for a sick person. Come, please, listen to what I am +saying!” + +But the men, beside themselves, in a blind, deaf rapture, would stir no +more than the women. + +Marie, however, smiled serenely, as if ignorant of the impediments, and +convinced that nothing in the world could prevent her from going to her +cure. However, when Pierre had found an aperture, and begun to work his +way through the moving mass, the situation became more serious. From all +parts the swelling human waves beat against the frail chariot, and at +times threatened to submerge it. At each step it became necessary to +stop, wait, and again entreat the people. Pierre had never before felt +such 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 thrill +in its midst, a peculiar atmosphere that upset him. And, in spite of his +affection for the humble, the ugliness of the features around him, the +common, sweating faces, the evil breath, and the old clothes, smelling of +poverty, made him suffer even to nausea. + +“Now, ladies, now, gentlemen, it’s for a patient,” he repeated. “A little +room, I beg of you!” + +Buffeted about in this vast ocean, the little vehicle continued to +advance by fits and starts, taking long minutes to get over a few yards +of ground. At one moment you might have thought it swamped, for no sign +of it could be detected. Then, however, it reappeared near the piscinas. +Tender sympathy had at length been awakened for this sick girl, so wasted +by suffering, but still so beautiful. When people had been compelled to +give way before the priest’s stubborn pushing, they turned round, but did +not dare to get angry, for pity penetrated them at sight of that thin, +suffering face, shining out amidst a halo of fair hair. Words of +compassion and admiration were heard on all sides: “Ah, the poor +child!”--“Was it not cruel to be infirm at her age?”--“Might the Blessed +Virgin be merciful to her!” Others, however, expressed surprise, struck +as they were by the ecstasy in which they saw her, with her clear eyes +open to the spheres beyond, where she had placed her hope. She beheld +Heaven, she would assuredly be cured. And thus the little car left, as it +were, a feeling of wonder and fraternal charity behind it, as it made its +way with so much difficulty through that human ocean. + +Pierre, however, was in despair and at the end of his strength, when some +of the stretcher-bearers came to his aid by forming a path for the +passage of the procession--a path which Berthaud had ordered them to keep +clear by means of cords, which they were to hold at intervals of a couple +of yards. From that moment the young priest was able to drag Marie along +in 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 longer +move in this reserved space, where the crowd seemed to increase every +minute. And, quite exhausted by the painful journey he had just +accomplished, Pierre reflected what a prodigious concourse of people +there 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 now +realised, however, that she wished to speak to him, and accordingly bent +over her. “And my father,” she inquired, “is he here? Hasn’t he returned +from his excursion?” + +Pierre had to answer that M. de Guersaint had not returned, and that he +had doubtless been delayed against his will. And thereupon she merely +added with a smile: “Ah I poor father, won’t he be pleased when he finds +me cured!” + +Pierre looked at her with tender admiration. He did not remember having +ever seen her looking so adorable since the slow wasting of sickness had +begun. Her hair, which alone disease had respected, clothed her in gold. +Her thin, delicate face had assumed a dreamy expression, her eyes +wandering away to the haunting thought of her sufferings, her features +motionless, as if she had fallen asleep in a fixed thought until the +expected shock of happiness should waken her. She was absent from +herself, ready, however, to return to consciousness whenever God might +will it. And, indeed, this delicious infantile creature, this little girl +of three-and-twenty, still a child as when an accident had struck her, +delaying her growth, preventing her from becoming a woman, was at last +ready to receive the visit of the angel, the miraculous shock which would +draw her out of her torpor and set her upright once more. Her morning +ecstasy continued; she had clasped her hands, and a leap of her whole +being had ravished her from earth as soon as she had perceived the image +of the Blessed Virgin yonder. And now she prayed and offered herself +divinely. + +It was an hour of great mental trouble for Pierre. He felt that the drama +of his priestly life was about to be enacted, and that if he did not +recover faith in this crisis, it would never return to him. And he was +without bad thoughts, without resistance, hoping with fervour, he also, +that they might both be healed! Oh! that he might be convinced by her +cure, 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 himself +he was preoccupied by the crowd, that limitless crowd, among which he +found it so difficult to drown himself, disappear, become nothing more +than a leaf in the forest, lost amidst the rustle of all the leaves. He +could not prevent himself from analysing and judging it. He knew that for +four days past it had been undergoing all the training of suggestion; +there had been the fever of the long journey, the excitement of the new +landscapes, the days spent before the splendour of the Grotto, the +sleepless nights, and all the exasperating suffering, ravenous for +illusion. Then, again, there had been the all-besetting prayers, those +hymns, those litanies, which agitated it without a pause. Another priest +had followed Father Massias in the pulpit, a little thin, dark Abbé, whom +Pierre heard hurling appeals to the Virgin and Jesus in a lashing voice +which resounded like a whip. Father Massias and Father Fourcade had +remained at the foot of the pulpit, and were now directing the cries of +the crowd, whose lamentations rose in louder and louder tones beneath the +limpid sunlight. The general exaltation had yet increased; it was the +hour when the violence done to Heaven at last produced the miracles. + +All at once a paralytic rose up and walked towards the Grotto, holding +his crutch in the air; and this crutch, waving like a flag above the +swaying heads, wrung loud applause from the faithful. They were all on +the look-out for prodigies, they awaited them with the certainty that +they would take place, innumerable and wonderful. Some eyes seemed to +behold them, and feverish voices pointed them out. Another woman had been +cured! Another! Yet another! A deaf person had heard, a mute had spoken, +a consumptive had revived! What, a consumptive? Certainly, that was a +daily occurrence! Surprise was no longer possible; you might have +certified that an amputated leg was growing again without astonishing +anyone. Miracle-working became the actual state of nature, the usual +thing, quite commonplace, such was its abundance. The most incredible +stories seemed quite simple to those overheated imaginations, given what +they expected from the Blessed Virgin. And you should have heard the +tales that went about, the quiet affirmations, the expressions of +absolute certainty which were exchanged whenever a delirious patient +cried out that she was cured. Another! Yet another! However, a piteous +voice would at times exclaim: “Ah! she’s cured; that one; she’s lucky, +she is!” + +Already, at the Verification Office, Pierre had suffered from this +credulity of the folk among whom he lived. But here it surpassed +everything he could have imagined; and he was exasperated by the +extravagant things he heard people say in such a placid fashion, with the +open smiles of children. Accordingly he tried to absorb himself in his +thoughts and listen to nothing. “O God!” he prayed, “grant that my reason +may be annihilated, that I may no longer desire to understand, that I may +accept the unreal and impossible.” For a moment he thought the spirit of +inquiry dead within him, and allowed the cry of supplication to carry him +away: “Lord, heal our sick! Lord, heal our sick!” He repeated this appeal +with all his charity, clasped his hands, and gazed fixedly at the statue +of the Virgin, until he became quite giddy, and imagined that the figure +moved. Why should he not return to a state of childhood like the others, +since happiness lay in ignorance and falsehood? Contagion would surely +end by acting; he would become nothing more than a grain of sand among +innumerable other grains, one of the humblest among the humble ones under +the millstone, who trouble not about the power that crushes them. But +just 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, the +stubborn work of thought, incessant and invincible, began afresh in the +depths of his brain. Little by little, notwithstanding his efforts to the +contrary, he returned to his inquiries, doubted, and sought the truth. +What was the unknown force thrown off by this crowd, the vital fluid +powerful enough to work the few cures that really occurred? There was +here a phenomenon that no physiologist had yet studied. Ought one to +believe that a multitude became a single being, as it were, able to +increase the power of auto-suggestion tenfold upon itself? Might one +admit that, under certain circumstances of extreme exaltation, a +multitude became an agent of sovereign will compelling the obedience of +matter? That would have explained how sudden cure fell at times upon the +most sincerely excited of the throng. The breaths of all of them united +in 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 with +emotion. For another moment he was able to regain possession of himself, +and prayed for the cure of all, deeply touched by the belief that he +himself might in some degree contribute towards the cure of Marie. But +all at once, without knowing what transition of ideas led to it, a +recollection returned to him of the medical consultation which he had +insisted upon prior to the young girl’s departure for Lourdes. The scene +rose before him with extraordinary clearness and precision; he saw the +room with its grey, blue-flowered wall-paper, and he heard the three +doctors discuss and decide. The two who had given certificates +diagnosticating paralysis of the marrow spoke discreetly, slowly, like +esteemed, well-known, perfectly honourable practitioners; but Pierre +still heard the warm, vivacious voice of his cousin Beauclair, the third +doctor, a young man of vast and daring intelligence, who was treated +coldly by his colleagues as being of an adventurous turn of mind. And at +this supreme moment Pierre was surprised to find in his memory things +which he did not know were there; but it was only an instance of that +singular phenomenon by which it sometimes happens that words scarce +listened to, words but imperfectly heard, words stored away in the brain +almost in spite of self, will awaken, burst forth, and impose themselves +on the mind after they have long been forgotten. And thus it now seemed +to him that the very approach of the miracle was bringing him a vision of +the conditions under which--according to Beauclair’s predictions--the +miracle would be accomplished. + +In vain did Pierre endeavour to drive away this recollection by praying +with an increase of fervour. The scene again appeared to him, and the old +words rang out, filling his ears like a trumpet-blast. He was now again +in the dining-room, where Beauclair and he had shut themselves up after +the departure of the two others, and Beauclair recapitulated the history +of the malady: the fall from a horse at the age of fourteen; the +dislocation and displacement of the organ, with doubtless a slight +laceration of the ligaments, whence the weight which the sufferer had +felt, and the weakness of the legs leading to paralysis. Then, a slow +healing of the disorder, everything returning to its place of itself, but +without the pain ceasing. In fact this big, nervous child, whose mind had +been so grievously impressed by her accident, was unable to forget it; +her attention remained fixed on the part where she suffered, and she +could not divert it, so that, even after cure, her sufferings had +continued--a neuropathic state, a consecutive nervous exhaustion, +doubtless aggravated by accidents due to faulty nutrition as yet +imperfectly understood. And further, Beauclair easily explained the +contrary and erroneous diagnosis of the numerous doctors who had attended +her, and who, as she would not submit to examination, had groped in the +dark, some believing in a tumour, and the others, the more numerous, +convinced of some lesion of the marrow. He alone, after inquiring into +the girl’s parentage, had just begun to suspect a simple state of +auto-suggestion, in which she had obstinately remained ever since the +first violent shock of pain; and among the reasons which he gave for this +belief were the contraction of her visual field, the fixity of her eyes, +the absorbed, inattentive expression of her face, and above all the +nature of the pain she felt, which, leaving the organ, had borne to the +left, where it continued in the form of a crushing, intolerable weight, +which sometimes rose to the breast in frightful fits of stifling. A +sudden determination to throw off the false notion she had formed of her +complaint, the will to rise, breathe freely, and suffer no more, could +alone place her on her feet again, cured, transfigured, beneath the lash +of some intense emotion. + +A last time did Pierre endeavour to see and hear no more, for he felt +that 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 began +to cry, “Jesus, son of David, heal our sick!” he still saw, he still +heard Beauclair telling him, in his calm, smiling manner how the miracle +would take place, like a lightning flash, at the moment of extreme +emotion, under the decisive circumstance which would complete the +loosening of the muscles. The patient would rise and walk in a wild +transport of joy, her legs would all at once be light again, relieved of +the weight which had so long made them like lead, as though this weight +had melted, fallen to the ground. But above all, the weight which bore +upon the lower part of the trunk, which rose, ravaged the breast, and +strangled the throat, would this time depart in a prodigious soaring +flight, a tempest blast bearing all the evil away with it. And was it not +thus that, in the Middle Ages, possessed women had by the mouth cast up +the Devil, by whom their flesh had so long been tortured? And Beauclair +had added that Marie would at last become a woman, that in that moment of +supreme joy she would cease to be a child, that although seemingly worn +out by her prolonged dream of suffering, she would all at once be +restored to resplendent health, with beaming face, and eyes full of life. + +Pierre looked at her, and his trouble increased still more on seeing her +so wretched in her little cart, so distractedly imploring health, her +whole being soaring towards Our Lady of Lourdes, who gave life. Ah! might +she 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, whose +limbs had been dead for so many years, would indeed return to life. And, +in the bewildered doubt into which he again relapsed, his bleeding heart +clamoured yet more loudly, ever and ever repeating with the delirious +crowd: “Lord, son of David, heal our sick!--Lord, son of David, heal our +sick!” + +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’clock +procession, a little behind time that day, appearing from beneath one of +the arches of the monumental gradient way. There was such applause and +such violent, instinctive pushing that Berthaud, waving his arms, +commanded the bearers to thrust the crowd back by pulling strongly on the +cords. Overpowered for a moment, the bearers had to throw themselves +backward with sore hands; however, they ended by somewhat enlarging the +reserved path, along which the procession was then able to slowly wend +its way. At the head came a superb beadle, all blue and gold, followed by +the processional cross, a tall cross shining like a star. Then followed +the 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 “Association +of Catholic Working Men’s Clubs.” Then came the clergy, two or three +hundred priests in simple cassocks, about a hundred in surplices, and +some fifty clothed in golden chasubles, effulgent like stars. They all +carried lighted candles, and sang the “Laudate Sion Salvatorem” in full +voices. And then the canopy appeared in royal pomp, a canopy of purple +silk, braided with gold, and upheld by four ecclesiastics, who, it could +be seen, had been selected from among the most robust. Beneath it, +between two other priests who assisted him, was Abbé Judaine, vigorously +clasping the Blessed Sacrament with both hands, as Berthaud had +recommended him to do; and the somewhat uneasy glances that he cast on +the encroaching crowd right and left showed how anxious he was that no +injury should befall the heavy divine monstrance, whose weight was +already straining his wrists. When the slanting sun fell upon him in +front, the monstrance itself looked like another sun. Choir-boys meantime +were swinging censers in the blinding glow which gave splendour to the +entire procession; and, finally, in the rear, there was a confused mass +of pilgrims, a flock-like tramping of believers and sightseers all +aflame, hurrying along, and blocking the track with their ever-rolling +waves. + +Father Massias had returned to the pulpit a moment previously; and this +time he had devised another pious exercise. After the burning cries of +faith, hope, and love that he threw forth, he all at once commanded +absolute silence, in order that one and all might, with closed lips, +speak to God in secret for a few minutes. These sudden spells of silence +falling upon the vast crowd, these minutes of mute prayer, in which all +souls unbosomed their secrets, were deeply, wonderfully impressive. Their +solemnity became formidable; you heard desire, the immense desire for +life, winging its flight on high. Then Father Massias invited the sick +alone to speak, to implore God to grant them what they asked of His +almighty power. And, in response, came a pitiful lamentation, hundreds of +tremulous, broken voices rising amidst a concert of sobs. “Lord Jesus, if +it 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 I +may hear, grant that I may walk!” And, all at once, the shrill voice of a +little girl, light and vivacious as the notes of a flute, rose above the +universal sob, repeating in the distance: “Save the others, save the +others, Lord Jesus!” Tears streamed from every eye; these supplications +upset all hearts, threw the hardest into the frenzy of charity, into a +sublime disorder which would have impelled them to open their breasts +with both hands, if by doing so they could have given their neighbours +their health and youth. And then Father Massias, not letting this +enthusiasm abate, resumed his cries, and again lashed the delirious crowd +with them; while Father Fourcade himself sobbed on one of the steps of +the pulpit, raising his streaming face to heaven as though to command God +to descend on earth. + +But the procession had arrived; the delegations, the priests, had ranged +themselves on the right and left; and, when the canopy entered the space +reserved to the sick in front of the Grotto, when the sufferers perceived +Jesus the Host, the Blessed Sacrament, shining like a sun, in the hands +of Abbé Judaine, it became impossible to direct the prayers, all voices +mingled together, and all will was borne away by vertigo. The cries, +calls, entreaties broke, lapsing into groans. Human forms rose from +pallets of suffering; trembling arms were stretched forth; clenched hands +seemingly desired to clutch at the miracle on the way. “Lord Jesus, save +us, for we perish!”--“Lord Jesus, we worship Thee; heal us!”--“Lord +Jesus, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God; heal us!” Thrice +did the despairing, exasperated voices give vent to the supreme +lamentation in a clamour which rushed up to Heaven; and the tears +redoubled, flooding all the burning faces which desire transformed. At +one moment, the delirium became so great, the instinctive leap toward the +Blessed Sacrament seemed so irresistible, that Berthaud placed the +bearers who were there in a chain about it. This was the extreme +protective manœuvre, a hedge of bearers drawn up on either side of the +canopy, each placing an arm firmly round his neighbour’s neck, so as to +establish a sort of living wall. Not the smallest aperture was left in +it; nothing whatever could pass. Still, these human barriers staggered +under the pressure of the unfortunate creatures who hungered for life, +who wished to touch, to kiss Jesus; and, oscillating and recoiling, the +bearers were at last thrust against the canopy they were defending, and +the canopy itself began swaying among the crowd, ever in danger of being +swept away like some holy bark in peril of being wrecked. + +Then, at the very climax of this holy frenzy, the miracles began amidst +supplications and sobs, as when the heavens open during a storm, and a +thunderbolt falls on earth. A paralytic woman rose and cast aside her +crutches. There was a piercing yell, and another woman appeared erect on +her mattress, wrapped in a white blanket as in a winding sheet; and +people said it was a half-dead consumptive who had thus been +resuscitated. Then grace fell upon two others in quick succession: a +blind woman suddenly perceived the Grotto in a flame; a dumb woman fell +on 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 of +Lourdes, distracted with joy and gratitude. + +But Pierre had not taken his eyes off Marie, and he was overcome with +tender emotion at what he saw. The sufferer’s eyes were still +expressionless, but they had dilated, while her poor, pale face, with its +heavy mask, was contracted as if she were suffering frightfully. She did +not speak in her despair; she undoubtedly thought that she was again in +the clutches of her ailment. But all at once, when the Blessed Sacrament +passed by, and she saw the star-like monstrance sparkling in the sun, a +sensation of dizziness came over her. She imagined herself struck by +lightning. Her eyes caught fire from the glare which flashed upon her, +and at last regained their flame of life, shining out like stars. And +under the influence of a wave of blood her face became animated, suffused +with 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, my +friend! Oh, my friend!” + +He hurriedly drew near in order to support her. But she drove him back +with a gesture. She was regaining strength, looking so touching, so +beautiful, in the little black woollen gown and slippers which she always +wore; tall and slender, too, and crowned as with a halo of gold by her +beautiful flaxen hair, which was covered with a simple piece of lace. The +whole of her virgin form was quivering as if some powerful fermentation +had regenerated her. First of all, it was her legs that were relieved of +the chains that bound them; and then, while she felt the spirit of +life--the life of woman, wife, and mother--within her, there came a final +agony, 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 open +mouth, 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, she +was triumphant, she had a superb, glowing face. And her cry of cure had +resounded with such rapturous delight that the entire crowd was +distracted by it. She had become the sole point of interest, the others +saw 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 of +gratitude and praise, frantic enthusiasm passed from one to another, +throwing the thousands of pilgrims who pressed forward to see into a +state of violent emotion. Applause broke out, a fury of applause, whose +thunder rolled from one to the other end of the valley. + +However, Father Fourcade began waving his arms, and Father Massias was at +last able to make himself heard from the pulpit: “God has visited us, my +dear brothers, my dear sisters!” said he. “_Magnificat anima mea +Dominum_, My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in +God my Saviour.” + +And then all the voices, the thousands of voices, began the chant of +adoration and gratitude. The procession found itself at a stand-still. +Abbé Judaine had been able to reach the Grotto with the monstrance, but +he patiently remained there before giving the Benediction. The canopy was +awaiting him outside the railings, surrounded by priests in surplices and +chasubles, all a glitter of white and gold in the rays of the setting +sun. + +Marie, however, had knelt down, sobbing; and, whilst the canticle lasted, +a burning prayer of faith and love ascended from her whole being. But the +crowd wanted to see her walk, delighted women called to her, a group +surrounded her, and swept her towards the Verification Office, so that +the miracle might be proved true, as patent as the very light of the sun. +Her box was forgotten, Pierre followed her, while she, stammering and +hesitating, she who for seven years had not used her legs, advanced with +adorable awkwardness, the uneasy, charming gait of a little child making +its first steps; and it was so affecting, so delicious, that the young +priest thought of nothing but the immense happiness of seeing her thus +return to her childhood. Ah! the dear friend of infancy, the dear +tenderness of long ago, so she would at last be the beautiful and +charming woman that she had promised to be as a young girl when, in the +little garden at Neuilly, she had looked so gay and pretty beneath the +tall trees flecked with sunlight! + +The crowd continued to applaud her furiously, a huge wave of people +accompanied her; and all remained awaiting her egress, swarming in a +fever before the door, when she had entered the office, whither Pierre +only was admitted with her. + +That particular afternoon there were few people at the Verification +Office. The small square room, with its hot wooden walls and rudimentary +furniture, its rush-bottomed chairs, and its two tables of unequal +height, contained, apart from the usual staff only some five or six +doctors, seated and silent. At the tables were the inspector of the +piscinas and two young Abbés making entries in the registers, and +consulting the sets of documents; while Father Dargeles, at one end, +wrote a paragraph for his newspaper. And, as it happened, Doctor Bonamy +was just then examining Elise Rouquet, who, for the third time, had come +to have the increasing cicatrisation of her sore certified. + +“Anyhow, gentlemen,” exclaimed the doctor, “have you ever seen a lupus +heal in this way so rapidly? I am aware that a new work has appeared on +faith healing in which it is stated that certain sores may have a nervous +origin. Only that is by no means proved in the case of lupus, and I defy +a committee of doctors to assemble and explain mademoiselle’s cure by +ordinary means.” + +He paused, and turning towards Father Dargeles, inquired: “Have you +noted, Father, that the suppuration has completely disappeared, and that +the 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 guessed +what good-fortune was befalling him. She looked superb, admirably fitted +to transport and convert the multitude. He therefore promptly dismissed +Elise Rouquet, inquired the new arrival’s name, and asked one of the +young priests to look for her papers. Then, as she slightly staggered, he +wished 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 was +sorry not to see there. He remained on one side, waiting while they +rummaged in the untidy drawers without being able to place their hands on +the required papers. “Let’s see,” repeated Dr. Bonamy; “Marie de +Guersaint, 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 became +quite enthusiastic. “Here is something very interesting, gentlemen,” said +he. “I beg you to listen attentively. This young lady, whom you see +standing here, was afflicted with a very serious lesion of the marrow. +And, if one had the least doubt of it, these two certificates would +suffice to convince the most incredulous, for they are signed by two +doctors 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 who +had drawn up these documents enjoyed the reputation of being honest and +clever practitioners. + +“Well, gentlemen, if the diagnosis is not disputed--and it cannot be when +a patient brings us documents of this value--we will now see what change +has taken place in the young lady’s condition.” + +However, before questioning her he turned towards Pierre. “Monsieur +l’Abbé,” said he, “you came from Paris with Mademoiselle de Guersaint, I +think. 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, while +his colleagues drew up their certificates, which were identical. And was +he, Pierre, to reduce these certificates to nothing, reveal the other +diagnosis, the one that allowed of the cure being explained +scientifically? The miracle had been predicted, shattered beforehand. + +“You will observe, gentlemen,” now resumed Dr. Bonamy, “that the presence +of the Abbé gives these proofs additional weight. However, mademoiselle +will now tell us exactly what she felt.” + +He had leant over Father Dargeles’s shoulder to impress upon him that he +must not forget to make Pierre play the part of a witness in the +narrative. + +“_Mon Dieu_! gentlemen, how can I tell you?” exclaimed Marie in a halting +voice, broken by her surging happiness. “Since yesterday I had felt +certain that I should be cured. And yet, a little while ago, when the +pins and needles seized me in the legs again, I was afraid it might only +be another attack. For an instant I doubted. Then the feeling stopped. +But it began again as soon as I recommenced praying. Oh! I prayed, I +prayed 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; a +voice cried to me: ‘Rise! Rise!’ And I felt the miracle fall on me in a +cracking of all my bones, of all my flesh, as if I had been struck by +lightning.” + +Pierre, very pale, listened to her. Beauclair had positively told him +that the cure would come like a lightning flash, that under the influence +of extreme excitement a sudden awakening of will so long somnolent would +take place within her. + +“It was my legs which the Holy Virgin first of all delivered,” she +continued. “I could well feel that the iron bands which bound them were +gliding along my skin like broken chains. Then the weight which still +suffocated me, there, in the left side, began to ascend; and I thought I +was going to die, it hurt me so. But it passed my chest, it passed my +throat, and I felt it there in my mouth, and spat it out violently. It +was 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 beating +its wings, and, lapsing into silence, stood smiling at Pierre, who was +bewildered. Beauclair had told him all that beforehand, using almost the +same words and the same imagery. Point by point, his prognostics were +realised, 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 the +passion of a pietist of limited intelligence, ever haunted by the idea of +hell. “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 turning +towards the doctors he said: “Gentlemen, you know that we always avoid +pronouncing the big word of miracle here. Only here is a fact, and I am +curious to know how any of you can explain it by natural means. Seven +years ago this young lady was struck with serious paralysis, evidently +due to a lesion of the marrow. And that cannot be denied; the +certificates are there, irrefutable. She could no longer walk, she could +no longer make a movement without a cry of pain, she had reached that +extreme state of exhaustion which precedes but by little an unfortunate +issue. All at once, however, here she rises, walks, laughs, and beams on +us. The paralysis has completely disappeared, no pain remains, she is as +well as you and I. Come, gentlemen, approach, examine her, and tell me +what has happened.” + +He triumphed. Not one of the doctors spoke. Two, who were doubtless true +Catholics, had shown their approval of his speech by their vigorous nods, +while the others remained motionless, with a constrained air, not caring +to mix themselves up in the business. However, a little thin man, whose +eyes shone behind the glasses he was wearing, ended by rising to take a +closer look at Marie. He caught hold of her hand, examined the pupils of +her eyes, and merely seemed preoccupied by the air of transfiguration +which she wore. Then, in a very courteous manner, without even showing a +desire to discuss the matter, he came back and sat down again. + +“The case is beyond science, that is all I can assume,” concluded Doctor +Bonamy, victoriously. “I will add that we have no convalescence here; +health is at once restored, full, entire. Observe the young lady. Her +eyes are bright, her colour is rosy, her physiognomy has recovered its +lively gaiety. Without doubt, the healing of the tissues will proceed +somewhat slowly, but one can already say that mademoiselle has been born +again. Is it not so, Monsieur l’Abbé, you who have seen her so +frequently; 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 and +fresh, gaily blooming. But Beauclair had also foreseen this sudden joyful +change, this straightening and resplendency of her invalid frame, when +life should re-enter it, with the will to be cured and be happy. Once +again, however, had Doctor Bonamy leant over Father Dargeles, who was +finishing his note, a brief but fairly complete account of the affair. +They exchanged a few words in low tones, consulting together, and the +doctor ended by saying: “You have witnessed these marvels, Monsieur +l’Abbé, so you will not refuse to sign the careful report which the +reverend Father has drawn up for publication in the ‘Journal de la +Grotte.’” + +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 weight +of his cassock on his shoulders; and, above all, Marie’s divine joy +filled his heart. He was penetrated with deep happiness at seeing her +saved. Since they had ceased questioning her she had come and leant on +his 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 was +enough that she should be saved; he would have thought it sacrilegious to +interfere with the faith of that child, the great pure faith which had +healed her. + +When Marie reappeared outside the office, the applause began afresh, the +crowd clapped their hands. It now seemed that the miracle was official. +However, certain charitable persons, fearing that she might again fatigue +herself and again require her little car, which she had abandoned before +the Grotto, had brought it to the office, and when she found it there she +felt deeply moved. Ah! that box in which she had lived so many years, +that rolling coffin in which she had sometimes imagined herself buried +alive, how many tears, how much despair, how many bad days it had +witnessed! And, all at once, the idea occurred to her that it had so long +been linked with her sufferings, it ought also to share her triumph. It +was a sudden inspiration, a kind of holy folly, that made her seize the +handle. + +At that moment the procession passed by, returning from the Grotto, where +Abbé Judaine had pronounced the Benediction. And thereupon Marie, +dragging the little car, placed herself behind the canopy. And, in her +slippers, her head covered with a strip of lace, her bosom heaving, her +face erect, glowing, and superb, she walked on behind the clergy, +dragging after her that car of misery, that rolling coffin, in which she +had endured so much agony. And the crowd which acclaimed her, the frantic +crowd, 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 her +little car along in triumph. Every moment, however, there was so much +tempestuous pushing that the young priest would assuredly have fallen if +a rough hand had not upheld him. + +“Don’t be alarmed,” said a voice; “give me your arm, otherwise you won’t +be able to remain on your feet.” + +Pierre turned round, and was surprised to recognise Father Massias, who +had left Father Fourcade in the pulpit in order to accompany the +procession. An extraordinary fever was sustaining him, throwing him +forward, as solid as a rock, with eyes glowing like live coals, and an +excited 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 to +the support of this terrible enthusiast, whom he remembered as a +fellow-student at the seminary. What a singular meeting it was, and how +greatly he would have liked to possess that violent faith, that mad +faith, which was making Massias pant, with his throat full of sobs, +whilst he continued giving vent to the ardent entreaty “Lord Jesus, heal +our sick! Lord Jesus, heal our sick!” + +There was no cessation of this cry behind the canopy, where there was +always a crier whose duty it was to accord no respite to the slow +clemency of Heaven. At times a thick voice full of anguish, and at others +a shrill and piercing voice, would arise. The Father’s, which was an +imperious 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 would +speedily fill all Christendom, had already spread from one to the other +end of Lourdes; and from this had come the increased vertigo of the +multitude, the attack of contagious delirium which now caused it to whirl +and rush toward the Blessed Sacrament like the resistless flux of a +rising tide. One and all yielded to the desire of beholding the Sacrament +and touching it, of being cured and becoming happy. The Divinity was +passing; and now it was not merely a question of ailing beings glowing +with a desire for life, but a longing for happiness which consumed all +present and raised them up with bleeding, open hearts and eager hands. + +Berthaud, who feared the excesses of this religious adoration, had +decided to accompany his men. He commanded them, carefully watching over +the double chain of bearers beside the canopy in order that it might not +be broken. + +“Close your ranks--closer--closer!” he called, “and keep your arms firmly +linked!” + +These young men, chosen from among the most vigorous of the bearers, had +an extremely difficult duty to discharge. The wall which they formed, +shoulder to shoulder, with arms linked at the waist and the neck, kept on +giving 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 and +threatened to submerge it. + +When the canopy had reached the middle of the Place du Rosaire, Abbé +Judaine really thought that he would be unable to go any farther. +Numerous conflicting currents had set in over the vast expanse, and were +whirling, assailing him from all sides, so that he had to halt under the +swaying canopy, which shook like a sail in a sudden squall on the open +sea. He held the Blessed Sacrament aloft with his numbed hands, each +moment fearing that a final push would throw him over; for he fully +realised that the golden monstrance, radiant like a sun, was the one +passion of all that multitude, the Divinity they demanded to kiss, in +order that they might lose themselves in it, even though they should +annihilate it in doing so. Accordingly, while standing there, the priest +anxiously turned his eyes on Berthaud. + +“Let nobody pass!” called the latter to the bearers--“nobody! The orders +are precise; you hear me?” + +Voices, however, were rising in supplication on all sides, wretched +beings were sobbing with arms outstretched and lips protruding, in the +wild desire that they might be allowed to approach and kneel at the +priest’s feet. What divine grace it would be to be thrown upon the ground +and trampled under foot by the whole procession!* An infirm old man +displayed his withered hand in the conviction that it would be made sound +again were he only allowed to touch the monstrance. A dumb woman wildly +pushed her way through the throng with her broad shoulders, in order that +she might loosen her tongue by a kiss. Others were shouting, imploring, +and even clenching their fists in their rage with those cruel men who +denied cure to their bodily sufferings and their mental wretchedness. The +orders to keep them back were rigidly enforced, however, for the most +serious 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 with +compassion. Clad in wretched garments, bareheaded, her face wet with +tears, she was holding in her arms a little boy of ten years or so, whose +limp, paralysed legs hung down inertly. The lad’s weight was too great +for one so weak as herself, still she did not seem to feel it. She had +brought the boy there, and was now entreating the bearers with an +invincible obstinacy which neither words nor hustling could conquer. + +At last, as Abbé Judaine, who felt deeply moved, beckoned to her to +approach, two of the bearers, in deference to his compassion, drew apart, +despite all the danger of opening a breach, and the woman then rushed +forward with her burden, and fell in a heap before the priest. For a +moment he rested the foot of the monstrance on the child’s head, and the +mother herself pressed her eager, longing lips to it; and, as they +started off again, she wished to remain behind the canopy, and followed +the procession, with streaming hair and panting breast, staggering the +while under the heavy burden, which was fast exhausting her strength. + +They managed, with great difficulty, to cross the remainder of the Place +du Rosaire, and then the ascent began, the glorious ascent by way of the +monumental incline; whilst upon high, on the fringe of heaven, the +Basilica reared its slim spire, whence pealing bells were winging their +flight, sounding the triumphs of Our Lady of Lourdes. And now it was +towards an apotheosis that the canopy slowly climbed, towards the lofty +portal of the high-perched sanctuary which stood open, face to face with +the Infinite, high above the huge multitude whose waves continued soaring +across the valley’s squares and avenues. Preceding the processional +cross, the magnificent beadle, all blue and silver, was already rearing +the level of the Rosary cupola, the spacious esplanade formed by the roof +of the lower church, across which the pilgrimage deputations began to +wind, with their bright-coloured silk and velvet banners waving in the +ruddy glow of the sunset. Then came the clergy, the priests in snowy +surplices, and the priests in golden chasubles, likewise shining out like +a procession of stars. And the censers swung, and the canopy continued +climbing, without anything of its bearers being seen, so that it seemed +as though a mysterious power, some troop of invisible angels, were +carrying it off in this glorious ascension towards the open portal of +heaven. + +A sound of chanting had burst forth; the voices in the procession no +longer called for the healing of the sick, now that the _cortège_ had +extricated itself from amidst the crowd. The miracle had been worked, and +they were celebrating it with the full power of their lungs, amidst the +pealing of the bells and the quivering gaiety of the atmosphere. + +“_Magnificat anima mea Dominum_”--they began. “My soul doth magnify the +Lord.” + +‘Twas the song of gratitude, already chanted at the Grotto, and again +springing from every heart: “_Et exsultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari +meo_.” “And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.” + +Meantime it was with increasing, overflowing joy that Marie took part in +that radiant ascent, by the colossal gradient way, towards the glowing +Basilica. It seemed to her, as she continued climbing, that she was +growing stronger and stronger, that her legs, so long lifeless, became +firmer at each step. The little car which she victoriously dragged behind +her was like the earthly tenement of her illness, the _inferno_ whence +the Blessed Virgin had extricated her, and although its handle was making +her hands sore, she nevertheless wished to pull it up yonder with her, in +order that she might cast it at last at the feet of the Almighty. No +obstacle could stay her course, she laughed through the big tears which +were falling on her cheeks, her bosom was swelling, her demeanour +becoming warlike. One of her slippers had become unfastened, and the +strip of lace had fallen from her head to her shoulders. Nevertheless, +with her lovely fair hair crowning her like a helmet and her face beaming +brightly, she still marched on and on with such an awakening of will and +strength that, behind her, you could hear her car leap and rattle over +the 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, who +had not relinquished his hold. Lost amidst the far-spreading emotion, the +young priest was unable to reflect. Moreover his companion’s sonorous +voice quite deafened him. + +“_Deposuit potentes de sede et exaltavit humiles_.” “He hath put down the +mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble.” + +On Pierre’s other side, the right, Berthaud, who no longer had any cause +for anxiety, was now also following the canopy. He had given his bearers +orders to break their chain, and was gazing with an expression of delight +on the human sea through which the procession had lately passed. The +higher they ascended the incline, the more did the Place du Rosaire and the +avenues and paths of the gardens expand below them, black with the +swarming multitude. It was a bird’s-eye view of a whole nation, an +ant-hill which ever increased in size, spreading farther and farther +away. “Look!” Berthaud at last exclaimed to Pierre. “How vast and how +beautiful 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 political +rancour found satisfaction, he always rejoiced when there was a numerous +pilgrimage, as in his mind it was bound to prove unpleasant to the +Government. Ah! thought he, if they had only been able to bring the +working classes of the towns thither, and create a Catholic democracy. +“Last year we scarcely reached the figure of two hundred thousand +pilgrims,” he continued, “but we shall exceed it this year, I hope.” And +then, with the gay air of the jolly fellow that he was, despite his +sectarian passions, he added: “Well, ‘pon my word, I was really pleased +just 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 by +the grandeur of the spectacle. That multitude, which spread out more and +more as the procession rose higher and higher above it, that magnificent +valley which was hollowed out below and ever became more and more +extensive, displaying afar off its gorgeous horizon of mountains, filled +him with quivering admiration. His mental trouble was increased by it +all, and seeking Marie’s glance, he waved his arm to draw her attention +to the vast circular expanse of country. And his gesture deceived her, +for in the purely spiritual excitement that possessed her she did not +behold the material spectacle he pointed at, but thought that he was +calling earth to witness the prodigious favours which the Blessed Virgin +had heaped upon them both; for she imagined that he had had his share of +the miracle, and that in the stroke of grace which had set her erect with +her flesh healed, he, so near to her that their hearts mingled, had felt +himself enveloped and raised by the same divine power, his soul saved +from doubt, conquered by faith once more. How could he have witnessed her +wondrous cure, indeed, without being convinced? Moreover, she had prayed +so fervently for him outside the Grotto on the previous night. And now, +therefore, to her excessive delight, she espied him transfigured like +herself, weeping and laughing, restored to God again. And this lent +increased force to her blissful fever; she dragged her little car along +with unwearying hands, and--as though it were their double cross, her own +redemption and her friend’s redemption which she was carrying up that +incline with its resounding flagstones--she would have liked to drag it +yet farther, for leagues and leagues, ever higher and higher, to the most +inaccessible summits, to the transplendent threshold of Paradise itself. + +“O Pierre, Pierre!” she stammered, “how sweet it is that this great +happiness should have fallen on us together--yes, together! I prayed for +it so fervently, and she granted my prayer, and saved you even in saving +me. Yes, I felt your soul mingling with my own. Tell me that our mutual +prayers have been granted, tell me that I have won your salvation even as +you have won mine!” + +He understood her mistake and shuddered. + +“If you only knew,” she continued, “how great would have been my grief +had I thus ascended into light alone. Oh! to be chosen without you, to +soar yonder without you! But with you, Pierre, it is rapturous delight! +We have been saved together, we shall be happy forever! I feel all +needful 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, and +all our sufferings are redeemed.” + +But even while he spoke he felt a deep rending within him, as though a +brutal hatchet-stroke were parting them forever. Amidst their common +sufferings, she had hitherto remained the little friend of childhood’s +days, 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 remained +alone 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 at +reaping such suffering from the prodigious felicity with which she +exulted. + +However the chant went on, and Father Massias, hearing nothing and seeing +nothing, absorbed as he was in his glowing gratitude to God, shouted the +final verse in a thundering voice: “_Sicut locutus est ad patres nostros, +Abraham, et semini ejus in saecula_.” “As He spake to our fathers, to +Abraham, and to his seed for ever!” + +Yet another incline had to be climbed, yet another effort had to be made +up that rough acclivity, with its large slippery flagstones. And the +procession 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 car +grated 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 of +heaven. + +And all at once the canopy appeared on the summit of the gigantic +inclined ways, on the stone balcony overlooking the stretch of country +outside the portal of the Basilica. Abbé Judaine stepped forward holding +the Blessed Sacrament aloft with both hands. Marie, who had pulled her +car up the balcony steps, was near him, her heart beating from her +exertion, her face all aglow amidst the gold of her loosened hair. Then +all the clergy, the snowy surplices, and the dazzling chasubles ranged +themselves behind, whilst the banners waved like bunting decking the +white 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 dark +waves, its heaving billows, now for a moment stilled, amidst which you +only distinguished the small pale specks of the faces uplifted towards +the Basilica, in expectation of the Benediction; and as far as the eye +could reach, from the place du Rosaire to the Gave, along the paths and +avenues 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 surged +aloft, ascended upon all sides, crests following crests, until they faded +away in the far blue atmosphere. The numerous convents among the trees on +the first of the northern slopes, beyond the torrent--those of the +Carmelites, the Dominicans, the Assumptionists, and the Sisters of +Nevers--were coloured by a rosy reflection from the fire-like glow of the +sunset. Then wooded masses rose one above the other, until they reached +the heights of Le Buala, which were surmounted by the Serre de Julos, in +its turn capped by the Miramont. + +Deep valleys opened on the south, narrow gorges between piles of gigantic +rocks whose bases were already steeped in lakes of bluish shadow, whilst +the summits sparkled with the smiling farewell of the sun. The hills of +Visens upon this side were empurpled, and shewed like a promontory of +coral, in front of the stagnant lake of the ether, which was bright with +a sapphire-like transparency. But, on the east, in front of you, the +horizon again spread out to the very point of intersection of the seven +valleys. The castle which had formerly guarded them still stood with its +keep, its lofty walls, its black outlines--the outlines of a fierce +fortress of feudal time,--upon the rock whose base was watered by the +Gave; and upon this side of the stern old pile was the new town, looking +quite gay amidst its gardens, with its swarm of white house-fronts, its +large hotels, its lodging-houses, and its fine shops, whose windows were +glowing like live embers; whilst, behind the castle, the discoloured +roofs of old Lourdes spread out in confusion, in a ruddy light which +hovered over them like a cloud of dust. At this late hour, when the +declining luminary was sinking in royal splendour behind the little Gers +and the big Gers, those two huge ridges of bare rock, spotted with +patches of short herbage, formed nothing but a neutral, somewhat violet, +background, as though, indeed, they were two curtains of sober hue drawn +across the margin of the horizon. + +And higher and still higher, in front of this immensity, did Abbé Judaine +with both hands raise the Blessed Sacrament. He moved it slowly from one +to the other horizon, causing it to describe a huge sign of the cross +against the vault of heaven. He saluted the convents, the heights of Le +Buala, the Serre de Julos, and the Miramont, upon his left; he saluted +the huge fallen rocks of the dim valleys, and the empurpled hills of +Visens, on his right; he saluted the new and the old town, the castle +bathed by the Gave, the big and the little Gers, already drowsy, in front +of him; and he saluted the woods, the torrents, the mountains, the faint +chains linking the distant peaks, the whole earth, even beyond the +visible horizon: Peace upon earth, hope and consolation to mankind! The +multitude below had quivered beneath that great sign of the cross which +enveloped it. It seemed as though a divine breath were passing, rolling +those billows of little pale faces which were as numerous as the waves of +an ocean. A loud murmur of adoration ascended; all those parted lips +proclaimed the glory of God when, in the rays of the setting sun, the +illumined monstrance again shone forth like another sun, a sun of pure +gold, describing the sign of the cross in streaks of flame upon the +threshold of the Infinite. + +The banners, the clergy, with Abbé Judaine under the canopy, were already +returning to the Basilica, when Marie, who was also entering it, still +dragging her car by the handle, was stopped by two ladies, who kissed +her, weeping. They were Madame de Jonquière and her daughter Raymonde, +who had come thither to witness the Benediction, and had been told of the +miracle. + +“Ah! my dear child, what happiness!” repeated the lady-hospitaller; “and +how proud I am to have you in my ward! It is so precious a favour for all +of 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. “I +felt so much pity for you, and I am now so pleased to see you walking, so +strong and beautiful already. Let me kiss you again. It will bring me +happiness.” + +“Thank you, thank you with all my heart,” Marie stammered amidst her +rapture. “I am so happy, so very happy!” + +“Oh! we will not leave you,” resumed Madame de Jonquière. “You hear me, +Raymonde? We must follow her, and kneel beside her, and we will take her +back after the ceremony.” + +Thereupon the two ladies joined the _cortège_, and, following the canopy, +walked beside Pierre and Father Massias, between the rows of chairs which +the deputations already occupied, to the very centre of the choir. The +banners alone were allowed on either side of the high altar; but Marie +advanced to its steps, still dragging her car, whose wheels resounded +over the flagstones. She had at last brought it to the spot whither the +sacred madness of her desire had longingly impelled her to drag it. She +had brought it, indeed, woeful, wretched-looking as it was, into the +splendour of God’s house, so that it might there testify to the truth of +the miracle. The threshold had scarcely been crossed when the organs +burst into a hymn of triumph, the sonorous acclamation of a happy people, +from amidst which there soon arose a celestial, angelic voice, of joyful +shrillness and crystalline purity. Abbé Judaine had placed the Blessed +Sacrament upon the altar, and the crowd was streaming into the nave, each +taking a seat, installing him or herself in a corner, pending the +commencement of the ceremony. Marie had at once fallen on her knees +between Madame de Jonquière and Raymonde, whose eyes were moist with +tender emotion; whilst Father Massias, exhausted by the extraordinary +tension of the nerves which had been sustaining him ever since his +departure from the Grotto, had sunk upon the ground, sobbing, with his +head between his hands. Behind him Pierre and Berthaud remained standing, +the latter still busy with his superintendence, his eyes ever on the +watch, seeing that good order was preserved even during the most violent +outbursts of emotion. + +Then, amidst all his mental confusion, increased by the deafening strains +of the organ, Pierre raised his head and examined the interior of the +Basilica. The nave was narrow and lofty, and streaked with bright +colours, which numerous windows flooded with light. There were scarcely +any aisles; they were reduced to the proportions of a mere passage +running between the side-chapels and the clustering columns, and this +circumstance seemed to increase the slim loftiness of the nave, the +soaring of the stonework in perpendicular lines of infantile, graceful +slenderness. A gilded railing, as transparent as lace, closed the choir, +where the high altar, of white marble richly sculptured, arose in all its +lavish chasteness. But the feature of the building which astonished you +was the mass of extraordinary ornamentation which transformed the whole +of it into an overflowing exhibition of embroidery and jewellery. What +with all the banners and votive offerings, the perfect river of gifts +which had flowed into it and remained clinging to its walls in a stream +of gold and silver, velvet and silk, covering it from top to bottom, it +was, so to say, the ever-glowing sanctuary of gratitude, whose thousand +rich adornments seemed to be chanting a perpetual canticle of faith and +thankfulness. + +The banners, in particular, abounded, as innumerable as the leaves of +trees. Some thirty hung from the vaulted roof, whilst others were +suspended, like pictures, between the little columns around the +triforium. And others, again, displayed themselves on the walls, waved in +the depths of the side-chapels, and encompassed the choir with a heaven +of silk, satin, and velvet. You could count them by hundreds, and your +eyes grew weary of admiring them. Many of them were quite celebrated, so +renowned for their skilful workmanship that talented embroideresses took +the trouble to come to Lourdes on purpose to examine them. Among these +were the banner of our Lady of Fourvières, bearing the arms of the city +of Lyons; the banner of Alsace, of black velvet embroidered with gold; +the banner of Lorraine, on which you beheld the Virgin casting her cloak +around two children; and the white and blue banner of Brittany, on which +bled the sacred heart of Jesus in the midst of a halo. All empires and +kingdoms of the earth were represented; the most distant lands--Canada, +Brazil, Chili, Haiti--here had their flags, which, in all piety, were +being offered as a tribute of homage to the Queen of Heaven. + +Then, after the banners, there were other marvels, the thousands and +thousands of gold and silver hearts which were hanging everywhere, +glittering on the walls like stars in the heavens. Some were grouped +together in the form of mystical roses, others described festoons and +garlands, others, again, climbed up the pillars, surrounded the windows, +and constellated the deep, dim chapels. Below the triforium somebody had +had the ingenious idea of employing these hearts to trace in tall letters +the various words which the Blessed Virgin had addressed to Bernadette; +and thus, around the nave, there extended a long frieze of words, the +delight of the infantile minds which busied themselves with spelling +them. It was a swarming, a prodigious resplendency of hearts, whose +infinite number deeply impressed you when you thought of all the hands, +trembling with gratitude, which had offered them. Moreover, the +adornments comprised many other votive offerings, and some of quite an +unexpected description. There were bridal wreaths and crosses of honour, +jewels and photographs, chaplets, and even spurs, in glass cases or +frames. There were also the epaulets and swords of officers, together +with 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 all +parts of France, and a golden palm with ornaments of enamel, the gift of +the sovereign pontiff. The lamps suspended from the vaulted roof, some of +them of massive gold and the most delicate workmanship, were also gifts. +They were too numerous to be counted, they studded the nave with stars of +great price. Immediately in front of the tabernacle there was one, a +masterpiece of chasing, offered by Ireland. Others--one from Lille, one +from Valence, one from Macao in far-off China--were veritable jewels, +sparkling with precious stones. And how great was the resplendency when +the choir’s score of chandeliers was illumined, when the hundreds of +lamps and the hundreds of candles burned all together, at the great +evening ceremonies! The whole church then became a conflagration, the +thousands of gold and silver hearts reflecting all the little flames with +thousands of fiery scintillations. It was like a huge and wondrous +brasier; the walls streamed with live flakes of light; you seemed to be +entering into the blinding glory of Paradise itself; whilst on all sides +the innumerable banners spread out their silk, their satin, and their +velvet, embroidered with sanguifluous sacred hearts, victorious saints, +and Virgins whose kindly smiles engendered miracles. + +Ah! how many ceremonies had already displayed their pomp in that +Basilica! Worship, prayer, chanting, never ceased there. From one end of +the year to the other incense smoked, organs roared, and kneeling +multitudes prayed there with their whole souls. Masses, vespers, sermons, +were continually following one upon another; day by day the religious +exercises began afresh, and each festival of the Church was celebrated +with unparalleled magnificence. The least noteworthy anniversary supplied +a pretext for pompous solemnities. Each pilgrimage was granted its share +of the dazzling resplendency. It was necessary that those suffering ones +and those humble ones who had come from such long distances should be +sent home consoled and enraptured, carrying with them a vision of +Paradise espied through its opening portals. They beheld the luxurious +surroundings of the Divinity, and would forever remain enraptured by the +sight. In the depths of bare, wretched rooms, indeed, by the side of +humble pallets of suffering throughout all Christendom, a vision of the +Basilica with its blazing riches continually arose like a vision of +fortune itself, like a vision of the wealth of that life to be, into +which the poor would surely some day enter after their long, long misery +in this terrestrial sphere. + +Pierre, however, felt no delight; no consolation, no hope, came to him as +he gazed upon all the splendour. His frightful feeling of discomfort was +increasing, all was becoming black within him, with that blackness of the +tempest 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 walked +along with such strength and fulness of life. Yet he loved her like a +passionately attached brother, and had experienced unlimited happiness on +seeing that she no longer suffered. Why, therefore, should her felicity +bring him such agony? He could now no longer gaze at her, kneeling there, +radiant amidst her tears, with beauty recovered and increased, without +his poor heart bleeding as from some mortal wound. Still he wished to +remain there, and so, averting his eyes, he tried to interest himself in +Father Massias, who was still shaking with violent sobbing on the +flagstones, and whose prostration and annihilation, amidst the consuming +illusion of divine love, he sorely envied. For a moment, moreover, he +questioned Berthaud, feigning to admire some banner and requesting +information respecting it. + +“Which one?” asked the superintendent of the bearers; “that lace banner +over there?” + +“Yes, that one on the left.” + +“Oh! it is a banner offered by Le Puy. The arms are those of Le Puy and +Lourdes linked together by the Rosary. The lace is so fine that if you +crumpled the banner up, you could hold it in the hollow of your hand.” + +However, Abbé Judaine was now stepping forward; the ceremony was about to +begin. Again did the organs resound, and again was a canticle chanted, +whilst, on the altar, the Blessed Sacrament looked like the sovereign +planet amidst the scintillations of the gold and silver hearts, as +innumerable as stars. And then Pierre lacked the strength to remain there +any longer. Since Marie had Madame de Jonquière 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 a +few words he excused himself, giving his appointment with Doctor +Chassaigne as a pretext for his departure. However, another fear suddenly +came to him, that of being unable to leave the building, so densely did +the serried throng of believers bar the open doorway. But immediately +afterwards he had an inspiration, and, crossing the sacristy, descended +into the crypt by the narrow interior stairway. + +Deep silence and sepulchral gloom suddenly succeeded to the joyous chants +and prodigious radiance of the Basilica above. Cut in the rock, the crypt +formed two narrow passages, parted by a massive block of stone which +upheld the nave, and conducting to a subterranean chapel under the apse, +where some little lamps remained burning both day and night. A dim forest +of pillars rose up there, a mystic terror reigned in that semi-obscurity +where the mystery ever quivered. The chapel walls remained bare, like the +very stones of the tomb, in which all men must some day sleep the last +sleep. And along the passages, against their sides, covered from top to +bottom with marble votive offerings, you only saw a double row of +confessionals; for it was here, in the lifeless tranquillity of the +bowels of the earth, that sins were confessed; and there were priests, +speaking all languages, to absolve the sinners who came thither from the +four corners of the world. + +At that hour, however, when the multitude was thronging the Basilica +above, the crypt had become quite deserted. Not a soul, save Pierre’s, +throbbed there ever so faintly; and he, amidst that deep silence, that +darkness, that coolness of the grave, fell upon his knees. It was not, +however, through any need of prayer and worship, but because his whole +being was giving way beneath his crushing mental torment. He felt a +torturing longing to be able to see clearly within himself. Ah! why could +he 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 all +the minutes that had gone by since Marie, suddenly springing from her +pallet of wretchedness, had raised her cry of resurrection. Why had he +even then, despite his fraternal joy in seeing her erect, felt such an +awful sensation of discomfort, as though, indeed, the greatest of all +possible misfortunes had fallen upon him? Was he jealous of the divine +grace? Did he suffer because the Virgin, whilst healing her, had +forgotten him, whose soul was so afflicted? He remembered how he had +granted himself a last delay, fixed a supreme appointment with Faith for +the moment when the Blessed Sacrament should pass by, were Marie only +cured; and she was cured, and still he did not believe, and henceforth +there was no hope, for never, never would he be able to believe. Therein +lay the bare, bleeding sore. The truth burst upon him with blinding +cruelty and certainty--she was saved, he was lost. That pretended miracle +which had restored her to life had, in him, completed the ruin of all +belief in the supernatural. That which he had, for a moment, dreamed of +seeking, and perhaps finding, at Lourdes,--naive faith, the happy faith +of a little child,--was no longer possible, would never bloom again after +that 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 mortal +sadness at thus remaining all alone in the icy desert of his +intelligence, regretting the illusion, the lie, the divine love of the +simpleminded, for which henceforth there was no room in his heart. + +A flood of bitterness stifled him, and tears started from his eyes. He +had slipped on to the flagstones, prostrated by his anguish. And, by +degrees, he remembered the whole delightful story, from the day when +Marie, guessing how he was tortured by doubt, had become so passionately +eager for his conversion, taking hold of his hand in the gloom, retaining +it in her own, and stammering that she would pray for him--oh! pray for +him with her whole soul. She forgot herself, she entreated the Blessed +Virgin to save her friend rather than herself if there were but one grace +that she could obtain from her Divine Son. Then came another memory, the +memory of the delightful hours which they had spent together amid the +dense darkness of the trees during the night procession. There, again, +they had prayed for one another, mingled one in the other with so ardent +a desire for mutual happiness that, for a moment, they had attained to +the very depths of the love which gives and immolates itself. And now +their long, tear-drenched tenderness, their pure idyl of suffering, was +ending in this brutal separation; she on her side saved, radiant amidst +the hosannas of the triumphant Basilica; and he lost, sobbing with +wretchedness, 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, and +this time forever and forever. + +All at once Pierre felt the sharp stab which this thought dealt his +heart. He at last understood his pain--a sudden light illumined the +terrible crisis of woe amidst which he was struggling. He had lost Marie +for the first time on the day when he had become a priest, saying to +himself that he might well renounce his manhood since she, stricken in +her sex by incurable illness, would never be a woman. But behold! she +_was_ cured. Behold! she _had_ become a woman. She had all at once +appeared to him very strong, very beautiful, living, and desirable. He, +who was dead, however, could not become a man again. Never more would he +be able to raise the tombstone which crushed and imprisoned his flesh. +She fled away alone, leaving him in the cold grave. The whole wide world +was opening before her with smiling happiness, with the love which laughs +in the sunlit paths, with the husband, with children, no doubt. Whereas +he, 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 might +suffer the more. She had still been his so long as she had not belonged +to 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 from +him forever and forever. + +Then rage shook Pierre from head to foot. He was tempted to return to the +Basilica, and cry the truth aloud to Marie. The miracle was a lie! The +helpful beneficence of an all-powerful Divinity was but so much illusion! +Nature alone had acted, life had conquered once again. And he would have +given proofs: he would have shown how life, the only sovereign, worked +for health amid all the sufferings of this terrestrial sphere. And then +they 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 at +once occurred to him that this would be odious sacrilege. He would +afterwards become horrified with himself, he would look upon himself as +her murderer were he some day to realise that he was unable to give her a +happiness equal to that which she would have lost. Perhaps, too, she +would not believe him. And, moreover, would she ever consent to marry a +priest who had broken his vows? She who would always retain the sweet and +never-to be-forgotten memory of how she had been healed in ecstasy! His +design then appeared to him insane, monstrous, polluting. And his revolt +rapidly 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 he +do? 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 that +he would now have to lie to her, since she thought that he was saved like +herself, 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 colossal +gradient way. Oh! to have had that great happiness together, together; to +have felt their hearts melt and mingle one in the other! And even then he +had already lied, as he would always be obliged to lie in order that he +might not spoil her pure and blissful illusion. He let the last +throbbings of his veins subside, and vowed that he would find sufficient +strength for the sublime charity of feigning peacefulness of soul, the +rapture of one who is redeemed. For he wished her to be wholly +happy--without a regret, without a doubt--in the full serenity of faith, +convinced that the blessed Virgin had indeed given her consent to their +purely mystical union. What did his torments matter? Later on, perhaps, +he might recover possession of himself. Amidst his desolate solitude of +mind would there not always be a little joy to sustain him, all that joy +whose consoling falsity he would leave to her? + +Several minutes again elapsed, and Pierre, still overwhelmed, remained on +the flagstones, seeking to calm his fever. He no longer thought, he no +longer lived; he was a prey to that prostration of the entire being which +follows upon great crises. But, all at once, he fancied he could hear a +sound of footsteps, and thereupon he painfully rose to his feet, and +feigned to be reading the inscriptions graven in the marble votive slabs +along the walls. He had been mistaken--nobody was there; nevertheless, +seeking to divert his mind, he continued perusing the inscriptions, at +first in a mechanical kind of way, and then, little by little, feeling a +fresh emotion steal over him. + +The sight was almost beyond imagination. Faith, love, and gratitude +displayed themselves in a hundred, a thousand ways on these marble slabs +with gilded lettering. Some of the inscriptions were so artless as to +provoke a smile. A colonel had sent a sculptured representation of his +foot with the words: “Thou hast preserved it; grant that it may serve +Thee.” Farther on you read the line: “May Her protection extend to the +glass trade.” And then, by the frankness of certain expressions of +thanks, you realised of what a strange character the appeals had been. +“To Mary the Immaculate,” ran one inscription, “from a father of a +family, in recognition of health restored, a lawsuit won, and advancement +gained.” However, the memory of these instances faded away amidst the +chorus of soaring, fervent cries. There was the cry of the lovers: “Paul +and Anna entreat Our Lady of Lourdes to bless their union.” There was the +cry of the mothers in various forms: “Gratitude to Mary, who has thrice +healed my child.”--“Gratitude to Mary for the birth of Antoinette, whom I +dedicate, 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 of +the wives, the cry, too, of the sick restored to health, and of the souls +restored to happiness: “Protect my husband; grant that my husband may +enjoy good health.”--“I was crippled in both legs, and now I am +healed.”--“We came, and now we hope.”--“I prayed, I wept, and She heard +me.” And there were yet other cries, cries whose veiled glow conjured up +thoughts of long romances: “Thou didst join us together; protect us, we +pray Thee.”--“To Mary, for the greatest of all blessings.” And the same +cries, the same words--gratitude, thankfulness, homage, +acknowledgment,--occurred again and again, ever with the same passionate +fervour. All! those hundreds, those thousands of cries which were forever +graven on that marble, and from the depths of the crypt rose clamorously +to the Virgin, proclaiming the everlasting devotion of the unhappy beings +whom she had succoured. + +Pierre did not weary of reading them, albeit his mouth was bitter and +increasing desolation was filling him. So it was only he who had no +succour to hope for! When so many sufferers were listened to, he alone +had been unable to make himself heard! And he now began to think of the +extraordinary number of prayers which must be said at Lourdes from one +end of the year to the other. He tried to cast them up; those said during +the 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 the +sunlight and the starlight processions. But this continual entreaty of +every second was beyond computation. It seemed as if the faithful were +determined to weary the ears of the Divinity, determined to extort +favours and forgiveness by the very multitude, the vast multitude of +their prayers. The priests said that it was necessary to offer to God the +acts of expiation which the sins of France required, and that when the +number of these acts of expiation should be large enough, God would smite +France no more. What a harsh belief in the necessity of chastisement! +What a ferocious idea born of the gloomiest pessimism! How evil life must +be if it were indeed necessary that such imploring cries, such cries of +physical and moral wretchedness, should ever and ever ascend to Heaven! + +In the midst of all his sadness, Pierre felt deep compassion penetrate +his heart. He was upset by the thought that mankind should be so +wretched, reduced to such a state of woe, so bare, so weak, so utterly +forsaken, that it renounced its own reason to place the one sole +possibility of happiness in the hallucinatory intoxication of dreams. +Tears once more filled his eyes; he wept for himself and for others, for +all the poor tortured beings who feel a need of stupefying and numbing +their pains in order to escape from the realities of the world. He again +seemed to hear the swarming, kneeling crowd of the Grotto, raising the +glowing entreaty of its prayer to Heaven, the multitude of twenty and +thirty thousand souls from whose midst ascended such a fervour of desire +that you seemed to see it smoking in the sunlight like incense. Then +another form of the exaltation of faith glowed, beneath the crypt, in the +Church of the Rosary, where nights were spent in a paradise of rapture, +amidst the silent delights of the communion, the mute appeals in which +the whole being pines, burns, and soars aloft. And as though the cries +raised before the Grotto and the perpetual adoration of the Rosary were +not sufficient, that clamour of ardent entreaty burst forth afresh on the +walls of the crypt around him; and here it was eternised in marble, here +it would continue shrieking the sufferings of humanity even into the +far-away ages. It was the marble, it was the walls themselves praying, +seized by that shudder of universal woe which penetrated even the world’s +stones. And, at last, the prayers ascended yet higher, still higher, +soared aloft from the radiant Basilica, which was humming and buzzing +above 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 the +flagstones of the nave. And it finally seemed to him that he was being +whirled away, transported, as though he were indeed amidst the very +vibrations of that huge wave of prayer, which, starting from the dust of +the earth, ascended the tier of superposed churches, spreading from +tabernacle to tabernacle, and filling even the walls with such pity that +they sobbed aloud, and that the supreme cry of wretchedness pierced its +way into heaven with the white spire, the lofty golden cross, above the +steeple. O Almighty God, O Divinity, Helpful Power, whoever, whatever +Thou mayst be, take pity upon poor mankind and make human suffering +cease! + +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 two +affectionate arms at once caught hold of him and clasped him. It was +Doctor Chassaigne, whose appointment he had forgotten, and who had been +waiting there to take him to visit Bernadette’s room and Abbé Peyramale’s +church. “Oh! what joy must be yours, my child!” exclaimed the good old +man. “I have just learnt the great news, the extraordinary favour which +Our Lady of Lourdes has granted to your young friend. Recollect what I +told 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, he +was able to smile, and he gently answered: “Yes, we are saved, we are +very happy.” + +It was the lie beginning; the divine illusion which in a spirit of +charity he wished to give to others. + +And then one more spectacle met Pierre’s eyes. The principal door of the +Basilica stood wide open, and a red sheet of light from the setting sun +was enfilading the nave from one to the other end. Everything was flaring +with the splendour of a conflagration--the gilt railings of the choir, +the votive offerings of gold and silver, the lamps enriched with precious +stones, the banners with their bright embroideries, and the swinging +censers, which seemed like flying jewels. And yonder, in the depths of +this burning splendour, amidst the snowy surplices and the golden +chasubles, he recognised Marie, with hair unbound, hair of gold like all +else, enveloping her in a golden mantle. And the organs burst into a hymn +of triumph; and the delirious people acclaimed God; and Abbé Judaine, who +had again just taken the Blessed Sacrament from off the altar, raised it +aloft and presented it to their gaze for the last time; and radiantly +magnificent it shone out like a glory amidst the streaming gold of the +Basilica, whose prodigious triumph all the bells proclaimed in clanging, +flying peals. + + + + +V. CRADLE AND GRAVE + +IMMEDIATELY afterwards, as they descended the steps, Doctor Chassaigne +said to Pierre: “You have just seen the triumph; I will now show you two +great injustices.” + +And he conducted him into the Rue des Petits-Fossés to visit Bernadette’s +room, that low, dark chamber whence she set out on the day the Blessed +Virgin appeared to her. + +The Rue des Petits-Fossés starts from the former Rue des Bois, now the +Rue 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 skirted +by long walls, wretched-looking houses, with mournful façades in which +never a window opens. All its gaiety consists in an occasional tree in a +courtyard. + +“Here we are,” at last said the doctor. + +At the part where he had halted, the street contracted, becoming very +narrow, and the house faced the high, grey wall of a barn. Raising their +heads, both men looked up at the little dwelling, which seemed quite +lifeless, with its narrow casements and its coarse, violet pargeting, +displaying the shameful ugliness of poverty. The entrance passage down +below was quite black; an old light iron gate was all that closed it; and +there was a step to mount, which in rainy weather was immersed in the +water of the gutter. + +“Go in, my friend, go in,” said the doctor. “You have only to push the +gate.” + +The passage was long, and Pierre kept on feeling the damp wall with his +hand, for fear of making a false step. It seemed to him as if he were +descending into a cellar, in deep obscurity, and he could feel a slippery +soil impregnated with water beneath his feet. Then at the end, in +obedience to the doctor’s direction, he turned to the right. + +“Stoop, or you may hurt yourself,” said M. Chassaigne; “the door is very +low. There, here we are.” + +The door of the room, like the gate in the street, stood wide open, as if +the place had been carelessly abandoned; and Pierre, who had stopped in +the middle of the chamber, hesitating, his eyes still full of the bright +daylight outside, could distinguish absolutely nothing. He had fallen +into complete darkness, and felt an icy chill about the shoulders similar +to the sensation that might be caused by a wet towel. + +But, little by little, his eyes became accustomed to the dimness. Two +windows of unequal size opened on to a narrow, interior courtyard, where +only a greenish light descended, as at the bottom of a well; and to read +there, 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 large +uneven stones; while the principal beam and the rafters of the roof, +which were visible, had darkened with time and assumed a dirty, sooty +hue. Opposite the door was the chimney, a miserable plaster chimney, with +a mantelpiece formed of a rotten old plank. There was a sink between this +chimney and one of the windows. The walls, with their decaying, +damp-stained plaster falling off by bits, were full of cracks, and +turning a dirty black like the ceiling. There was no longer any furniture +there; the room seemed abandoned; you could only catch a glimpse of some +confused, strange objects, unrecognisable in the heavy obscurity that +hung 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 the +furniture has gone. I have tried to picture how it was placed: the beds +certainly stood against this wall, opposite the windows; there must have +been three of them at least, for the Soubirouses were seven--the father, +mother, two boys, and three girls. Think of that! Three beds filling this +room! 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 an +old 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. “So +there you are, showing the room again?” + +“Just so, Monsieur l’ Abbé; I took the liberty. It does not inconvenience +you?” + +“Oh! not at all, not at all! Come as often as you please, and bring other +people.” + +He laughed in an engaging manner, and bowed to Pierre, who, astonished by +this quiet carelessness, observed: “The people who come, however, must +sometimes plague you?” + +The curate in his turn seemed surprised. “Indeed, no! Nobody comes. You +see the place is scarcely known. Every one remains over there at the +Grotto. I leave the door open so as not to be worried. But days and days +often 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, he +ended by distinguishing some old barrels, remnants of fowl cages, and +broken tools, a lot of rubbish such as is swept away and thrown to the +bottom of cellars. Hanging from the rafters, moreover, were some +provisions, a salad basket full of eggs, and several bunches of big pink +onions. + +“And, from what I see,” resumed Pierre, with a slight shudder, “you have +thought 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 altogether +impossible to occupy the room. And so, _mon Dieu_, little by little all +this 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 insist +on it, it is a lumber-room!” + +His uneasiness was increasing, mingled with a little shame. Doctor +Chassaigne remained silent and did not interfere; but he smiled, and was +visibly delighted at his companion’s revolt against human ingratitude. +Pierre, unable to restrain himself, now continued: “You must excuse me, +Monsieur l’Abbé, if I insist. But just reflect that you owe everything to +Bernadette; but for her Lourdes would still be one of the least known +towns of France. And really it seems to me that out of mere gratitude the +parish ought to have transformed this wretched room into a chapel.” + +“Oh! a chapel!” interrupted the curate. “It is only a question of a human +creature: 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 be +some lights and flowers--bouquets of roses constantly renewed by the +piety of the inhabitants and the pilgrims. In a word, I should like some +little show of affection--a touching souvenir, a picture of +Bernadette--something that would delicately indicate that she deserves to +have a place in all hearts. This forgetfulness and desertion are +shocking. It is monstrous that so much dirt should have been allowed to +accumulate!” + +The curate, a poor, thoughtless, nervous man, at once adopted Pierre’s +views: “In reality, you are a thousand times right,” said he; “but I +myself have no power, I can do nothing. Whenever they ask me for the +room, 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, it +does not depend on me. I can do nothing, nothing at all!” Then, under the +pretext that he had to go out, he hastened to take leave and run away +again, saying to Doctor Chassaigne: “Remain, remain as long as you +please; you are never in my way.” + +When the doctor once more found himself alone with Pierre he caught hold +of both his hands with effusive delight. “Ah, my dear child,” said he, +“how pleased you have made me! How admirably you expressed to him all +that has been boiling in my own heart so long! Like you, I thought of +bringing some roses here every morning. I should have simply had the room +cleaned, and would have contented myself with placing two large bunches +of roses on the mantelpiece; for you know that I have long felt deep +affection for Bernadette, and it seemed to me that those roses would be +like the very flowering and perfume of her memory. Only--only--” and so +saying he made a despairing gesture, “only courage failed me. Yes, I say +courage, no one having yet dared to declare himself openly against the +Fathers of the Grotto. One hesitates and recoils in the fear of stirring +up a religious scandal. Fancy what a deplorable racket all this would +create. And so those who are as indignant as I am are reduced to the +necessity of holding their tongues--preferring a continuance of silence +to anything else.” Then, by way of conclusion, he added: “The ingratitude +and rapacity of man, my dear child, are sad things to see. Each time I +come into this dim wretchedness, my heart swells and I cannot restrain my +tears.” + +He ceased speaking, and neither of them said another word, both being +overcome by the extreme melancholy which the surroundings fostered. They +were steeped in gloom. The dampness made them shudder as they stood there +amidst the dilapidated walls and the dust of the old rubbish piled upon +either side. And the idea returned to them that without Bernadette none +of the prodigies which had made Lourdes a town unique in the world would +have existed. It was at her voice that the miraculous spring had gushed +forth, that the Grotto, bright with candles, had opened. Immense works +were executed, new churches rose from the ground, giant-like causeways +led up to God. An entire new city was built, as if by enchantment, with +gardens, walks, quays, bridges, shops, and hotels. And people from the +uttermost parts of the earth flocked thither in crowds, and the rain of +millions fell with such force and so abundantly that the young city +seemed likely to increase indefinitely--to fill the whole valley, from +one to the other end of the mountains. If Bernadette had been suppressed +none of those things would have existed, the extraordinary story would +have relapsed into nothingness, old unknown Lourdes would still have been +plunged in the sleep of ages at the foot of its castle. Bernadette was +the sole labourer and creatress; and yet this room, whence she had set +out on the day she beheld the Virgin, this cradle, indeed, of the miracle +and of all the marvellous fortune of the town, was disdained, left a prey +to vermin, good only for a lumber-room, where onions and empty barrels +were 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, the +exaltation of the Grotto and Basilica, while Marie, dragging her little +car, ascended behind the Blessed Sacrament, amidst the clamour of the +multitude. But the Grotto especially shone out before him. It was no +longer the wild, rocky cavity before which the child had formerly knelt +on the deserted bank of the torrent; it was a chapel, transformed and +enriched, a chapel illumined by a vast number of candles, where nations +marched past in procession. All the noise, all the brightness, all the +adoration, all the money, burst forth there in a splendour of constant +victory. Here, at the cradle, in this dark, icy hole, there was not a +soul, not a taper, not a hymn, not a flower. Of the infrequent visitors +who came thither, none knelt or prayed. All that a few tender-hearted +pilgrims had done in their desire to carry away a souvenir had been to +reduce to dust, between their fingers, the half-rotten plank serving as a +mantelshelf. The clergy ignored the existence of this spot of misery, +which the processions ought to have visited as they might visit a station +of glory. It was there that the poor child had begun her dream, one cold +night, lying in bed between her two sisters, and seized with a fit of her +ailment while the whole family was fast asleep. It was thence, too, that +she had set out, unconsciously carrying along with her that dream, which +was again to be born within her in the broad daylight and to flower so +prettily in a vision such as those of the legends. And no one now +followed in her footsteps. The manger was forgotten, and left in +darkness--that manger where had germed the little humble seed which over +yonder was now yielding such prodigious harvests, reaped by the workmen +of the last hour amidst the sovereign pomp of ceremonies. + +Pierre, whom the great human emotion of the story moved to tears, at last +summed up his thoughts in three words, saying in a low voice, “It is +Bethlehem.” + +“Yes,” remarked Doctor Chassaigne, in his turn, “it is the wretched +lodging, the chance refuge, where new religions are born of suffering and +pity. And at times I ask myself if all is not better thus: if it is not +better that this room should remain in its actual state of wretchedness +and abandonment. It seems to me that Bernadette has nothing to lose by +it, 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! I +cannot forgive it--this ingratitude sets me beside myself. I told you I +was convinced that Bernadette had freely gone to cloister herself at +Nevers. But although no one smuggled her away, what a relief it was for +those whom she had begun to inconvenience here! And they are the same +men, so anxious to be the absolute masters, who at the present time +endeavour by all possible means to wrap her memory in silence. Ah! my +dear child, if I were to tell you all!” + +Little by little he spoke out and relieved himself. Those Fathers of the +Grotto, who showed such greed in trading on the work of Bernadette, +dreaded her still more now that she was dead than they had done whilst +she was alive. So long as she had lived, their great terror had assuredly +been 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 a +domineering disposition, and had herself chosen the dim abode of +renunciation where she was destined to pass away. But at present their +fears had increased at the idea that a will other than theirs might bring +the relics of the visionary back to Lourdes; that, thought had, indeed, +occurred to the municipal council immediately after her death; the town +had wished to raise a tomb, and there had been talk of opening a +subscription. The Sisters of Nevers, however, formally refused to give up +the body, which they said belonged to them. Everyone felt that the +Sisters were acting under the influence of the Fathers, who were very +uneasy, and energetically bestirred themselves to prevent by all means in +their power the return of those venerated ashes, in whose presence at +Lourdes they foresaw a possible competition with the Grotto itself. Could +they have imagined some such threatening occurrence as this--a monumental +tomb in the cemetery, pilgrims proceeding thither in procession, the sick +feverishly kissing the marble, and miracles being worked there amidst a +holy fervour? This would have been disastrous rivalry, a certain +displacement of all the present devotion and prodigies. And the great, +the sole fear, still and ever returned to them, that of having to divide +the spoils, of seeing the money go elsewhere should the town, now taught +by experience, know how to turn the tomb to account. + +The Fathers were even credited with a scheme of profound craftiness. They +were supposed to have the secret idea of reserving Bernadette’s remains +for themselves; the Sisters of Nevers having simply undertaken to keep it +for them within the peaceful precincts of their chapel. Only, they were +waiting, and would not bring it back until the affluence of the pilgrims +should decrease. What was the use of a solemn return at present, when +crowds flocked to the place without interruption and in increasing +numbers? Whereas, when the extraordinary success of Our Lady of Lourdes +should decline, like everything else in this world, one could imagine +what a reawakening of faith would attend the solemn, resounding ceremony +at which Christendom would behold the relics of the chosen one take +possession of the soil whence she had made so many marvels spring. And +the miracles would then begin again on the marble of her tomb before the +Grotto or in the choir of the Basilica. + +“You may search,” continued Doctor Chassaigne, “but you won’t find a +single 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 silence +and abandonment in this sad chamber where we are. In the same way as they +are afraid of worship at her tomb, so are they afraid of crowds coming +and kneeling here, should two candles burn or a couple of bouquets of +roses bloom upon this chimney. And if a paralytic woman were to rise +shouting that she was cured, what a scandal would arise, how disturbed +would be those good traders of the Grotto on seeing their monopoly +seriously threatened! They are the masters, and the masters they intend +to remain; they will not part with any portion of the magnificent farm +that they have acquired and are working. Nevertheless they tremble--yes, +they tremble at the memory of the workers of the first hour, of that +little girl who is still so great in death, and for whose huge +inheritance they burn with such greed that after having sent her to live +at Nevers, they dare not even bring back her corpse, but leave it +imprisoned beneath the flagstones of a convent!” + +Ah! how wretched was the fate of that poor creature, who had been cut off +from among the living, and whose corpse in its turn was condemned to +exile! And how Pierre pitied her, that daughter of misery, who seemed to +have 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 to +disappear, still guarding her even in her tomb, what a strange succession +of circumstances there had been--how it seemed as if someone, uneasy at +the idea of the immense power she might grasp, had jealously sought to +keep 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 this +unfortunate girl sufficed to complete within him the ruin of his faith, +it none the less upset him in all his brotherly love for mankind by +revealing a new religion to him, the only one which might still fill his +heart, the religion of life, of human sorrow. + +Just then, before leaving the room, Doctor Chassaigne exclaimed: “And +it’s here that one must believe, my dear child. Do you see this obscure +hole, do you think of the resplendent Grotto, of the triumphant Basilica, +of the town built, of the world created, the crowds that flock to +Lourdes! And if Bernadette was only hallucinated, only an idiot, would +not the outcome be more astonishing, more inexplicable still? What! An +idiot’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 breath +had passed there, the sob of sorrow, the inextinguishable yearning +towards the Infinite of hope. If the dream of a suffering child had +sufficed to attract multitudes, to bring about a rain of millions and +raise a new city from the soil, was it not because this dream in a +measure appeased the hunger of poor mankind, its insatiable need of being +deceived and consoled? She had once more opened the Unknown, doubtless at +a favourable moment both socially and historically; and the crowds had +rushed towards it. Oh! to take refuge in mystery, when reality is so +hard, to abandon oneself to the miraculous, since cruel nature seems +merely one long injustice! But although you may organise the Unknown, +reduce it to dogmas, make revealed religions of it, there is never +anything at the bottom of it beyond the appeal of suffering, the cry of +life, demanding health, joy, and fraternal happiness, and ready to accept +them in another world if they cannot be obtained on earth. What use is it +to believe in dogmas? Does it not suffice to weep and love? + +Pierre, however, did not discuss the question. He withheld the answer +that was on his lips, convinced, moreover, that the eternal need of the +supernatural would cause eternal faith to abide among sorrowing mankind. +The miraculous, which could not be verified, must be a food necessary to +human despair. Besides, had he not vowed in all charity that he would not +wound anyone with his doubts? + +“What a prodigy, isn’t it?” repeated the doctor. + +“Certainly,” Pierre ended by answering. “The whole human drama has been +played, all the unknown forces have acted in this poor room, so damp and +dark.” + +They remained there a few minutes more in silence; they walked round the +walls, raised their eyes toward the smoky ceiling, and cast a final +glance at the narrow, greenish yard. Truly it was a heart-rending sight, +this poverty of the cobweb level, with its dirty old barrels, its +worn-out tools, its refuse of all kinds rotting in the corners in heaps. +And without adding a word they at last slowly retired, feeling extremely +sad. + +It was only in the street that Doctor Chassaigne seemed to awaken. He +gave a slight shudder and hastened his steps, saying: “It is not +finished, my dear child; follow me. We are now going to look at the other +great iniquity.” He referred to Abbé Peyramale and his church. + +They crossed the Place du Porche and turned into the Rue Saint Pierre; a +few minutes would suffice them. But their conversation had again fallen +on the Fathers of the Grotto, on the terrible, merciless war waged by +Father Sempé against the former Curé of Lourdes. The latter had been +vanquished, and had died in consequence, overcome by feelings of +frightful bitterness; and, after thus killing him by grief, they had +completed the destruction of his church, which he had left unfinished, +without a roof, open to the wind and to the rain. With what a glorious +dream had that monumental edifice filled the last year of the Curé’s +life! Since he had been dispossessed of the Grotto, driven from the work +of Our Lady of Lourdes, of which he, with Bernadette, had been the first +artisan, his church had become his revenge, his protestation, his own +share of the glory, the House of the Lord where he would triumph in his +sacred vestments, and whence he would conduct endless processions in +compliance with the formal desire of the Blessed Virgin. Man of authority +and domination as he was at bottom, a pastor of the multitude, a builder +of temples, he experienced a restless delight in hurrying on the work, +with the lack of foresight of an eager man who did not allow indebtedness +to trouble him, but was perfectly contented so long as he always had a +swarm of workmen busy on the scaffoldings. And thus he saw his church +rise up, and pictured it finished, one bright summer morning, all new in +the rising sun. + +Ah! that vision constantly evoked gave him courage for the struggle, +amidst the underhand, murderous designs by which he felt himself to be +enveloped. His church, towering above the vast square, at last rose in +all its colossal majesty. He had decided that it should be in the +Romanesque style, very large, very simple, its nave nearly three hundred +feet long, its steeple four hundred and sixty feet high. It shone out +resplendently in the clear sunlight, freed on the previous day of the +last scaffolding, and looking quite smart in its newness, with its broad +courses of stone disposed with perfect regularity. And, in thought, he +sauntered around it, charmed with its nudity, its stupendous candour, its +chasteness recalling that of a virgin child, for there was not a piece of +sculpture, not an ornament that would have uselessly loaded it. The roofs +of the nave, transept, and apse were of equal height above the +entablature, which was decorated with simple mouldings. In the same way +the apertures in the aisles and nave had no other adornments than +archivaults with mouldings, rising above the piers. He stopped in thought +before the great coloured glass windows of the transept, whose roses were +sparkling; and passing round the building he skirted the semicircular +apse against which stood the vestry building with its two rows of little +windows; and then he returned, never tiring of his contemplation of that +regal ordonnance, those great lines standing out against the blue sky, +those superposed roofs, that enormous mass of stone, whose solidity +promised to defy centuries. But, when he closed his eyes he, above all +else, conjured up, with rapturous pride, a vision of the façade and +steeple; down below, the three portals, the roofs of the two lateral ones +forming terraces, while from the central one, in the very middle of the +façade, the steeple boldly sprang. Here again columns resting on piers +supported archivaults with simple mouldings. Against the gable, at a +point where there was a pinnacle, and between the two lofty windows +lighting the nave, was a statue of Our Lady of Lourdes under a canopy. Up +above, were other bays with freshly painted luffer-boards. Buttresses +started from the ground at the four corners of the steeple-base, becoming +less and less massive from storey to storey, till they reached the spire, +a bold, tapering spire in stone, flanked by four turrets and adorned with +pinnacles, and soaring upward till it vanished in the sky. And to the +parish priest of Lourdes it seemed as if it were his own fervent soul +which had grown and flown aloft with this spire, to testify to his faith +throughout the ages, there on high, quite close to God. + +At other times another vision delighted him still more. He thought he +could see the inside of his church on the day of the first solemn mass he +would perform there. The coloured windows threw flashes of fire brilliant +like precious stones; the twelve chapels, the aisles, were beaming with +lighted candles. And he was at the high altar of marble and gold; and the +fourteen columns of the nave in single blocks of Pyrenean marble, +magnificent marble purchased with money that had come from the four +corners of Christendom, rose up supporting the vaulted roof, while the +sonorous voices of the organs filled the whole building with a hymn of +joy. A multitude of the faithful was gathered there, kneeling on the +flags in front of the choir, which was screened by ironwork as delicate +as lace, and covered with admirably carved wood. The pulpit, the regal +present of a great lady, was a marvel of art cut in massive oak. The +baptismal fonts had been hewn out of hard stone by an artist of great +talent. Pictures by masters ornamented the walls. Crosses, pyxes, +precious monstrances, sacred vestments, similar to suns, were piled up in +the vestry cupboards. And what a dream it was to be the pontiff of such a +temple, to reign there after having erected it with passion, to bless the +crowds who hastened to it from the entire earth, while the flying peals +from the steeple told the Grotto and Basilica that they had over there, +in old Lourdes, a rival, a victorious sister, in whose great nave God +triumphed also! + +After following the Rue Saint Pierre for a moment, Doctor Chassaigne and +his companion turned into the little Rue de Langelle. + +“We are coming to it,” said the doctor. But though Pierre looked around +him he could see no church. There were merely some wretched hovels, a +whole district of poverty, littered with foul buildings. At length, +however, at the bottom of a blind alley, he perceived a remnant of the +half-rotten palings which still surrounded the vast square site bordered +by the Rue Saint Pierre, the Rue de Bagnères, the Rue de Langelle, and +the Rue des Jardins. + +“We must turn to the left,” continued the doctor, who had entered a +narrow passage among the rubbish. “Here we are!” + +And the ruin suddenly appeared amidst the ugliness and wretchedness that +masked it. + +The whole great carcase of the nave and the aisles, the transept and the +apse was standing. The walls rose on all sides to the point where the +vaulting would have begun. You entered as into a real church, you could +walk about at ease, identifying all the usual parts of an edifice of this +description. Only when you raised your eyes you saw the sky; the roofs +were wanting, the rain could fall and the wind blow there freely. Some +fifteen years previously the works had been abandoned, and things had +remained in the same state as the last workman had left them. What struck +you first of all were the ten pillars of the nave and the four pillars of +the choir, those magnificent columns of Pyrenean marble, each of a single +block, which had been covered with a casing of planks in order to protect +them 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 at +sight of the whole gaping enclosure, where grass had sprung up all over +the ravaged, bumpy soil of the aisles and the nave, a thick cemetery +grass, through which the women of the neighbourhood had ended by making +paths. They came in to spread out their washing there. And even now a +collection of poor people’s washing--thick sheets, shirts in shreds, and +babies’ 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 the +inside of the church. The ten chapels of the aisles formed a species of +compartments full of rubbish and remnants. The ground of the choir had +been cemented, doubtless to protect the crypt below against +infiltrations; but unfortunately the vaults must be sinking; there was a +hollow there which the storm of the previous night had transformed into a +little lake. However, it was these portions of the transept and the apse +which had the least suffered. Not a stone had moved; the great central +rose windows above the triforium seemed to be awaiting their coloured +glass, while some thick planks, forgotten atop of the walls of the apse, +might have made anyone think that the workmen would begin covering it the +next day. But, when Pierre and the doctor had retraced their steps, and +went out to look at the façade, the lamentable woefulness of the young +ruin was displayed to their gaze. On this side, indeed, the works had not +been carried forward to anything like the same extent: the porch with its +three portals alone was built, and fifteen years of abandonment had +sufficed for the winter weather to eat into the sculptures, the small +columns and the archivaults, with a really singular destructive effect, +as though the stones, deeply penetrated, destroyed, had melted away +beneath tears. The heart grieved at the sight of the decay which had +attacked the work before it was even finished. Not yet to be, and +nevertheless to crumble away in this fashion under the sky! To be +arrested in one’s colossal growth, and simply strew the weeds with ruins! + +They returned to the nave, and were overcome by the frightful sadness +which this assassination of a monument provoked. The spacious plot of +waste ground inside was littered with the remains of scaffoldings, which +had been pulled down when half rotten, in fear lest their fall might +crush 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 a +gibbet. Spade-handles, pieces of broken wheelbarrows, and heaps of +greenish bricks, speckled with moss and wild convolvuli in bloom, were +still lying among the forgotten materials. In the beds of nettles you +here and there distinguished the rails of a little railway laid down for +the trucks, one of which was lying overturned in a corner. But the +saddest sight in all this death of things was certainly the portable +engine which had remained in the shed that sheltered it. For fifteen +years it had been standing there cold and lifeless. A part of the roof of +the shed had ended by falling in upon it, and now the rain drenched it at +every shower. A bit of the leather harness by which the crane was worked +hung down, and seemed to bind the engine like a thread of some gigantic +spider’s web. And its metal-work, its steel and copper, was also +decaying, as if rusted by lichens, covered with the vegetation of old +age, whose yellowish patches made it look like a very ancient, +grass-grown machine which the winters had preyed upon. This lifeless +engine, this cold engine with its empty firebox and its silent boiler, +was like the very soul of the departed labour vainly awaiting the advent +of some great charitable heart, whose coming through the eglantine and +the brambles would awaken this sleeping church in the wood from its heavy +slumber of ruin. + +At last Doctor Chassaigne spoke: “Ah!” he said, “when one thinks that +fifty thousand francs would have sufficed to prevent such a disaster! +With fifty thousand francs the roof could have been put on, the heavy +work would have been saved, and one could have waited patiently. But they +wanted to kill the work just as they had killed the man.” With a gesture +he designated the Fathers of the Grotto, whom he avoided naming. “And to +think,” he continued, “that their annual receipts are eight hundred +thousand francs. However, they prefer to send presents to Rome to +propitiate powerful friends there.” + +In spite of himself, he was again opening hostilities against the +adversaries of Curé Peyramale. The whole story caused a holy anger of +justice to haunt him. Face to face with those lamentable ruins, he +returned to the facts--the enthusiastic Curé starting on the building of +his beloved church, and getting deeper and deeper into debt, whilst +Father Sempé, ever on the lookout, took advantage of each of his +mistakes, discrediting him with the Bishop, arresting the flow of +offerings, and finally stopping the works. Then, after the conquered man +was dead, had come interminable lawsuits, lawsuits lasting fifteen years, +which gave the winters time to devour the building. And now it was in +such 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, was +becoming irrevocable. The portable engine beneath its tumbling shed would +fall to pieces, pounded by the rain and eaten away by the moss. + +“I know very well that they chant victory,” resumed the doctor; “that +they alone remain. It is just what they wanted--to be the absolute +masters, to have all the power, all the money for themselves alone. I may +tell you that their terror of competition has even made them intrigue +against the religious Orders that have attempted to come to Lourdes. +Jesuits, Dominicans, Benedictines, Capuchins, and Carmelites have made +applications at various times, and the Fathers of the Grotto have always +succeeded in keeping them away. They only tolerate the female Orders, and +will only have one flock. And the town belongs to them; they have opened +shop 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 all +the devastation surrounding him. “Look at this sadness, this frightful +wretchedness! Over yonder the Rosary and Basilica cost them three +millions of francs.”* + + * About 580,000 dollars. + +Then, as in Bernadette’s cold, dark room, Pierre saw the Basilica rise +before him, radiant in its triumph. It was not here that you found the +realisation of the dream of Curé Peyramale, officiating and blessing +kneeling multitudes while the organs resounded joyfully. The Basilica, +over yonder, appeared, vibrating with the pealing of its bells, clamorous +with the superhuman joy of an accomplished miracle, all sparkling with +its countless lights, its banners, its lamps, its hearts of silver and +gold, its clergy attired in gold, and its monstrance akin to a golden +star. It flamed in the setting sun, it touched the heavens with its +spire, amidst the soaring of the milliards of prayers which caused its +walls to quiver. Here, however, was the church that had died before being +born, the church placed under interdict by a mandamus of the Bishop, the +church falling into dust, and open to the four winds of heaven. Each +storm carried away a little more of the stones, big flies buzzed all +alone among the nettles which had invaded the nave; and there were no +other devotees than the poor women of the neighbourhood, who came thither +to 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 beauty +under their wooden shirts. At times birds would fly across the deserted +apse uttering a shrill cry. Bands of enormous rats which had taken refuge +under bits of the lowered scaffoldings would fight, and bite, and bound +out of their holes in a gallop of terror. And nothing could have been more +heart-rending than the sight of this pre-determined ruin, face to face +with 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 had +passed down a half-demolished wooden staircase, the steps of which shook +beneath their feet, they found themselves in the crypt. + +It was a low vault, with squat arches, on exactly the same plan as the +choir. The thick, stunted columns, left in the rough, also awaited their +sculptors. Materials were lying about, pieces of wood were rotting on the +beaten ground, the whole vast hall was white with plaster in the +abandonment in which unfinished buildings are left. At the far end, three +bays, formerly glazed, but in which not a pane of glass remained, threw a +clear, cold light upon the desolate bareness of the walls. + +And there, in the middle, lay Curé Peyramale’s corpse. Some pious friends +had conceived the touching idea of thus burying him in the crypt of his +unfinished church. The tomb stood on a broad step and was all marble. The +inscriptions, in letters of gold, expressed the feelings of the +subscribers, the cry of truth and reparation that came from the monument +itself. You read on the face: “This tomb has been erected by the aid of +pious offerings from the entire universe to the blessed memory of the +great servant of Our Lady of Lourdes.” On the right side were these words +from a Brief of Pope Pius IX.: “You have entirely devoted yourself to +erecting a temple to the Mother of God.” And on the left were these words +from the New Testament: “Happy are they who suffer persecution for +justice’ sake.” Did not these inscriptions embody the true plaint, the +legitimate hope of the vanquished man who had fought so long in the sole +desire of strictly executing the commands of the Virgin as transmitted to +him by Bernadette? She, Our Lady of Lourdes, was there personified by a +slender statuette, standing above the commemorative inscription, against +the naked wall whose only decorations were a few bead wreaths hanging +from nails. And before the tomb, as before the Grotto, were five or six +benches in rows, for the faithful who desired to sit down. + +But with another gesture of sorrowful compassion, Doctor Chassaigne had +silently pointed out to Pierre a huge damp spot which was turning the +wall at the far end quite green. Pierre remembered the little lake which +he had noticed up above on the cracked cement flooring of the +choir--quite a quantity of water left by the storm of the previous night. +Infiltration had evidently commenced, a perfect stream ran down, invading +the crypt, whenever there was heavy rain. And they both felt a pang at +their hearts when they perceived that the water was trickling along the +vaulted roof in narrow threads, and thence falling in large, regular +rhythmical 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 that +falling water, at the thought of the blasts which must rush at winter +time through the glassless windows, that corpse appeared to him both +woeful and tragic. It acquired a fierce grandeur, lying there alone in +its splendid marble tomb, amidst all the rubbish, at the bottom of the +crumbling ruins of its own church. It was the solitary guardian, the dead +sleeper and dreamer watching over the empty spaces, open to all the birds +of night. It was the mute, obstinate, eternal protest, and it was +expectation also. Curé Peyramale, stretched in his coffin, having all +eternity before him to acquire patience, there, without weariness, +awaited the workmen who would perhaps return thither some fine April +morning. If they should take ten years to do so, he would be there, and +if it should take them a century, he would be there still. He was waiting +for the rotten scaffoldings up above, among the grass of the nave, to be +resuscitated like the dead, and by the force of some miracle to stand +upright once more, along the walls. He was waiting, too, for the +moss-covered engine to become all at once burning hot, recover its +breath, and raise the timbers for the roof. His beloved enterprise, his +gigantic building, was crumbling about his head, and yet with joined +hands and closed eyes he was watching over its ruins, watching and +waiting too. + +In a low voice, the doctor finished the cruel story, telling how, after +persecuting Curé Peyramale and his work, they persecuted his tomb. There +had formerly been a bust of the Curé there, and pious hands had kept a +little lamp burning before it. But a woman had one day fallen with her +face to the earth, saying that she had perceived the soul of the +deceased, and thereupon the Fathers of the Grotto were in a flutter. Were +miracles about to take place there? The sick already passed entire days +there, seated on the benches before the tomb. Others knelt down, kissed +the marble, and prayed to be cured. And at this a feeling of terror +arose: supposing they should be cured, supposing the Grotto should find a +competitor in this martyr, lying all alone, amidst the old tools left +there 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 the +tomb of the former priest of Lourdes. As in the case of Bernadette, his +memory was proscribed, his portrait could be found, officially, nowhere. +In the same manner as they had shown themselves merciless against the +living man, so did the Fathers prove merciless to his memory. They +pursued him even in his tomb. They alone, again nowadays, prevented the +works of the church from being proceeded with, by raising continual +obstacles, and absolutely refusing to share their rich harvest of alms. +And they seemed to be waiting for the winter rains to fall and complete +the 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, upon +the body of the defeated man, so that he might be buried beneath them and +at last pounded to dust! + +“Ah!” murmured the doctor, “I, who knew him so valiant, so enthusiastic +in 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 was +overflowing from his heart. He listened to the heavy drops from the roof +as 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 profound +silence. And he reflected on the eternal misery of this world, on the +choice which suffering makes in always falling on the best. The two great +makers of Our Lady of Lourdes, Bernadette and Curé Peyramale, rose up in +the flesh again before him, like woeful victims, tortured during their +lives and exiled after their deaths. That alone, indeed, would have +completed within him the destruction of his faith; for the Bernadette, +whom he had just found at the end of his researches, was but a human +sister, loaded with every dolour. But none the less he preserved a tender +brotherly veneration for her, and two tears slowly trickled down his +cheeks. + + + + + +THE FIFTH DAY + + + + +I. EGOTISM AND LOVE + +AGAIN that night Pierre, at the Hotel of the Apparitions, was unable to +obtain a wink of sleep. After calling at the hospital to inquire after +Marie, who, since her return from the procession, had been soundly +enjoying the delicious, restoring sleep of a child, he had gone to bed +himself feeling anxious at the prolonged absence of M. de Guersaint. He +had expected him at latest at dinner-time, but probably some mischance +had detained him at Gavarnie; and he thought how disappointed Marie would +be if her father were not there to embrace her the first thing in the +morning. With a man like M. de Guersaint, so pleasantly heedless and so +hare-brained, everything was possible, every fear might be realised. + +Perhaps this anxiety had at first sufficed to keep Pierre awake in spite +of his great fatigue; but afterwards the nocturnal noises of the hotel +had really assumed unbearable proportions. The morrow, Tuesday, was the +day of departure, the last day which the national pilgrimage would spend +at 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 doors +slammed, the floors shook, the entire building vibrated beneath the +disorderly gallop of a crowd. Never before had the walls reverberated +with such obstinate coughs, such thick, husky voices. Thus Pierre, a prey +to insomnia, tossed about on his bed and continually rose up, beset with +the idea that the noise he heard must have been made by M. de Guersaint +who had returned. For some minutes he would listen feverishly; but he +could only hear the extraordinary sounds of the passage, amid which he +could distinguish nothing precisely. Was it the priest, the mother and +her three daughters, or the old married couple on his left, who were +fighting with the furniture? or was it rather the larger family, or the +single gentleman, or the young single woman on his right, whom some +incomprehensible occurrences were leading into adventures? At one moment +he jumped from his bed, wishing to explore his absent friend’s empty +room, as he felt certain that some deeds of violence were taking place in +it. But although he listened very attentively when he got there, the only +sound he could distinguish was the tender caressing murmur of two voices. +Then a sudden recollection of Madame Volmar came to him, and he returned +shuddering 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 could +be no mistake, a loud voice broken by sobs was calling “Monsieur l’Abbé! +Monsieur l’Abbé! for Heaven’s sake wake up!” + +Surely it must be M. de Guersaint who had been brought back dead, at +least. 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’Abbé, 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 his +watch on the mantelpiece, when he had heard some most frightful sighs +issuing from the adjoining room, where Madame Chaise slept. She had left +the communicating door open in order to be more with them, as she +pleasantly expressed it. Accordingly he had hastened in, and flung the +shutters open so as to admit both light and air. “And what a sight, +Monsieur l’Abbé!” he continued. “Our poor aunt lying on her bed, nearly +purple in the face already, her mouth wide open in a vain effort to +breathe, and her hands fumbling with the sheet. It’s her heart complaint, +you know. Come, come at once, Monsieur l’Abbé, and help her, I implore +you!” + +Pierre, utterly bewildered, could find neither his breeches nor his +cassock. “Of course, of course I’ll come with you,” said he. “But I have +not what is necessary for administering the last sacraments.” + +M. Vigneron had assisted him to dress, and was now stooping down looking +for his slippers. “Never mind,” he said, “the mere sight of you will +assist her in her last moments, if Heaven has this affliction in store +for us. Here! put these on your feet, and follow me at once--oh! at +once!” + +He went off like a gust of wind and plunged into the adjoining room. All +the doors remained wide open. The young priest, who followed him, noticed +nothing in the first room, which was in an incredible state of disorder, +beyond the half-naked figure of little Gustave, who sat on the sofa +serving him as a bed, motionless, very pale, forgotten, and shivering +amid this drama of inexorable death. Open bags littered the floor, the +greasy remains of supper soiled the table, the parents’ bed seemed +devastated by the catastrophe, its coverlets torn off and lying on the +floor. 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 stammering +accents. + +With a wave of her hand and without uttering a word Madame Vigneron drew +their attention to Madame Chaise, who lay motionless, with her head sunk +in the pillow and her hands stiffened and twisted. She was blue in the +face, and her mouth gaped, as though with the last great gasp that had +come 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, and +the husband and wife looked at each other in amazement, bewilderment. So +it was over? The aunt had died before Gustave, and the youngster +inherited her five hundred thousand francs. How many times had they dwelt +on that dream; whose sudden realisation dumfounded them? How many times +had despair overcome them when they feared that the poor child might +depart before her? Dead! Good heavens! was it their fault? Had they +really prayed to the Blessed Virgin for this? She had shown herself so +good to them that they trembled at the thought that they had not been +able to express a wish without its being granted. In the death of the +chief clerk, so suddenly carried off so that they might have his place, +they had already recognised the powerful hand of Our Lady of Lourdes. Had +she again loaded them with favours, listening even to the unconscious +dreams of their desire? Yet they had never desired anyone’s death; they +were worthy people incapable of any bad action, loving their relations, +fulfilling their religious duties, going to confession, partaking of the +communion like other people without any ostentation. Whenever they +thought of those five hundred thousand francs, of their son who might be +the first to go, and of the annoyance it would be to them to see another +and far less worthy nephew inherit that fortune, it was merely in the +innermost recesses of their hearts, in short, quite innocently and +naturally. Certainly they _had_ thought of it when they were at the +Grotto, but was not the Blessed Virgin wisdom itself? Did she not know +far better than ourselves what she ought to do for the happiness of both +the living and the dead? + +Then Madame Vigneron in all sincerity burst into tears and wept for the +sister whom she loved so much. “Ah! Monsieur l’Abbé,” she said, “I saw +her expire; she passed away before my eyes. What a misfortune that you +were not here sooner to receive her soul! She died without a priest; your +presence would have consoled her so much.” + +A prey also to emotion, his eyes full of tears, Vigneron sought to +console his wife. “Your sister was a saint,” said he; “she communicated +again yesterday morning, and you need have no anxiety concerning her; her +soul has gone straight to heaven. No doubt, if Monsieur l’Abbé had been +here 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 to +reproach ourselves with.” + +Then, turning towards the priest, he added “Monsieur l’Abbé, it was her +excessive piety which certainly hastened her end. Yesterday, at the +Grotto, she had a bad attack, which was a warning. And in spite of her +fatigue she obstinately followed the procession afterwards. I thought +then that she could not last long. Yet, out of delicacy, one did not like +to say anything to her, for fear of frightening her.” + +Pierre gently knelt down and said the customary prayers, with that human +emotion which was his nearest approach to faith in the presence of +eternal life and eternal death, both so pitiful. Then, as he remained +kneeling a little longer, he overheard snatches of the conversation +around him. + +Little Gustave, forgotten on his couch amid the disorder of the other +room, 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 to +carry him in her arms to kiss his poor aunt for the last time. But at +first he struggled and refused, crying so much that M. Vigneron was +obliged to interfere and try to make him ashamed of himself. What! he who +was never frightened of anything! who bore suffering with the courage of +a 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 have +been 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 his +night-shirt, displaying his wretched little body devoured by scrofula. It +seemed indeed as though the miraculous water of the piscinas, far from +curing him, had freshened the sore on his back; whilst his scraggy leg +hung down inertly like a dry stick. + +“Kiss her,” resumed M. Vigneron. + +The child leant forward and kissed his aunt on the forehead. It was not +death which upset him and caused him to struggle. Since he had been in +the room he had been looking at the dead woman with an air of quiet +curiosity. 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 was +stifling him as, like his complaint, they developed and became more +acute. He felt full well that he was too little, that children ought not +to understand what only concerns their elders. + +However, his father, seating himself out of the way, kept him on his +knee, whilst his mother closed the window and lit the two candles on the +mantelpiece. “Ah! my poor dear,” murmured M. Vigneron, feeling that he +must say something, “it’s a cruel loss for all of us. Our trip is now +completely spoilt; this is our last day, for we start this afternoon. And +the Blessed Virgin, too, was showing herself so kind to us.” + +However, seeing his son’s surprised look, a look of infinite sadness and +reproach, he hastened to add: “Yes, of course, I know that she hasn’t yet +quite cured you. But we must not despair of her kindness. She loves us so +well, she shows us so many favours that she will certainly end by curing +you, 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 we +should 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 leave +with you this afternoon, on account of the formalities which have to be +gone through. I hope that my return ticket will still be available +to-morrow!” + +They were both getting over the frightful shock, feeling a sense of +relief in spite of their affection for Madame Chaise; and, in fact, they +were already forgetting her, anxious above all things to leave Lourdes as +soon as possible, as though the principal object of their journey had +been attained. A decorous, unavowed delight was slowly penetrating them. + +“When I get back to Paris there will be so much for me to do,” continued +M. Vigneron. “I, who now only long for repose! All the same I shall +remain my three years at the Ministry, until I can retire, especially now +that I am certain of the retiring pension of chief clerk. But +afterwards--oh! afterwards I certainly hope to enjoy life a bit. Since +this 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 been +dreaming of. And I promise you that I sha’n’t find time hanging heavy on +my 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 the +scragginess 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 that +he was there, he gave one of his enigmatical smiles, in which melancholy +was tinged with malice. “But what about me, father?” he asked. + +M. Vigneron started, like one aroused from sleep, and did not at first +seem to understand. “You, little one? You’ll be with us, of course!” + +But Gustave gave him a long, straight look, without ceasing to smile with +his 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 be +with us.” + +Uneasy, stammering, unable to find the proper words, M. Vigneron felt a +chill come over him when his son shrugged his skinny shoulders with an +air of philosophical disdain and answered: “Oh, no! I shall be dead.” + +And then the terrified father was suddenly able to detect in the child’s +deep glance the glance of a man who was very aged, very knowing in all +things, acquainted with all the abominations of life through having gone +through them. What especially alarmed him was the abrupt conviction that +this child had always seen into the innermost recesses of his heart, even +farther than the things he dared to acknowledge to himself. He could +recall that when the little sufferer had been but a baby in his cradle +his eyes would frequently be fixed upon his own--and even then those eyes +had been rendered so sharp by suffering, endowed, too, with such an +extraordinary power of divination, that they had seemed able to dive into +the unconscious thoughts buried in the depths of his brain. And by a +singular counter-effect all the things that he had never owned to himself +he 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, his +anger at having such a sorry son, his anguish at the idea that Madame +Chaise’s fortune depended upon such a fragile existence, his eager desire +that 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 of +days, this duel as to which should go off first. And then, at the end, it +still meant death--the youngster must in his turn disappear, whilst he, +the father, alone pocketed the cash, and lived joyfully to a good old +age. And these frightful things shone forth so clearly from the keen, +melancholy, smiling eyes of the poor condemned child, passed from son to +father with such evident distinctness, that for a moment it seemed to +them 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’s +absurd 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 loss +to deplore?” + +Gustave had to kiss them, and to promise them that he would live for +their sakes. Yet he did not cease smiling, conscious as he was that a lie +is necessary when one does not wish to be too miserable, and quite +prepared, moreover, to leave his parents happy behind him, since even the +Blessed Virgin herself was powerless to grant him in this world the +little 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 suitable +manner. “You’ll excuse me, won’t you, Monsieur l’Abbé?” 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 a +sound of voices which was ascending the stairs. He had just been thinking +of M. de Guersaint again, and imagined that he could recognise his voice. +However, whilst he stood there waiting, an incident occurred which caused +him intense discomfort. The door of the room next to M. de Guersaint’s +softly opened and a woman, clad in black, slipped into the passage. As +she turned, she found herself face to face with Pierre, in such a fashion +that 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 was +going off, hoping that nobody would notice her, with the intention of +showing herself at the hospital, and there spending this last morning, in +order, in some measure, to justify her journey to Lourdes. When she +perceived Pierre, she began to tremble, and, at first, could only +stammer: “Oh, Monsieur l’Abbé, Monsieur l’Abbé!” + +Then, noticing that the priest had left his door wide open, she seemed to +give way to the fever consuming her, to a need of speaking out, +explaining things and justifying herself. With her face suffused by a +rush of blood she entered the young man’s room, whither he had to follow +her, greatly disturbed by this strange adventure. And, as he still left +the door open, it was she who, in her desire to confide her sorrow and +her sin to him, begged that he would close it. + +“Oh! I pray you, Monsieur l’Abbé,” said she, “do not judge me too +harshly.” + +He made a gesture as though to reply that he did not allow himself the +right to pass judgment upon her. + +“But yes, but yes,” she responded; “I know very well that you are +acquainted with my misfortune. You saw me once in Paris behind the church +of La Trinité, 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 he +looked at her he was surprised by the extraordinary beauty transfiguring +her face. This woman, invariably clad in black, extremely simple, with +never 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 the +lustre of her eyes, as was her wont. She, who at first sight did not seem +pretty, but too dark and slender, with drawn features, a large mouth and +long nose, assumed, as he now examined her, a troubling charm, a +powerful, irresistible beauty. Her eyes especially--her large, +magnificent eyes, whose brasiers she usually sought to cover with a veil +of indifference--were flaring like torches; and he understood that she +should be loved, adored, to madness. + +“If you only knew, Monsieur l’Abbé,” she continued. “If I were only to +tell you all that I have suffered. Doubtless you have suspected something +of it, since you are acquainted with my mother-in-law and my husband. On +the few occasions when you have called on us you cannot but have +understood some of the abominable things which go on in my home, though I +have always striven to appear happy in my silent little corner. But to +live like that for ten years, to have no existence--never to love, never +to be loved--no, no, it was beyond my power!” + +And then she related the whole painful story: her marriage with the +diamond merchant, a disastrous, though it seemed an advantageous one; her +mother-in-law, with the stern soul of a jailer or an executioner, and her +husband, a monster of physical ugliness and mental villainy. They +imprisoned her, they did not even allow her to look out of a window. They +had beaten her, they had pitilessly assailed her in her tastes, her +inclinations, in all her feminine weaknesses. She knew that her husband +wandered in his affections, and yet if she smiled to a relative, if she +had a flower in her corsage on some rare day of gaiety, he would tear it +from her, enter into the most jealous rage, and seize and bruise her +wrists whilst shouting the most fearful threats. For years and years she +had lived in that hell, hoping, hoping still, having within her such a +power of life, such an ardent need of affection, that she continued +waiting for happiness, ever thinking, at the faintest breath, that it was +about to enter. + +“I swear to you, Monsieur l’Abbé,” said she, “that I could not do +otherwise than I have done. I was too unhappy: my whole being longed for +someone who would care for me. And when my friend the first time told me +that he loved me it was all over--I was his forever. Ah! to be loved, to +be spoken to gently, to have someone near you who is always solicitous +and amiable; to know that in absence he thinks of you, that there is a +heart somewhere in which you live... Ah! if it be a crime, Monsieur +l’Abbé, I cannot, cannot feel remorse for it. I will not even say that I +was urged to it; I simply say that it came to me as naturally as my +breath, because it was as necessary to my life!” + +She had carried her hand to her lips as though to throw a kiss to the +world, and Pierre felt deeply disturbed in presence of this lovely woman, +who personified all the ardour of human passion, and at the same time a +feeling 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 to +the man that I am speaking, to a man by whom I should greatly like to be +understood. No, I am not a believer: religion has not sufficed me. It is +said that some women find contentment in it, a firm protection even +against all transgressions. But I have ever felt cold in church, weary +unto death. Oh! I know very well that it is wrong to feign piety, to +mingle religion with my heart affairs. But what would you? I am forced to +it. If you saw me in Paris behind La Trinité it was because that church +is the only place to which I am allowed to go alone; and if you find me +here at Lourdes it is because, in the whole long year, I have but these +three days of happiness and freedom.” + +Again she began to tremble. Hot tears were coursing down her cheeks. A +vision of it all arose in Pierre’s mind, and, distracted by the thought +of the ardent earthly love which possessed this unhappy creature, he +again murmured: “Poor woman!” + +“And, Monsieur l’Abbé,” she continued, “think of the hell to which I am +about to return! For weeks and months I live my life of martyrdom without +complaint. Another year, another year must go by without a day, an hour +of happiness! Ah! I am indeed very unhappy, Monsieur l’Abbé, yet do you +not think all the same that I am a good woman?” + +He had been deeply moved by her sincere display of mingled grief and +passion. He felt in her the breath of universal desire--a sovereign +flame. And his compassion overflowed from his heart, and his words were +words of pardon. “Madame,” he said, “I pity you and respect you +infinitely.” + +Then she spoke no further, but looked at him with her large tear-blurred +eyes. And suddenly catching hold of both his hands, she grasped them +tightly with her burning fingers. And then she went off, vanishing down +the passage as light, as ethereal, as a shadow. + +However, Pierre suffered from her presence in that room even more acutely +after she had departed. He opened the window wide that the fresh air +might carry off the breath of passion which she had left there. Already +on the Sunday when he had seen her on the balcony he had been seized with +terror at the thought that she personified the revenge of the world and +the flesh amidst all the mystical exaltation of immaculate Lourdes. And +now his terror was returning to him. Love seemed stronger than faith, and +perhaps it was only love that was divine. To love, to belong to one +another, to create and continue life--was not that the one sole object of +nature outside of all social and religious policies? For a moment he was +conscious of the abyss before him: his chastity was his last prop, the +very dignity of his spoilt life; and he realised that, if after yielding +to his reason he also yielded to his flesh, he would be utterly lost. All +his pride of purity, all his strength which he had placed in professional +rectitude, thereupon returned to him, and he again vowed that he would +never 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 began +to wash himself, thoroughly enjoying the cool water, which ended by +calming his fever. As he finished dressing, the anxious thought of M. de +Guersaint recurred to him on hearing a sound of footsteps in the passage. +These steps stopped outside his room and someone knocked. With a feeling +of relief he went to open the door, but on doing so exclaimed in great +surprise “What, it’s you! How is it that you’re already up, running about +to see people?” + +Marie stood on the threshold smiling, whilst behind her was Sister +Hyacinthe, who had come with her, and who also was smiling, with her +lovely, candid eyes. + +“Ah! my friend,” said the girl, “I could not remain in bed. I sprang out +directly I saw the sunshine. I had such a longing to walk, to run and +jump about like a child, and I begged and implored so much that Sister +was good enough to come with me. I think I should have got out through +the window if the door had been closed against me.” + +Pierre ushered them in, and an indescribable emotion oppressed him as he +heard her jest so gaily and saw her move about so freely with such grace +and liveliness. She, good heavens! she whom he had seen for years with +lifeless legs and colourless face! Since he had left her the day before +at the Basilica she had blossomed into full youth and beauty. One night +had sufficed for him to find again, developed it is true, the sweet +creature whom he had loved so tenderly, the superb, radiant child whom he +had 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 things +well, Monsieur l’Abbé? When she takes us in hand, you see, she turns us +out as fresh as roses and smelling quite as sweet.” + +“Ah!” resumed Marie, “I’m so happy; I feel quite strong and well and +spotless, as though I had just been born!” + +All this was very delicious to Pierre. It seemed to him that the +atmosphere was now truly purified of Madame Volmar’s presence. Marie +filled the room with her candour, with the perfume and brightness of her +innocent youth. And yet the joy he felt at the sight of pure beauty and +life reflowering was not exempt from sadness. For, after all, the revolt +which he had felt in the crypt, the wound of his wrecked life, must +forever leave him a bleeding heart. As he gazed upon all that +resuscitated grace, as the woman he loved thus reappeared before him in +the flower of her youth, he could not but remember that she would never +be his, that he belonged no longer to the world, but to the grave. +However, he no longer lamented; he experienced a boundless melancholy--a +sensation of utter nothingness as he told himself that he was dead, that +this dawn of beauty was rising on the tomb in which his manhood slept. It +was renunciation, accepted, resolved upon amidst all the desolate +grandeur attaching to those lives which are led contrary to nature’s law. +Then, like the other woman, the impassioned one, Marie took hold of +Pierre’s hands. But hers were so soft, so fresh, so soothing! She looked +at him with so little confusion and a great longing which she dared not +express. 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 of +other days--those kisses which had ever lingered on his lips! Never since +had he kissed her, and to-day she was like a sister flinging her arms +around his neck. She kissed him with a loud smack on both his cheeks, and +offering her own, insisted on his doing likewise to her. So twice, in his +turn, he embraced her. + +“I, too, Marie,” said he, “am pleased, very pleased, I assure you.” And +then, overcome by emotion, his courage exhausted, whilst at the same time +filled with delight and bitterness, he burst into sobs, weeping with his +face 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’Abbé would feel too proud if he fancied that we had merely +come 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 from +his excursion to Gavarnie. His increasing anxiety showed itself while he +spoke, although he sought to explain his friend’s absence, surmising all +sorts of obstacles and unforeseen complications. Marie, however, did not +seem afraid, but again laughed, saying that her father never could be +punctual. Still she was extremely eager for him to see her walking, to +find her on her legs again, resuscitated, in the fresh blossoming of her +youth. + +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, just +alighting from his carriage.” + +“Ah!” cried Marie, with the eager playfulness of a school-girl, “let’s +give him a surprise. Yes, we must hide, and when he’s here we’ll show +ourselves all of a sudden.” + +With these words, she hastily dragged Sister Hyacinthe into the adjoining +room. + +Almost immediately afterwards, M. de Guersaint entered like a whirlwind +from the passage, the door communicating with which had been quickly +opened by Pierre, and, shaking the young priest’s hand, the belated +excursionist exclaimed: “Here I am at last! Ah! my friend, you can’t have +known what to think since four o’clock yesterday, when you expected me +back, eh? But you have no idea of the adventures we have had. To begin +with, one of the wheels of our landau came off just as we reached +Gavarnie; then, yesterday evening--though we managed to start off +again--a frightful storm detained us all night long at Saint-Sauveur. I +wasn’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 noise +in the hotel.” + +But M. de Guersaint had already started off again: “All the same, it was +delightful. I must tell you; you can’t imagine it. I was with three +delightful churchmen. Abbé des Hermoises is certainly the most charming +man 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 he +remained with his mouth wide open. Marie was there, and was walking, with +a 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 least +surprised that it had taken place, for he had returned with the +conviction that everything would end well, and that he would surely find +her cured. But what so utterly astounded him was the prodigious spectacle +which he had not foreseen: his daughter, looking so beautiful, so divine, +in her little black gown!--his daughter, who had not even brought a hat +with her, and merely had a piece of lace tied over her lovely fair +hair!--his daughter, full of life, blooming, triumphant, similar to all +the 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, and +then they fell upon their knees together. Everything disappeared from +before them in a radiant effusion of faith and love. This heedless, +hare-brained man, who fell asleep instead of accompanying his daughter to +the Grotto, who went off to Gavarnie on the day the Blessed Virgin was to +cure her, overflowed with such paternal affection, with such Christian +faith 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! O +my child, we shall never have breath enough, soul enough, to render +thanks 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 made +so beautiful again, take my heart to offer it to them with your own! I am +yours, I am theirs eternally, O my beloved child, my adored child!” + +Kneeling before the open window they both, with uplifted eyes, gazed +ardently on heaven. The daughter had rested her head on her father’s +shoulder; whilst he had passed an arm round her waist. They had become +one. Tears slowly trickled down their enraptured faces, which were +smiling with superhuman felicity, whilst they stammered together +disconnected expressions of gratitude. + +“O Jesus, we give Thee thanks! O Holy Mother of Jesus, we give thee +thanks! We love you, we adore you both. You have rejuvenated the best +blood in our veins; it is yours, it circulates only for you. O +All-powerful Mother, O Divine and Well-beloved Son, behold a daughter and +a 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 many +dark days, this happiness, which could but stammer as though still tinged +with suffering, that Pierre was again moved to tears. But this time they +were soothing tears which relieved his heart. Ah! poor pitiable humanity! +how pleasant it was to see it somewhat consoled and enraptured! and what +did it matter, after all, if its great joys of a few seconds’ duration +sprang from the eternal illusion! Was not the whole of humanity, pitiable +humanity, saved by love, personified by that poor childish man who +suddenly became sublime because he found his daughter resuscitated? + +Standing a little aside, Sister Hyacinthe was also weeping, her heart +very full, full of human emotion which she had never before experienced, +she who had known no other parents than the Almighty and the Blessed +Virgin. Silence had now fallen in this room full of so much tearful +fraternity. And it was she who spoke the first, when the father and the +daughter, overcome with emotion, at length rose up. + +“Now, mademoiselle,” she said, “we must be quick and get back to the +hospital.” + +But they all protested. M. de Guersaint wished to keep his daughter with +him, 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 each +have a cup of milk, for I’m dying of thirst; then we’ll go out and walk +about. 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 her +with you, and tell the ladies that you’ve stolen her from me. But for my +own part I must be off. You’ve no idea what an amount of work we have to +get through at the hospital if we are to be ready in time to leave: there +are all the patients and things to be seen to; and all is in the greatest +confusion!” + +“So to-day’s really Tuesday, and we leave this afternoon?” asked Monsieur +de Guersaint, already absent-minded again. + +“Of course we do, and don’t forget! The white train starts at 3.40. And +if you’re sensible you’ll bring your daughter back early so that she may +have a little rest.” + +Marie walked with the Sister to the door, saying “Be easy, I will be very +good. Besides, I want to go back to the Grotto, to thank the Blessed +Virgin once more.” + +When they found themselves all three alone in the little room full of +sunshine, it was delicious. Pierre called the servant and told her to +bring them some milk, some chocolate, and cakes, in fact the nicest +things 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 night +before. They drew the table to the window and made quite a feast amidst +the keen air from the mountains, whilst the hundred bells of Lourdes, +proclaimed with flying peals the glory of that radiant day. They +chattered and laughed, and the young woman told her father the story of +the miracle, with all the oft-repeated details. She related, too, how she +had left her box at the Basilica, and how she had slept twelve hours +without stirring. Then M. de Guersaint on his side wished to relate his +excursion, but got mixed and kept coming back to the miracle. Finally, it +appeared that the Cirque de Gavarnie was something colossal. Only, when +you looked at it from a distance it seemed small, for you lost all sense +of proportion. The gigantic snow-covered tiers of cliffs, the topmost +ridge standing out against the sky with the outlines of some cyclopean +fortress with razed keep and jagged ramparts, the great cascade, whose +ceaseless jet seemed so slow when in reality it must have rushed down +with a noise like thunder, the whole immensity, the forests on right and +left, the torrents and the landslips, looked as though they might have +been held in the palm of one’s hand, when one gazed upon them from the +village market-place. And what had impressed him most, what he repeatedly +alluded to, were the strange figures described by the snow, which had +remained up there amongst the rocks. Amongst others was a huge crucifix, +a white cross, several thousand yards in length, which you might have +thought had been thrown across the amphitheatre from one end to the +other. + +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 while +ago I met Monsieur Vigneron running about like a madman; and, through the +open doorway of their room, I fancied I saw Madame Vigneron looking very +red. Has their son Gustave had another attack?” + +Pierre had quite forgotten Madame Chaise lying dead on the other side of +the 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 to +remain silent. Why spoil this happy hour of new life and reconquered +youth by mingling with it the image of death? However, from that moment +he himself could not cease thinking of the proximity of nothingness. And +he thought, too, of that other room where Madame Volmar’s friend was now +alone, stifling his sobs with his lips pressed upon a pair of gloves +which he had stolen from her. All the sounds of the hotel were now +becoming audible again--the coughs, the sighs, the indistinct voices, the +continual slamming of doors, the creaking of the floors beneath the great +accumulation of travellers, and all the stir in the passages, along which +flying skirts were sweeping, and families galloping distractedly amidst +the hurry-scurry of departure. + +“On my word! you’ll do yourself an injury,” all at once cried Monsieur de +Guersaint, on seeing his daughter take up another cake. + +Marie was quite merry too. But at a sudden thought tears came into her +eyes, and she exclaimed: “Ah! how glad I am! but also how sorry when I +think 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 keep +still, but continued going to the window, as if she wished to inhale all +the air of the vast, expanse and the immense sky. Ah! what a pleasure to +be able to run about the streets, across the squares, to go everywhere as +far as she might wish. And to show how strong she was, to have the pride +of walking leagues in the presence of everyone, now that the Blessed +Virgin had cured her! It was an irresistible impulsion, a flight of her +entire being, her blood, and her heart. + +However, just as she was setting out she made up her mind that her first +visit with her father ought to be to the Grotto, where both of them had +to thank Our Lady of Lourdes. Then they would be free; they would have +two long hours before them, and might walk wherever they chose, before +she returned to lunch and pack up her few things at the hospital. + +“Well, is everyone ready?” repeated M. de Guersaint. “Shall we make a +move?” + +Pierre took his hat, and all three went down-stairs, talking very loud +and laughing on the staircase, like boisterous school-boys going for +their holidays. They had almost reached the street, when at the doorway +Madame Majesté rushed forward. She had evidently been waiting for them to +go out. + +“Ah! mademoiselle; ah! gentlemen, allow me to congratulate you,” she +said. “We have heard of the extraordinary favour that has been granted +you; we are so happy, so much flattered, when the Blessed Virgin is +pleased to select one of our customers!” + +Her dry, harsh face was melting with amiability, and she observed the +miraculously healed girl with the fondest of eyes. Then she impulsively +called her husband, who was passing: “Look, my dear! It’s mademoiselle; +it’s mademoiselle.” + +Majesté’s clean-shaven face, puffed out with yellow fat, assumed a happy +and grateful expression. “Really, mademoiselle, I cannot tell you how +honoured we feel,” said he. “We shall never forget that your papa put up +at our place. It has already excited the envy of many people.” + +While he spoke Madame Majesté stopped the other travellers who were going +out, and with a sign summoned the families already seated in the +dining-room; indeed, she would have called in the whole street if they +had given her time, to show that she had in her house the miracle at +which all Lourdes had been marvelling since the previous day. People +ended by collecting there, a crowd gathered little by little, while she +whispered in the ear of each “Look! that’s she; the young party, you +know, 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, Majesté, 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 without +making a few purchases. The little souvenirs that one carries away with +one are so pleasant to look at later on! And our customers make a point +of never buying elsewhere than here, in the shop which we have annexed to +the hotel.” + +“I have already offered my services,” added Madame Majesté, “and I renew +them. Apolline will be so happy to show mademoiselle all our prettiest +articles, at prices, too, which are incredibly low! Oh! there are some +delightful things, delightful!” + +Marie was becoming impatient at being detained in this manner, and Pierre +was suffering from the increasing curiosity which they were arousing. As +for M. de Guersaint, he enjoyed this popularity and triumph of his +daughter immensely, and promised to return. + +“Certainly,” said he, “we will purchase a few little knick-knacks. Some +souvenirs 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 weather +was again superb after the storms of the two preceding nights. Cooled by +the rain, the morning air was delicious amidst the gaiety which the +bright sun shed around. A busy crowd, well pleased with life, was already +hurrying along the pavements. And what pleasure it all was for Marie, to +whom everything seemed new, charming, inappreciable! In the morning she +had had to allow Raymonde to lend her a pair of boots, for she had taken +good care not to put any in her portmanteau, superstitiously fearing that +they might bring her bad luck. However, Raymonde’s boots fitted her +admirably, and she listened with childish delight to the little heels +tapping merrily on the flagstones. And she did not remember having ever +seen houses so white, trees so green, and passers-by so happy. All her +senses seemed holiday-making, endowed with a marvellously delicate +sensibility; she heard music, smelt distant perfumes, savoured the air +greedily, as though it were some delicious fruit. But what she +considered, above all, so nice, so charming, was to walk along in this +wise on her father’s arm. She had never done so before, although she had +felt the desire for years, as for one of those impossible pleasures with +which people occupy their minds when invalided. And now her dream was +realised and her heart beat with joy. She pressed against her father, and +strove to walk very upright and look very handsome, so as to do him +honour. And he was quite proud, as happy as she was, showing, exhibiting +her, overcome with joy at the thought that she belonged to him, that she +was his blood, his flesh, his daughter, henceforth beaming with youth and +health. + +As they were all three crossing the Plateau de la Merlasse, already +obstructed by a band of candle and bouquet sellers running after the +pilgrims, M. de Guersaint exclaimed, “We are surely not going to the +Grotto empty-handed!” + +Pierre, who was walking on the other side of Marie, himself brightened by +her merry humour, thereupon stopped, and they were at once surrounded by +a crowd of female hawkers, who with eager fingers thrust their goods into +their faces. “My beautiful young lady! My good gentleman! Buy of me, of +me, of me!” Such was the onslaught that it became necessary to struggle +in order to extricate oneself. M. de Guersaint ended by purchasing the +largest nosegay he could see--a bouquet of white marguerites, as round +and hard as a cabbage--from a handsome, fair-haired, well developed girl +of twenty, who was extremely bold both in look and manner. It only cost +twenty sous, and he insisted on paying for it out of his own little +purse, somewhat abashed meantime by the girl’s unblushing effrontery. +Then Pierre in his turn settled for the three candles which Marie had +taken from an old woman, candles at two francs each, a very reasonable +price, as she repeatedly said. And on being paid, the old creature, who +had an angular face, covetous eyes, and a nose like the beak of a bird of +prey, returned profuse and mellifluous thanks: “May Our Lady of Lourdes +bless 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 good +woman’s wish had already been accomplished. + +At the Grotto Marie wished to file off at once, in order to offer the +bouquet and candles herself before even kneeling down. There were not +many people there as yet, and having gone to the end of the line their +turn came after waiting some three or four minutes. And with what +enraptured glances did she then examine everything--the altar of engraved +silver, the harmonium-organ, the votive offerings, the candle-holders, +streaming with wax blazing in broad daylight. She was now inside that +Grotto which she had hitherto only seen from her box of misery; she +breathed there as in Paradise itself, steeped rapturously in a pleasant +warmth and odour, which slightly oppressed her. When she had placed the +tapers at the bottom of the large basket, and had raised herself on +tiptoe to fix the bouquet on one of the spears of the iron railing, she +imprinted a long kiss upon the rock, below the statue of the Blessed +Virgin, at the very spot, indeed, which millions of lips had already +polished. And the stone received a kiss of love in which she put forth +all the strength of her gratitude, a kiss with which her heart melted. + +When she was once more outside, Marie prostrated and humbled herself in +an almost endless act of thanksgiving. Her father also had knelt down +near her, and mingled the fervour of his gratitude with hers. But he +could not remain doing the same thing for long. Little by little he +became uneasy, and ended by bending down to his daughter’s ear to tell +her 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 would +hurry along and get his troublesome errand over; and then they might walk +about at ease wheresoever they liked. She did not understand him, did not +even hear him, but simply nodded her head, promising that she would not +move, and then such tender faith again took possession of her that her +eyes, fixed on the white statue of the Virgin, filled with tears. + +When M. de Guersaint had joined Pierre, who had remained a short distance +off, he gave him the following explanation. “My dear fellow,” he said, +“it’s a matter of conscience; I formally promised the coachman who drove +us to Gavarnie that I would see his master and tell him the real cause of +our delay. You know whom I mean--the hairdresser on the Place du +Marcadal. And, besides, I want to get shaved.” + +Pierre, who felt uneasy at this proposal, had to give way in face of the +promise that they would be back within a quarter of an hour. Only, as the +distance seemed long, he on his side insisted on taking a trap which was +standing at the bottom of the Plateau de la Merlasse. It was a sort of +greenish cabriolet, and its driver, a fat fellow of about thirty, with +the usual Basque cap on his head, was smoking a cigarette whilst waiting +to be hired. Perched sideways on the seat with his knees wide apart, he +drove them on with the tranquil indifference of a well-fed man who +considers himself the master of the street. + +“We will keep you,” said Pierre as he alighted, when they had reached the +Place du Marcadal. + +“Very well, very well, Monsieur l’Abbé! I’ll wait for you!” And then, +leaving his lean horse in the hot sun, the driver went to chat and laugh +with a strong, dishevelled servant-girl who was washing a dog in the +basin of the neighbouring fountain. + +Cazaban, as it happened, was just then on the threshold of his shop, the +lofty 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 he +delighted to parade in this manner, standing between his two windows, +which pots of pomatum and bottles of perfumery decorated with bright +shades 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 the +man who had driven him to Gavarnie, he showed himself well disposed. Of +course it was not the man’s fault; he could not prevent wheels coming to +pieces, or storms falling. So long as the travellers did not complain all +was 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 see +us again; we don’t ask anything better,” said Cazaban; and, on the +architect seating himself in one of the arm-chairs and asking to be +shaved, he began to bustle about. + +His assistant was still absent, running errands for the pilgrims whom he +lodged, a whole family, who were taking a case of chaplets, plaster +Virgins, and framed engravings away with them. You heard a confused +tramping of feet and violent bursts of conversation coming from the first +floor, all the helter-skelter of people whom the approaching departure +and the packing of purchases lying hither and thither drove almost crazy. +In the adjoining dining-room, the door of which had remained open, two +children were draining the dregs of some cups of chocolate which stood +about amidst the disorder of the breakfast service. The whole of the +house had been let, entirely given over, and now had come the last hours +of this invasion which compelled the hairdresser and his wife to seek +refuge in the narrow cellar, where they slept on a small camp-bed. + +While Cazaban was rubbing M. de Guersaint’s cheeks with soap-suds, the +architect questioned him. “Well, are you satisfied with the season?” + +“Certainly, monsieur, I can’t complain. As you hear, my travellers are +leaving to-day, but I am expecting others to-morrow morning; barely +sufficient time for a sweep out. It will be the same up to October.” + +Then, as Pierre remained standing, walking about the shop and looking at +the walls with an air of impatience, he turned round politely and said: +“Pray be seated, Monsieur l’Abbé; take a newspaper. It will not be long.” + +The priest having thanked him with a nod, and refusing to sit down, the +hairdresser, whose tongue was ever itching to talk, continued: “Oh! as +for myself, I am always busy, my house is renowned for the cleanliness of +the 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; then +again pausing in his work he suddenly declared with a cry, wrung from him +by 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 and +talked and talked again. His big eyes rolled in his long face with +prominent cheek-bones and sunburnt complexion sprinkled with red, while +the whole of his nervous little body continued on the jump, agitated by +his growing exuberance of speech and gesture. He returned to his former +indictment, and enumerated all the many grievances that the old town had +against the Fathers. The hotel-keepers complained; the dealers in +religious fancy articles did not take half the amount they ought to have +realised; and, finally, the new town monopolised both the pilgrims and +the cash; there was now no possibility for anyone but the keepers of the +lodging-houses, hotels, and shops open in the neighbourhood of the Grotto +to make any money whatever. It was a merciless struggle, a deadly +hostility increasing from day to day, the old city losing a little of its +life each season, and assuredly destined to disappear,--to be choked, +assassinated, by the young town. Ah! their dirty Grotto! He would rather +have his feet cut off than tread there. Wasn’t it heart-rending, that +knick-knack shop which they had stuck beside it? A shameful thing, at +which a bishop had shown himself so indignant that it was said he had +written to the Pope! He, Cazaban, who flattered himself with being a +freethinker and a Republican of the old days, who already under the +Empire had voted for the Opposition candidates, assuredly had the right +to declare that he did not believe in their dirty Grotto, and that he did +not care a fig for it! + +“Look here, monsieur,” he continued; “I am going to tell you a fact. My +brother belongs to the municipal council, and it’s through him that I +know it. I must tell you first of all that we now have a Republican +municipal council, which is much worried by the demoralisation of the +town. You can no longer go out at night without meeting girls in the +streets--you know, those candle hawkers! They gad about with the drivers +who come here when the season commences, and swell the suspicious +floating population which comes no one knows whence. And I must also +explain to you the position of the Fathers towards the town. When they +purchased the land at the Grotto they signed an agreement by which they +undertook not to engage in any business there. Well, they have opened a +shop in spite of their signature. Is not that an unfair rivalry, unworthy +of honest people? So the new council decided on sending them a deputation +to insist on the agreement being respected, and enjoining them to close +their shop at once. What do you think they answered, monsieur? Oh! what +they have replied twenty times before, what they will always answer, when +they are reminded of their engagements: ‘Very well, we consent to keep +them, 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, his +eyes dilated by the enormity of the thing, he said, “‘We’ll close the +Grotto.’” + +Pierre, who was continuing his slow walk, suddenly stopped and said in +his face, “Well! the municipal council had only to answer, ‘Close it.’” + +At this Cazaban almost choked; the blood rushed to his face, he was +beside himself, and stammered out “Close the Grotto?--Close the Grotto?” + +“Certainly! As the Grotto irritates you and rends your heart; as it’s a +cause of continual warfare, injustice, and corruption. Everything would +be over, we should hear no more about it. That would really be a capital +solution, and if the council had the power it would render you a service +by forcing the Fathers to carry out their threat.” + +As Pierre went on speaking, Cazaban’s anger subsided. He became very calm +and somewhat pale, and in the depths of his big eyes the priest detected +an expression of increasing uneasiness. Had he not gone too far in his +passion against the Fathers? Many ecclesiastics did not like them; +perhaps this young priest was simply at Lourdes for the purpose of +stirring-up an agitation against them. Then who knows?--it might possibly +result in the Grotto being closed later on. But it was by the Grotto that +they all lived. If the old city screeched with rage at only picking up +the crumbs, it was well pleased to secure even that windfall; and the +freethinkers themselves, who coined money with the pilgrims, like +everyone else, held their tongues, ill at ease, and even frightened, when +they found people too much of their opinion with regard to the +objectionable features of new Lourdes. It was necessary to be prudent. + +Cazaban thereupon returned to M. de Guersaint, whose other cheek he began +shaving, murmuring the while in an off-hand manner: “Oh! what I say about +the 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 just +broken one of the bowls, and Pierre, glancing through the open doorway, +again noticed the engravings of religious subjects and the plaster Virgin +with which the hairdresser had ornamented the apartment in order to +please his lodgers. And just then, too, a voice shouted from the first +floor that the trunk was ready, and that they would be much obliged if +the assistant would cord it as soon as he returned. + +However, Cazaban, in the presence of these two gentlemen whom, as a +matter of fact, he did not know, remained suspicious and uneasy, his +brain haunted by all sorts of disquieting suppositions. He was in despair +at the idea of having to let them go away without learning anything about +them, especially after having exposed himself. If he had only been able +to withdraw the more rabid of his biting remarks about the Fathers. +Accordingly, when M. de Guersaint rose to wash his chin, he yielded to a +desire to renew the conversation. + +“Have you heard talk of yesterday’s miracle? The town is quite upside +down with it; more than twenty people have already given me an account of +what occurred. Yes, it seems they obtained an extraordinary miracle, a +paralytic young lady got up and dragged her invalid carriage as far as +the choir of the Basilica.” + +M. de Guersaint, who was about to sit down after wiping himself, gave a +complacent 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. de +Guersaint’s hair with a masterly touch, amid a returning exuberance of +speech and gesture. “Ah! monsieur, I congratulate you, I am flattered at +having you in my hands. Since the young lady your daughter is cured, your +father’s heart is at ease. Am I not right?” + +And he also found a few pleasant words for Pierre. Then, when he had +decided to let them go, he looked at the priest with an air of +conviction, and remarked, like a sensible man, desirous of coming to a +conclusion on the subject of miracles: “There are some, Monsieur l’Abbé, +which are good fortunes for everybody. From time to time we require one +of that description.” + +Outside, M. de Guersaint had to go and fetch the coachman, who was still +laughing with the servant-girl, while her dog, dripping with water, was +shaking itself in the sun. In five minutes the trap brought them back to +the bottom of the Plateau de la Merlasse. The trip had taken a good +half-hour. Pierre wanted to keep the conveyance, with the idea of showing +Marie the town without giving her too much fatigue. So, while the father +ran to the Grotto to fetch his daughter, he waited there beneath the +trees. + +The coachman at once engaged in conversation with the priest. He had lit +another cigarette and showed himself very familiar. He came from a +village in the environs of Toulouse, and did not complain, for he earned +good round sums each day at Lourdes. You fed well there, said he, you +amused yourself, it was what you might call a good neighbourhood. He said +these things with the _abandon_ of a man who was not troubled with +religious scruples, but yet did not forget the respect which he owed to +an 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 his +lips: “Ah! yes, Monsieur l’Abbé, Lourdes has caught on well, but the +question is whether it will all last long!” + +Pierre, who was very much struck by the remark, was pondering on its +involuntary profundity, when M. de Guersaint reappeared, bringing Marie +with him. He had found her kneeling on the same spot, in the same act of +faith and thankfulness, at the feet of the Blessed Virgin; and it seemed +as if she had brought all the brilliant light of the Grotto away in her +eyes, so vividly did they sparkle with divine joy at her cure. She would +not entertain a proposal to keep the trap. No, no! she preferred to go on +foot; she did not care about seeing the town, so long as she might for +another hour continue walking on her father’s arm through the gardens, +the streets, the squares, anywhere they pleased! And, when Pierre had +paid the driver, it was she who turned into a path of the Esplanade +garden, delighted at being able to saunter in this wise beside the turf +and the flower beds, under the great trees. The grass, the leaves, the +shady solitary walks where you heard the everlasting rippling of the +Gave, were so sweet and fresh! But afterwards she wished to return by way +of 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 former +Grotto was depicted, with Bernadette kneeling down before it on the day +of the miracle of the candle, the idea occurred to Pierre to go in. Marie +became as happy as a child; and even M. de Guersaint was full of innocent +delight, especially when he noticed that among the batch of pilgrims who +dived at the same time as themselves into the depths of the obscure +corridor, several recognised in his daughter the girl so miraculously +healed the day before, who was already famous, and whose name flew from +mouth to mouth. Up above, on the circular platform, when they came out +into the diffuse light, filtering through a vellum, there was a sort of +ovation around Marie; soft whispers, beatifical glances, a rapture of +delight in seeing, following, and touching her. Now glory had come, she +would be loved in that way wherever she went, and it was not until the +showman who gave the explanations had placed himself at the head of the +little party of visitors, and begun to walk round, relating the incident +depicted on the huge circular canvas, nearly five hundred feet in length, +that she was in some measure forgotten. The painting represented the +seventeenth apparition of the Blessed Virgin to Bernadette, on the day +when, kneeling before the Grotto during her vision, she had heedlessly +left her hand on the flame of the candle without burning it. The whole of +the old primitive landscape of the Grotto was shown, the whole scene was +set out with all its historical personages: the doctor verifying the +miracle watch in hand, the Mayor, the Commissary of Police, and the +Public Prosecutor, whose names the showman gave out, amidst the amazement +of the public following him. + +Then, by an unconscious transition of ideas, Pierre recalled the remark +which the driver of the cabriolet had made a short time previously: +“Lourdes has caught on well, but the question is whether it will all last +long.” That, in fact, was the question. How many venerated sanctuaries +had thus been built already, at the bidding of innocent chosen children, +to whom the Blessed Virgin had shown herself! It was always the same +story beginning afresh: an apparition; a persecuted shepherdess, who was +called a liar; next the covert propulsion of human misery hungering after +illusion; then propaganda, and the triumph of the sanctuary shining like +a star; and afterwards decline, and oblivion, when the ecstatic dream of +another visionary gave birth to another sanctuary elsewhere. It seemed as +if the power of illusion wore away; that it was necessary in the course +of centuries to displace it, set it amidst new scenery, under fresh +circumstances, in order to renew its force. La Salette had dethroned the +old wooden and stone Virgins that had healed; Lourdes had just dethroned +La Salette, pending the time when it would be dethroned itself by Our +Lady of to-morrow, she who will show her sweet, consoling features to +some 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, no +falsehood, merely the blossoming of suffering, a delicate sick child who +brought to the afflicted multitude her dream of justice and equality in +the miraculous. She was merely eternal hope, eternal consolation. +Besides, all historical and social circumstances seem to have combined to +increase the need of this mystical flight at the close of a terrible +century of positivist inquiry; and that was perhaps the reason why +Lourdes would still long endure in its triumph, before becoming a mere +legend, one of those dead religions whose powerful perfume has +evaporated. + +Ah! that ancient Lourdes, that city of peace and belief, the only +possible cradle where the legend could come into being, how easily Pierre +conjured it up before him, whilst walking round the vast canvas of the +Panorama! That canvas said everything; it was the best lesson of things +that could be seen. The monotonous explanations of the showman were not +heard; the landscape spoke for itself. First of all there was the Grotto, +the rocky hollow beside the Gave, a savage spot suitable for +reverie--bushy slopes and heaps of fallen stone, without a path among +them; and nothing yet in the way of ornamentation--no monumental quay, no +garden paths winding among trimly cut shrubs; no Grotto set in order, +deformed, enclosed with iron railings; above all, no shop for the sale of +religious articles, that simony shop which was the scandal of all pious +souls. The Virgin could not have selected a more solitary and charming +nook wherein to show herself to the chosen one of her heart, the poor +young girl who came thither still possessed by the dream of her painful +nights, even whilst gathering dead wood. And on the opposite side of the +Gave, behind the rock of the castle, was old Lourdes, confident and +asleep. Another age was then conjured up; a small town, with narrow +pebble-paved streets, black houses with marble dressings, and an antique, +semi-Spanish church, full of old carvings, and peopled with visions of +gold and painted flesh. Communication with other places was only kept up +by the Bagnères and Cauterets _diligences_, which twice a day forded the +Lapaca to climb the steep causeway of the Rue Basse. The spirit of the +century had not breathed on those peaceful roofs sheltering a belated +population which had remained childish, enclosed within the narrow limits +of strict religious discipline. There was no debauchery; a slow antique +commerce sufficed for daily life, a poor life whose hardships were the +safeguards of morality. And Pierre had never better understood how +Bernadette, born in that land of faith and honesty, had flowered like a +natural rose, budding on the briars of the road. + +“It’s all the same very curious,” observed M. de Guersaint when they +found themselves in the street again. “I’m not at all sorry I saw it.” + +Marie was also laughing with pleasure. “One would almost think oneself +there. Isn’t it so, father? At times it seems as if the people were going +to 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 must +think of making our purchases, if we wish to buy anything. Shall we take +a look at the shops? We certainly promised Majesté to give him the +preference; 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 give +us a walk.” + +And he thereupon followed the young girl and her father, who returned to +the Plateau de la Merlasse. Since he had quitted the Panorama he felt as +though he no longer knew where he was. It seemed to him as if he had all +at 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 into +new Lourdes, sparkling with brightness and noisy with the crowd. Ten +o’clock had just struck, and extraordinary animation reigned on the +footways, where before breakfast an entire people was hastening to +complete its purchases, so that it might have nothing but its departure +to think of afterwards. The thousands of pilgrims of the national +pilgrimage streamed along the thoroughfares and besieged the shops in a +final scramble. You would have taken the cries, the jostling, and the +sudden rushes for those at some fair just breaking up amidst a ceaseless +roll of vehicles. Many, providing themselves with provisions for the +journey, cleared the open-air stalls where bread and slices of sausages +and ham were sold. Others purchased fruit and wine; baskets were filled +with bottles and greasy parcels until they almost burst. A hawker who was +wheeling some cheeses about on a small truck saw his goods carried off as +if swept away by the wind. But what the crowd more particularly purchased +were religious articles, and those hawkers whose barrows were loaded with +statuettes and sacred engravings were reaping golden gains. The customers +at the shops stood in strings on the pavement; the women were belted with +immense chaplets, had Blessed Virgins tucked under their arms, and were +provided with cans which they meant to fill at the miraculous spring. +Carried in the hand or slung from the shoulder, some of them quite plain +and others daubed over with a Lady of Lourdes in blue paint, these cans +held from one to ten quarts apiece; and, shining with all the brightness +of 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 fever +of dealing, the pleasure of spending one’s money, of returning home with +one’s pockets crammed with photographs and medals, lit up all faces with +a holiday expression, transforming the radiant gathering into a +fair-field crowd with appetites either beyond control or satisfied. + +On the Plateau de la Merlasse, M. de Guersaint for a moment felt tempted +to enter one of the finest and most patronised shops, on the board over +which were these words in large letters: “Soubirous, Brother of +Bernadette.” + +“Eh! what if we were to make our purchases there? It would be more +appropriate, more interesting to remember.” + +However, he passed on, repeating that they must see everything first of +all. + +Pierre had looked at the shop kept by Bernadette’s brother with a heavy +heart. It grieved him to find the brother selling the Blessed Virgin whom +the sister had beheld. However, it was necessary to live, and he had +reason to believe that, beside the triumphant Basilica resplendent with +gold, the visionary’s relatives were not making a fortune, the +competition being so terrible. If on the one hand the pilgrims left +millions behind them at Lourdes, on the other there were more than two +hundred dealers in religious articles, to say nothing of the hotel and +lodging-house keepers, to whom the largest part of the spoils fell; and +thus the gain, so eagerly disputed, ended by being moderate enough after +all. Along the Plateau on the right and left of the repository kept by +Bernadette’s brother, other shops appeared, an uninterrupted row of them, +pressing one against the other, each occupying a division of a long +wooden structure, a sort of gallery erected by the town, which derived +from it some sixty thousand francs a year. It formed a regular bazaar of +open stalls, encroaching on the pavements so as to tempt people to stop +as they passed along. For more than three hundred yards no other trade +was plied: a river of chaplets, medals, and statuettes streamed without +end behind the windows; and in enormous letters on the boards above +appeared the venerated names of Saint Roch, Saint Joseph, Jerusalem, The +Immaculate Virgin, The Sacred Heart of Mary, all the names in Paradise +that were most likely to touch and attract customers. + +“Really,” said M. de Guersaint, “I think it’s the same thing all over the +place. Let us go anywhere.” He himself had had enough of it, this +interminable display was quite exhausting him. + +“But as you promised to make the purchases at Majesté’s,” said Marie, who +was not, in the least tired, “the best thing will be to go back.” + +“That’s it; let’s return to Majesté’s place.” + +But the rows of shops began again in the Avenue de la Grotte. They +swarmed on both sides; and among them here were jewellers, drapers, and +umbrella-makers, who also dealt in religious articles. There was even a +confectioner who sold boxes of pastilles _à l’eau de Lourdes_, with a +figure of the Virgin on the cover. A photographer’s windows were crammed +with views of the Grotto and the Basilica, and portraits of Bishops and +reverend Fathers of all Orders, mixed up with views of famous sites in +the neighbouring mountains. A bookseller displayed the last Catholic +publications, volumes bearing devout titles, and among them the +innumerable works published on Lourdes during the last twenty years, some +of which had had a wonderful success, which was still fresh in memory. In +this broad, populous thoroughfare the crowd streamed along in more open +order; their cans jingled, everyone was in high spirits, amid the bright +sunrays which enfiladed the road from one end to the other. And it seemed +as if there would never be a finish to the statuettes, the medals, and +the chaplets; one display followed another; and, indeed, there were miles +of them running through the streets of the entire town, which was ever +the 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, one +of the largest in the street, occupying the ground-floor of the hotel on +the left hand. M. de Guersaint and Pierre followed her. + +Apolline, the niece of the Majestés, who was in charge of the place, was +standing on a stool, taking some holy-water vases from a top shelf to +show them to a young man, an elegant bearer, wearing beautiful yellow +gaiters. She was laughing with the cooing sound of a dove, and looked +charming with her thick black hair and her superb eyes, set in a somewhat +square face, which had a straight forehead, chubby cheeks, and full red +lips. Jumping lightly to the ground, she exclaimed: “Then you don’t think +that 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 the +miracle of whom Madame Majesté had been talking ever since the previous +day, she became extremely attentive. She looked at her with her merry +smile, in which there was a dash of surprise and covert incredulity. +However, like the clever saleswoman that she was, she was profuse in +complimentary remarks. “Ah, mademoiselle, I shall be so happy to sell to +you! Your miracle is so beautiful! Look, the whole shop is at your +disposal. We have the largest choice.” + +Marie was ill at ease. “Thank you,” she replied, “you are very good. But +we 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, returned +to her duties as a pretty saleswoman, with caressing words and seductive +glances, especially for the gentlemen, whom she never allowed to leave +until they had their pockets full of purchases. + +M. de Guersaint had only two francs left of the louis which Blanche, his +eldest daughter, had slipped into his hand when he was leaving, as +pocket-money; and so he did not dare to make any large selection. But +Pierre declared that they would cause him great pain if they did not +allow him to offer them the few things which they would like to take away +with them from Lourdes. It was therefore understood that they would first +of all choose a present for Blanche, and then Marie and her father should +select 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 please +Blanche?” + +All three looked, searched, and rummaged. But their indecision increased +as they went from one object to another. With its counters, show-cases, +and nests of drawers, furnishing it from top to bottom, the spacious shop +was a sea of endless billows, overflowing with all the religious +knick-knacks imaginable. There were the chaplets: skeins of chaplets +hanging along the walls, and heaps of chaplets lying in the drawers, from +humble ones costing twenty sous 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 carved +beads, as large as walnuts, separated by death’s-heads. Then there were +the medals: a shower of medals, boxes full of medals, of all sizes, of +all metals, the cheapest and the most precious. They bore different +inscriptions, they represented the Basilica, the Grotto, or the +Immaculate Conception; they were engraved, _repoussées_, or enamelled, +executed with care, or made by the gross, according to the price. And +next there were the Blessed Virgins, great and small, in zinc, wood, +ivory, and especially plaster; some entirely white, others tinted in +bright colours, in accordance with the description given by Bernadette; +the amiable and smiling face, the extremely long veil, the blue sash, and +the golden roses on the feet, there being, however, some slight +modification in each model so as to guarantee the copyright. And there +was another flood of other religious objects: a hundred varieties of +scapularies, a thousand different sorts of sacred pictures: fine +engravings, large chromo-lithographs in glaring colours, submerged +beneath a mass of smaller pictures, which were coloured, gilded, +varnished, decorated with bouquets of flowers, and bordered with lace +paper. 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 all +the rest: pencil-holders, purses, cigar-holders, paperweights, +paper-knives, even snuff-boxes; and innumerable other objects on which +the Basilica, Grotto, and Blessed Virgin ever and ever appeared, +reproduced in every way, by every process that is known. Heaped together +pell-mell in one of the cases reserved to articles at fifty centimes +apiece were napkin-rings, egg-cups, and wooden pipes, on which was carved +the beaming apparition of Our Lady of Lourdes. + +Little by little, M. de Guersaint, with the annoyance of a man who prides +himself on being an artist, became disgusted and quite sad. “But all this +is frightful, frightful!” he repeated at every new article he took up to +look at. + +Then he relieved himself by reminding Pierre of the ruinous attempt which +he had made to improve the artistic quality of religious prints. The +remains of his fortune had been lost in that attempt, and the thought +made him all the more angry, in presence of the wretched productions with +which the shop was crammed. Had anyone ever seen things of such idiotic, +pretentious, and complicated ugliness! The vulgarity of the ideas and the +silliness of the expressions portrayed rivalled the commonplace character +of the composition. You were reminded of fashion-plates, the covers of +boxes 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 the +architect, who was wound up, could not stop, but went on to express his +disgust with the buildings of new Lourdes, the pitiable disfigurement of +the Grotto, the colossal monstrosity of the inclined ways, the disastrous +lack of symmetry in the church of the Rosary and the Basilica, the former +looking too heavy, like a corn market, whilst the latter had an anaemical +structural leanness with no kind of style but the mongrel. + +“Ah! one must really be very fond of God,” he at last concluded, “to have +courage enough to come and adore Him amidst such horrors! They have +failed in everything, spoilt everything, as though out of pleasure. Not +one of them has experienced that moment of true feeling, of real +naturalness and sincere faith, which gives birth to masterpieces. They +are all clever people, but all plagiarists; not one has given his mind +and being to the undertaking. And what must they not require to inspire +them, since they have failed to produce anything grand even in this land +of 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 he +had experienced ever since his arrival at Lourdes. This discomfort arose +from the difference between the modern surroundings and the faith of past +ages which it sought to resuscitate. He thought of the old cathedrals +where quivered that faith of nations; he pictured the former attributes +of worship--the images, the goldsmith’s work, the saints in wood and +stone--all of admirable power and beauty of expression. The fact was that +in those ancient times the workmen had been true believers, had given +their whole souls and bodies and all the candour of their feelings to +their productions, just as M. de Guersaint said. But nowadays architects +built churches with the same practical tranquillity that they erected +five-storey houses, just as the religious articles, the chaplets, the +medals, and the statuettes were manufactured by the gross in the populous +quarters of Paris by merrymaking workmen who did not even follow their +religion. And thus what slopwork, what toymakers’, ironmongers’ stuff it +all was! of a prettiness fit to make you cry, a silly sentimentality fit +to make your heart turn with disgust! Lourdes was inundated, devastated, +disfigured by it all to such a point as to quite upset persons with any +delicacy of taste who happened to stray through its streets. It clashed +jarringly with the attempted resuscitation of the legends, ceremonies, +and processions of dead ages; and all at once it occurred to Pierre that +the social and historical condemnation of Lourdes lay in this, that faith +is forever dead among a people when it no longer introduces it into the +churches it builds or the chaplets it manufactures. + +However, Marie had continued examining the shelves with the impatience of +a child, hesitating, and finding nothing which seemed to her worthy of +the great dream of ecstasy which she would ever keep within her. + +“Father,” she said, “it is getting late; you must take me back to the +hospital; and to make up my mind, look, I will give Blanche this medal +with the silver chain. After all it’s the most simple and prettiest thing +here. She will wear it; it will make her a little piece of jewellery. As +for myself, I will take this statuette of Our Lady of Lourdes, this small +one, which is rather prettily painted. I shall place it in my room and +surround it with fresh flowers. It will be very nice, will it not?” + +M. de Guersaint approved of her idea, and then busied himself with his +own choice. “O dear! oh dear! how embarrassed I am!” said he. + +He was examining some ivory-handled penholders capped with pea-like +balls, in which were microscopic photographs, and while bringing one of +the little holes to his eye to look in it he raised an exclamation of +mingled surprise and pleasure. “Hallo! here’s the Cirque de Gavarnie! Ah! +it’s prodigious; everything is there; how can that colossal panorama have +been got into so small a space? Come, I’ll take this penholder; it’s +curious, and will remind me of my excursion.” + +Pierre had simply chosen a portrait of Bernadette, the large photograph +which represents her on her knees in a black gown, with a handkerchief +tied over her hair, and which is said to be the only one in existence +taken from life. He hastened to pay, and they were all three on the point +of leaving when Madame Majesté entered, protested, and positively +insisted on making Marie a little present, saying that it would bring her +establishment good-fortune. “I beg of you, mademoiselle, take a +scapulary,” said she. “Look among those there. The Blessed Virgin who +chose you will repay me in good luck.” + +She raised her voice and made so much fuss that the purchasers filling +the shop were interested, and began gazing at the girl with envious eyes. +It was popularity bursting out again around her, a popularity which ended +even by reaching the street when the landlady went to the threshold of +the shop, making signs to the tradespeople opposite and putting all the +neighbourhood 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! Monsieur +l’Abbé des Hermoises!” + +It was in fact the handsome Abbé, clad in a cassock of fine cloth +emitting a pleasant odour, and with an expression of soft gaiety on his +fresh-coloured face. He had not noticed his companion of the previous +day, but had gone straight to Apolline and taken her on one side. And +Pierre overheard him saying in a subdued tone: “Why didn’t you bring me +my three-dozen chaplets this morning?” + +Apolline again began laughing with the cooing notes of a dove, and looked +at him sideways, roguishly, without answering. + +“They are for my little penitents at Toulouse. I wanted to place them at +the 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, at +Duchêne’s.” + +Thereupon, with a slight movement of her red lips, and in a somewhat +bantering way, which left him in doubt as to whether she would keep her +promise, she replied: “Certainly, Monsieur l’Abbé, I will go.” + +They were now interrupted by M. de Guersaint, who came forward to shake +the priest’s hand. And the two men at once began talking again of the +Cirque de Gavarnie: they had had a delightful trip, a most pleasant time, +which they would never forget. Then they enjoyed a laugh at the expense +of their two companions, ecclesiastics of slender means, good-natured +fellows, who had much amused them. And the architect ended by reminding +his new friend that he had kindly promised to induce a personage at +Toulouse, who was ten times a millionaire, to interest himself in his +studies on navigable balloons. “A first advance of a hundred thousand +francs would be sufficient,” he said. + +“You can rely on me,” answered Abbé des Hermoises. “You will not have +prayed to the Blessed Virgin in vain.” + +However, Pierre, who had kept Bernadette’s portrait in his hand, had just +then been struck by the extraordinary likeness between Apolline and the +visionary. It was the same rather massive face, the same full thick +mouth, and the same magnificent eyes; and he recollected that Madame +Majesté had already pointed out to him this striking resemblance, which +was all the more peculiar as Apolline had passed through a similar +poverty-stricken childhood at Bartres before her aunt had taken her with +her to assist in keeping the shop. Bernadette! Apolline! What a strange +association, what an unexpected reincarnation at thirty years’ distance! +And, all at once, with this Apolline, who was so flightily merry and +careless, and in regard to whom there were so many odd rumours, new +Lourdes rose before his eyes: the coachmen, the candle-girls, the persons +who let rooms and waylaid tenants at the railway station, the hundreds of +furnished houses with discreet little lodgings, the crowd of free +priests, the lady hospitallers, and the simple passers-by, who came there +to satisfy their appetites. Then, too, there was the trading mania +excited by the shower of millions, the entire town given up to lucre, the +shops transforming the streets into bazaars which devoured one another, +the hotels living gluttonously on the pilgrims, even to the Blue Sisters +who kept a _table d’hôte_, and the Fathers of the Grotto who coined money +with their God! What a sad and frightful course of events, the vision of +pure Bernadette inflaming multitudes, making them rush to the illusion of +happiness, bringing a river of gold to the town, and from that moment +rotting everything. The breath of superstition had sufficed to make +humanity flock thither, to attract abundance of money, and to corrupt +this honest corner of the earth forever. Where the candid lily had +formerly bloomed there now grew the carnal rose, in the new loam of +cupidity and enjoyment. Bethlehem had become Sodom since an innocent +child had seen the Virgin. + +“Eh? What did I tell you?” exclaimed Madame Majesté, perceiving that +Pierre was comparing her niece with the portrait. “Apolline is Bernadette +all over!” + +The young girl approached with her amiable smile, flattered at first by +the comparison. + +“Let’s see, let’s see!” said Abbé des Hermoises, with an air of lively +interest. + +He took the photograph in his turn, compared it with the girl, and then +exclaimed in amazement: “It’s wonderful; the same features. I had not +noticed it before. Really I’m delighted--” + +“Still I fancy she had a larger nose,” Apolline ended by remarking. + +The Abbé then raised an exclamation of irresistible admiration: “Oh! you +are 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 so +peculiar. Ah! poor Bernadette was absolutely dead, and she had no sister. +She could not have been born again; it would have been impossible for her +to 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 agreed +that they would both call and fetch her at the hospital to go to the +station together. More than fifty people were awaiting her in the street +in a state of ecstasy. They bowed to her and followed her; and one woman +even 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 at +three-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 when +it had come from Paris, and since it had been run into the station again +white flags had been waving from the foremost and hindmost of its +carriages, 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 leave +that day. The green train had started off at ten o’clock, followed by the +pink and the yellow trains, and the others--the orange, the grey, and the +blue--would start in turn after the white train had taken its departure. +It was, indeed, another terrible day’s work for the station staff, amidst +a tumult and a scramble which altogether distracted them. + +However, the departure of the white train was always the event of the day +which provoked most interest and emotion, for it took away with it all +the more afflicted patients, amongst whom were naturally those loved by +the Virgin and chosen by her for the miraculous cures. Accordingly, a +large, serried crowd was collected under the roofing of the spacious +platform, a hundred yards in length, where all the benches were already +covered with waiting pilgrims and their parcels. In the refreshment-room, +at one end of the buildings, men were drinking beer and women ordering +lemonade at the little tables which had been taken by assault, whilst at +the other end bearers stood on guard at the goods entrance so as to keep +the way clear for the speedy passage of the patients, who would soon be +arriving. And all along the broad platform there was incessant coming and +going, poor people rushing hither and thither in bewilderment, priests +trotting along to render assistance, gentlemen in frock-coats looking on +with quiet inquisitiveness: indeed, all the jumbling and jostling of the +most mixed, most variegated throng ever elbowed in a railway station. + +At three o’clock, however, the sick had not yet reached the station, and +Baron Suire was in despair, his anxiety arising from the dearth of +horses, for a number of unexpected tourists had arrived at Lourdes that +morning and hired conveyances for Bareges, Cauterets, and Gavarnie. At +last, however, the Baron espied Berthaud and Gérard arriving in all +haste, after scouring the town; and when he had rushed up to them they +soon pacified him by announcing that things were going splendidly. They +had been able to procure the needful animals, and the removal of the +patients from the hospital was now being carried out under the most +favorable circumstances. Squads of bearers with their stretchers and +little carts were already in the station yard, watching for the arrival +of the vans, breaks, and other vehicles which had been recruited. A +reserve supply of mattresses and cushions was, moreover, heaped up beside +a lamp-post. Nevertheless, just as the first patients arrived, Baron +Suire again lost his head, whilst Berthaud and Gérard hastened to the +platform from which the train would start. There they began to +superintend matters, and gave orders amidst an increasing scramble. + +Father Fourcade was on this platform, walking up and down alongside the +train, on Father Massias’s arm. Seeing Doctor Bonamy approach, he stopped +short 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 now +of the extraordinary favor granted by the Blessed Virgin to that +interesting young person, Mademoiselle Marie de Guersaint. There has not +been such a brilliant miracle for years! It is signal good-fortune for +us--a blessing which should render our labours fruitful. All Christendom +will be illumined, comforted, enriched by it.” + +He was radiant with pleasure, and forthwith the doctor with his +clean-shaven face, heavy, peaceful features, and usually tired eyes, also +began to exult: “Yes, your reverence, it is prodigious, prodigious! I +shall write a pamphlet about it. Never was cure produced by supernatural +means 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, he +noticed that Father Fourcade was dragging his leg with increased +difficulty, leaning heavily the while on his companion’s arm. “Is your +attack of gout worse, your reverence?” he inquired. “You seem to be +suffering a great deal.” + +“Oh! don’t speak of it; I wasn’t able to close my eyes all night! It is +very annoying that this attack should have come on me the very day of my +arrival here! It might as well have waited. But there is nothing to be +done, so don’t let us talk of it any more. I am, at all events, very +pleased with this year’s result.” + +“Ah! yes, yes indeed,” in his turn said Father Massias, in a voice which +quivered with fervour; “we may all feel proud, and go away with our +hearts full of enthusiasm and gratitude. How many prodigies there have +been, in addition to the healing of that young woman you spoke of! There +is no counting all the miracles: deaf women and dumb women have recovered +their faculties, faces disfigured by sores have become as smooth as the +hand, 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 of +glory, that I am about to take back to Paris!” + +He had ceased to see the ailing creatures around him, and in the +blindness 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 who +bowed to them, and at times again stopping to address a kind word to some +mournful woman who, pale and shivering, passed by upon a stretcher. They +boldly declared that she was looking much better, and would assuredly +soon get well. + +However, the station-master, who was incessantly bustling about, passed +by, 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 it +was, at all events, necessary to deposit the stretchers on the platform +before hoisting the patients into the carriages, he became quite angry: +“But, come, come; is it reasonable?” he asked. “Look at that little +hand-cart which has been left on the rails over yonder. I expect the +train to Toulouse in a few minutes. Do you want your people to be crushed +to death?” + +Then he went off at a run to instruct some porters to keep the bewildered +flock of pilgrims away from the rails. Many of them, old and simple +people, did not even recognise the colour of their train, and this was +the reason why one and all wore cards of some particular hue hanging from +their necks, so that they might be led and entrained like marked cattle. +And what a constant state of excitement it was, with the starting of +these 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 the +platform. He was alone, for Marie had expressed an ardent desire to kneel +once more at the Grotto, so that her soul might burn with gratitude +before the Blessed Virgin until the last moment; and so he had left M. de +Guersaint to conduct her thither whilst he himself settled the hotel +bill. Moreover, he had made them promise that they would take a fly to +the station, and they would certainly arrive within a quarter of an hour. +Meantime, his idea was to seek their carriage, and there rid himself of +his valise. This, however, was not an easy task, and he only recognised +the carriage eventually by the placard which had been swinging from it in +the sunlight and the storms during the last three days--a square of +pasteboard bearing the names of Madame de Jonquière and Sisters Hyacinthe +and Claire des Anges. There could be no mistake, and Pierre again +pictured the compartments full of his travelling companions. Some +cushions already marked M. Sabathier’s corner, and on the seat where +Marie had experienced such suffering he still found some scratches caused +by the ironwork of her box. Then, having deposited his valise in his own +place, he remained on the platform waiting and looking around him, with a +slight feeling of surprise at not perceiving Doctor Chassaigne, who had +promised 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. The +station, of which he had caught but a glimpse, in the livid dawn amidst +the anguish of the terrible morning of their arrival, now surprised him +by its spacious platforms, its broad exits, and its clear gaiety. He +could not see the mountains, but some verdant slopes rose up on the other +side, in front of the waiting-rooms; and that afternoon the weather was +delightfully mild, the sky of a milky whiteness, with light fleecy clouds +veiling the sun, whence there fell a broad diffuse light, like a +nacreous, pearly dust: “maiden’s weather,” as country folk are wont to +say. + +The big clock had just struck three, and Pierre was looking at it when he +saw Madame Désagneaux and Madame Volmar arrive, followed by Madame de +Jonquière and her daughter. These ladies, who had driven from the +hospital in a landau, at once began looking for their carriage, and it +was Raymonde who first recognised the first-class compartment in which +she had travelled from Paris. “Mamma, mamma, here; here it is!” she +called. “Stay a little while with us; you have plenty of time to install +yourself among your patients, since they haven’t yet arrived.” + +Pierre now again found himself face to face with Madame Volmar, and their +glances met. However, he gave no sign of recognition, and on her side +there was but a slight sudden drooping of the eyelids. She had again +assumed the air of a languid, indolent, black-robed woman, who modestly +shrinks back, well pleased to escape notice. Her brasier-like eyes no +longer glowed; it was only at long intervals that they kindled into a +spark beneath the veil of indifference, the moire-like shade, which +dimmed them. + +“Oh! it was a fearful sick headache!” she was repeating to Madame +Désagneaux. “And, you can see, I’ve hardly recovered the use of my poor +head yet. It’s the journey which brings it on. It’s the same thing every +year.” + +However, Berthaud and Gérard, who had just perceived the ladies, were +hurrying up to them. That morning they had presented themselves at the +Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours, and Madame de Jonquière had received +them in a little office near the linen-room. Thereupon, apologising with +smiling affability for making his request amidst such a hurly-burly, +Berthaud had solicited the hand of Mademoiselle Raymonde for his cousin, +Gérard. They at once felt themselves at ease, the mother, with some show +of emotion, saying that Lourdes would bring the young couple good luck. +And so the marriage was arranged in a few words, amidst general +satisfaction. A meeting was even appointed for the fifteenth of September +at the Château of Berneville, near Caen, an estate belonging to +Raymonde’s uncle, the diplomatist, whom Berthaud knew, and to whom he +promised to introduce Gérard. Then Raymonde was summoned, and blushed +with pleasure as she placed her little hand in those of her betrothed. + +Binding her now upon the platform, the latter began paying her every +attention, and asking, “Would you like some pillows for the night? Don’t +make any ceremony about it; I can give you plenty, both for yourself and +for these ladies who are accompanying you.” + +However, Raymonde gaily refused the offer, “No, no,” said she, “we are +not so delicate. Keep them for the poor sufferers.” + +All the ladies were now talking together. Madame de Jonquière declared +that she was so tired, so tired that she no longer felt alive; and yet +she displayed great happiness, her eyes smiling as she glanced at her +daughter and the young man she was engaged to. But neither Berthaud nor +Gérard could remain there; they had their duties to perform, and +accordingly took their leave, after reminding Madame de Jonquière and +Raymonde of the appointed meeting. It was understood, was it not, on +September 15th, at the Château of Berneville? Yes, yes, it was +understood! And then came fresh smiles and handshakes, whilst the eyes of +the newly engaged couple--caressing, delighted eyes--added all that they +dared not say aloud in the midst of such a throng. + +“What!” exclaimed little Madame Désagneaux, “you will go to Berneville on +the 15th? But if we stay at Trouville till the 10th, as my husband wishes +to 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 standing +near the party, and he fancied that she became confused, whilst an +expression of indescribable suffering passed over her lifeless face. + +The Sisters of the Assumption were now arriving, and the ladies joined +them in front of the cantine van. Ferrand, who had come with the Sisters +from the hospital, got into the van, and then helped Sister +Saint-François to mount upon the somewhat high footboard. Then he +remained standing on the threshold of the van--transformed into a kitchen +and containing all sorts of supplies for the journey, such as bread, +broth, milk, and chocolate,--whilst Sister Hyacinthe and Sister Claire +des Anges, who were still on the platform, passed him his little +medicine-chest and some small articles of luggage. + +“You are sure you have everything?” Sister Hyacinthe asked him. “All +right. Well, now you only have to go and lie down in your corner and get +to sleep, since you complain that your services are not utilised.” + +Ferrand began to laugh softly. “I shall help Sister Saint-François,” said +he. “I shall light the oil-stove, wash the crockery, carry the cups of +broth and milk to the patients whenever we stop, according to the +time-table hanging yonder; and if, all the same, you _should_ require a +doctor, you will please come to fetch me.” + +Sister Hyacinthe had also begun to laugh. “But we no longer require a +doctor since all our patients are cured,” she replied; and, fixing her +eyes on his, with her calm, sisterly air, she added, “Good-bye, Monsieur +Ferrand.” + +He smiled again, whilst a feeling of deep emotion brought moisture to his +eyes. The tremulous accents of his voice expressed his conviction that he +would never be able to forget this journey, his joy at having seen her +again, and the souvenir of divine and eternal affection which he was +taking away with him. “Good-bye, Sister,” said he. + +Then Madame de Jonquière talked of going to her carriage with Sister +Claire des Anges and Sister Hyacinthe; but the latter assured her that +there was no hurry, since the sick pilgrims were as yet scarcely +arriving. She left her, therefore, taking the other Sister with her, and +promising to see to everything. Moreover, she even insisted on ridding +the superintendent of her little bag, saying that she would find it on +her seat when it was time for her to come. Thus the ladies continued +walking and chatting gaily on the broad platform, where the atmosphere +was so pleasant. + +Pierre, however, his eyes fixed upon the big clock, watched the minutes +hasten by on the dial, and began to feel surprised at not seeing Marie +arrive with her father. It was to be hoped that M. de Guersaint would not +lose himself on the road! + +The young priest was still watching, when, to his surprise, he caught +sight of M. Vigneron, in a state of perfect exasperation, pushing his +wife and little Gustave furiously before him. + +“Oh, Monsieur l’Abbé,” he exclaimed, “tell me where our carriage is! Help +me to put our luggage and this child in it. I am at my wit’s end! They +have made me altogether lose my temper.” + +Then, on reaching the second-class compartment, he caught hold of +Pierre’s hands, just as the young man was about to place little Gustave +inside, and quite an outburst followed. “Could you believe it? They +insist on my starting. They tell me that my return-ticket will not be +available if I wait here till to-morrow. It was of no use my telling them +about the accident. As it is, it’s by no means pleasant to have to stay +with that corpse, watch over it, see it put in a coffin, and remove it +to-morrow within the regulation time. But they pretend that it doesn’t +concern them, that they already make large enough reductions on the +pilgrimage tickets, and that they can’t enter into any questions of +people 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 a +case of compulsion. What do they expect me to do with that corpse? I +can’t take it under my arm, and bring it them to-day, like an article of +luggage! 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 the +scramble. They were never able to find him. How could you have anything +done properly in such a bear-garden? Still, I mean to rout him out, and +give him a bit of my mind!” + +Then, perceiving his wife standing beside him motionless, glued as it +were to the platform, he cried: “What are you doing there? Get in, so +that 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 by +sores, and so full of pain, raised a faint cry. “Oh, my dear child, have +I hurt you?” asked Pierre. + +“No, no, Monsieur l’Abbé, but I’ve been moved about so much to-day, and +I’m very tired this afternoon.” As he spoke, he smiled with his usual +intelligent and mournful expression, and then, sinking back into his +corner, closed his eyes, exhausted, indeed done for, by this fearful trip +to Lourdes. + +“As you can very well understand,” now resumed M. Vigneron, “it by no +means amuses me to stay here, kicking my heels, while my wife and my son +go back to Paris without me. They have to go, however, for life at the +hotel is no longer bearable; and besides, if I kept them with me, and the +railway people won’t listen to reason, I should have to pay three extra +fares. And to make matters worse, my wife hasn’t got much brains. I’m +afraid she won’t be able to manage things properly.” + +Then, almost breathless, he overwhelmed Madame Vigneron with the most +minute instructions--what she was to do during the journey, how she was +to get back home on arriving in Paris, and what steps she was to take if +Gustave was to have another attack. Somewhat scared, she responded, in +all 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,” he +shouted, “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 he +noticed Gustave’s crutch lying on the platform. This was disastrous, and +he raised his eyes to heaven as though to call Providence to witness that +he would never be able to extricate himself from such awful +complications. 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 the +occasion of their arrival, there was plenty of disorderly carting along +the platform and across the lines. All the abominable ailments, all the +sores, all the deformities, went past once more, neither their gravity +nor their number seeming to have decreased; for the few cures which had +been effected were but a faint inappreciable gleam of light amidst the +general mourning. They were taken back as they had come. The little +carts, laden with helpless old women with their bags at their feet, +grated over the rails. The stretchers on which you saw inflated bodies +and pale faces with glittering eyes, swayed amidst the jostling of the +throng. There was wild and senseless haste, indescribable confusion, +questions, calls, sudden running, all the whirling of a flock which +cannot find the entrance to the pen. And the bearers ended by losing +their heads, no longer knowing which direction to take amidst the warning +cries of the porters, who at each moment were frightening people, +distracting them with anguish. “Take care, take care over there! Make +haste! No, no, don’t cross! The Toulouse train, the Toulouse train!” + +Retracing his steps, Pierre again perceived the ladies, Madame de +Jonquière and the others, still gaily chatting together. Lingering near +them, he listened to Berthaud, whom Father Fourcade had stopped, to +congratulate him on the good order which had been maintained throughout +the pilgrimage. The ex-public prosecutor was now bowing his thanks, +feeling quite flattered by this praise. “Is it not a lesson for their +Republic, your reverence?” he asked. “People get killed in Paris when +such crowds as these celebrate some bloody anniversary of their hateful +history. They ought to come and take a lesson here.” + +He was delighted with the thought of being disagreeable to the Government +which had compelled him to resign. He was never so happy as when women +were just saved from being knocked over amidst the great concourse of +believers at Lourdes. However, he did not seem to be satisfied with the +results of the political propaganda which he came to further there, +during three days, every year. Fits of impatience came over him, things +did not move fast enough. When did Our Lady of Lourdes mean to bring back +the 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_. I +shall cease dreaming, I shall devote myself to that entirely. Ah! if one +could only create a Catholic democracy!” + +Father Fourcade had become very grave. His fine, intelligent eyes filled +with a dreamy expression, and wandered far away. How many times already +had he himself made the creation of that new people the object of his +efforts! But was not the breath of a new Messiah needed for the +accomplishment of such a task? “Yes, yes,” he murmured, “a Catholic +democracy; ah! the history of humanity would begin afresh!” + +But Father Massias interrupted him in a passionate voice, saying that all +the nations of the earth would end by coming; whilst Doctor Bonamy, who +already detected a slight subsidence of fervour among the pilgrims, +wagged his head and expressed the opinion that the faithful ones of the +Grotto ought to increase their zeal. To his mind, success especially +depended on the greatest possible measure of publicity being given to the +miracles. And he assumed a radiant air and laughed complacently whilst +pointing to the tumultuous _défile_ of the sick. “Look at them!” said he. +“Don’t they go off looking better? There are a great many who, although +they don’t appear to be cured, are nevertheless carrying the germs of +cure 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 of +Lourdes!” + +However, he had to check himself, for Madame Dieulafay was passing before +them, in her box lined with quilted silk. She was deposited in front of +the door of the first-class carriage, in which a maid was already placing +the luggage. Pity came to all who beheld the unhappy woman, for she did +not seem to have awakened from her prostration during her three days’ +sojourn at Lourdes. What she had been when they had removed her from the +carriage on the morning of her arrival, that she also was now when the +bearers were about to place her inside it again--clad in lace, covered +with jewels, still with the lifeless, imbecile face of a mummy slowly +liquefying; and, indeed, one might have thought that she had become yet +more wasted, that she was being taken back diminished, shrunken more and +more to the proportions of a child, by the march of that horrible disease +which, after destroying her bones, was now dissolving the softened fibres +of her muscles. Inconsolable, bowed down by the loss of their last hope, +her husband and sister, their eyes red, were following her with Abbé +Judaine, even as one follows a corpse to the grave. + +“No, no! not yet!” said the old priest to the bearers, in order to +prevent them from placing the box in the carriage. “She will have time +enough to roll along in there. Let her have the warmth of that lovely sky +above her till the last possible moment.” + +Then, seeing Pierre near him, he drew him a few steps aside, and, in a +voice broken by grief, resumed: “Ah! I am indeed distressed. Again this +morning I had a hope. I had her taken to the Grotto, I said my mass for +her, 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 this +beautiful, young, and wealthy woman, whose life ought to be a continual +_fête_. Undoubtedly the Blessed Virgin knows what she ought to do better +than ourselves, and I bow and bless her name. Nevertheless, my soul is +full of frightful sadness.” + +He did not tell everything; he did not confess the thought which was +upsetting him, simple, childish, worthy man that he was, whose life had +never been troubled by either passion or doubt. But his thought was that +those poor weeping people, the husband and the sister, had too many +millions, that the presents they had brought were too costly, that they +had given far too much money to the Basilica. A miracle is not to be +bought. The wealth of the world is a hindrance rather than an advantage +when you address yourself to God. Assuredly, if the Blessed Virgin had +turned a deaf ear to their entreaties, had shown them but a stern, cold +countenance, it was in order that she might the more attentively listen +to the weak voices of the lowly ones who had come to her with empty +hands, with no other wealth than their love, and these she had loaded +with grace, flooded with the glowing affection of her Divine Motherhood. +And those poor wealthy ones, who had not been heard, that sister and that +husband, both so wretched beside the sorry body they were taking away +with them, they themselves felt like pariahs among the throng of the +humble who had been consoled or healed; they seemed embarrassed by their +very luxury, and recoiled, awkward and ill at ease, covered with shame at +the thought that Our Lady of Lourdes had relieved beggars whilst never +casting a glance upon that beautiful and powerful lady agonising unto +death amidst all her lace! + +All at once it occurred to Pierre that he might have missed seeing M. de +Guersaint and Marie arrive, and that they were perhaps already in the +carriage. He returned thither, but there was still only his valise on the +seat. Sister Hyacinthe and Sister Claire des Anges, however, had begun to +install themselves, pending the arrival of their charges, and as Gérard +just then brought up M. Sabathier in a little handcart, Pierre helped to +place him in the carriage, a laborious task which put both the young +priest and Gérard into a perspiration. The ex-professor, who looked +disconsolate though very calm, at once settled himself in his corner. + +“Thank you, gentlemen,” said he. “That’s over, thank goodness. And now +they’ll only have to take me out at Paris.” + +After wrapping a rug round his legs, Madame Sabathier, who was also +there, 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 other +day, you know. She’s a very unhappy little woman.” + +Then, in an obliging spirit, she called to her and offered to watch over +her things. But Madame Maze shook her head, laughed, and gesticulated as +though 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 and +Madame 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 had +plunged her. And, at last, her joy overflowing, she raised a cry: “I am +going off with him! Yes, he has come to fetch me, he is taking me with +him. Yes, yes, we are going to Luchon together, together!” + +Then, with a rapturous glance, she pointed out a dark, sturdy-looking +young man, with gay eyes and bright red lips, who was purchasing some +newspapers. “There! that’s my husband,” said she, “that handsome man +who’s laughing over there with the newspaper-girl. He turned up here +early this morning, and he’s carrying me off. We shall take the Toulouse +train in a couple of minutes. Ah! dear madame, I told you of all my +worries, and you can understand my happiness, can’t you?” + +However, she could not remain silent, but again spoke of the frightful +letter which she had received on Sunday, a letter in which he had +declared to her that if she should take advantage of her sojourn at +Lourdes 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 had +neglected her, profiting by his continual journeys as a commercial +traveller to take friends about with him from one to the other end of +France. Ah! that time she had thought it all over, she had asked the +Blessed Virgin to let her die, for she knew that the faithless one was at +that very moment at Luchon with two friends. What was it then that had +happened? A thunderbolt must certainly have fallen from heaven. Those two +friends must have received a warning from on high--perhaps they had +dreamt that they were already condemned to everlasting punishment. At all +events 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 his +wife and keep her with him for a week. Grace must have certainly fallen +on him, though he did not say it, for he was so kind and pleasant that +she could not do otherwise than believe in a real beginning of +conversion. + +“Ah! how grateful I am to the Blessed Virgin,” she continued; “she alone +can have acted, and I well understood her last evening. It seemed to me +that she made me a little sign just at the very moment when my husband +was making up his mind to come here to fetch me. I asked him at what time +it 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 their +mended legs and their vanished sores. Blessed be Our Lady of Lourdes, who +has healed my heart!” + +Just then the sturdy young man turned round, and she darted away to join +him, so full of delight that she forgot to bid the others good-bye. And +it was at this moment, amidst the growing crowd of patients whom the +bearers were bringing, that the Toulouse train at last came in. The +tumult increased, the confusion became extraordinary. Bells rang and +signals worked, whilst the station-master was seen rushing up, shouting +with all the strength of his lungs: “Be careful there! Clear the line at +once!” + +A railway _employé_ had to rush from the platform to push a little +vehicle, 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 ran +across when the steaming, growling engine was only thirty yards distant. +Others, losing their heads, would have been crushed by the wheels if +porters had not roughly caught them by the shoulders. Then, without +having pounded anybody, the train at last stopped alongside the +mattresses, pillows, and cushions lying hither and thither, and the +bewildered, whirling groups of people. The carriage doors opened and a +torrent of travellers alighted, whilst another torrent climbed in, these +two obstinately contending currents bringing the tumult to a climax. +Faces, first wearing an inquisitive expression, and then overcome by +stupefaction at the astonishing sight, showed themselves at the windows +of the doors which remained closed; and, among them, one especially +noticed the faces of two remarkably pretty girls, whose large candid eyes +ended by expressing the most dolorous compassion. + +Followed by her husband, however, Madame Maze had climbed into one of the +carriages, feeling as happy and buoyant as if she were in her twentieth +year again, as on the already distant evening of her honeymoon journey. +And the doors having been slammed, the engine gave a loud whistle and +began to move, going off slowly and heavily between the throng, which, in +the rear of the train, flowed on to the lines again like an invading +torrent whose flood-gates have been swept away. + +“Bar the platform!” shouted the station-master to his men. “Keep watch +when the engine comes up!” + +The belated patients and pilgrims had arrived during this alert. La +Grivotte passed by with her feverish eyes and excited, dancing gait, +followed by Elise Rouquet and Sophie Couteau, who were very gay, and +quite out of breath through running. All three hastened to their +carriage, where Sister Hyacinthe scolded them. They had almost been left +behind at the Grotto, where, at times, the pilgrims lingered forgetfully, +unable to tear themselves away, still imploring and entreating the +Blessed Virgin, when the train was waiting for them at the +railway-station. + +All at once Pierre, who likewise was anxious, no longer knowing what to +think, perceived M. de Guersaint and Marie quietly talking with Abbé +Judaine on the covered platform. He hastened to join them, and told them +of his impatience. “What have you been doing?” he asked. “I was losing +all hope.” + +“What have we been doing?” responded M. de Guersaint, with quiet +astonishment. “We were at the Grotto, as you know very well. There was a +priest there, preaching in a most remarkable manner, and we should still +be there if I hadn’t remembered that we had to leave. And we took a fly +here, as we promised you we would do.” + +He broke off to look at the clock. “But hang it all!” he added, “there’s +no hurry. The train won’t start for another quarter of an hour.” + +This was true. Then Marie, smiling with divine joy, exclaimed: “Oh! if +you only knew, Pierre, what happiness I have brought away from that last +visit to the Blessed Virgin. I saw her smile at me, I felt her giving me +strength to live. Really, that farewell was delightful, and you must not +scold us, Pierre.” + +He himself had begun to smile, somewhat ill at ease, however, as he +thought of his nervous fidgeting. Had he, then, experienced so keen a +desire to get far away from Lourdes? Had he feared that the Grotto might +keep Marie, that she might never come away from it again? Now that she +was 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 the +carriage, he recognised Doctor Chassaigne hastily approaching. “Ah! my +dear doctor,” he said, “I was waiting for you. I should have been sorry +indeed 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 caught +sight of that eccentric fellow, the Commander, and had a talk with him +over yonder. He was sneering at the sight of your people taking the train +again to go and die at home, when, said he, they ought to have done so +before coming to Lourdes. Well, all at once, while he was talking like +this, he fell on the ground before me. It was his third attack of +paralysis; the one he had long been expecting.” + +“Oh! _mon Dieu_,” murmured Abbé Judaine, who heard the doctor, “he was +blaspheming. Heaven has punished him.” + +M. de Guersaint and Marie were listening, greatly interested and deeply +moved. + +“I had him carried yonder, into that shed,” continued the doctor. “It is +all over; I can do nothing. He will doubtless be dead before a quarter of +an hour has gone by. But I thought of a priest, and hastened up to you.” + +Then, turning towards Abbé Judaine, M. Chassaigne added: “Come with me, +Monsieur le Curé; you know him. We cannot let a Christian depart +unsuccoured. Perhaps he will be moved, recognise his error, and become +reconciled with God.” + +Abbé Judaine quickly followed the doctor, and in the rear went M. de +Guersaint, leading Marie and Pierre, whom the thought of this tragedy +impassioned. All five entered the goods shed, at twenty paces from the +crowd which was still bustling and buzzing, without a soul in it +expecting that there was a man dying so near by. + +In a solitary corner of the shed, between two piles of sacks filled with +oats, lay the Commander, on a mattress borrowed from the Hospitality +reserve supply. He wore his everlasting frock-coat, with its buttonhole +decked with a broad red riband, and somebody who had taken the precaution +to pick up his silver-knobbed walking-stick had carefully placed it on +the ground beside the mattress. + +Abbé 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. The +attack had this time fallen on his right side, almost entirely depriving +him of the power of speech. He could only stammer a few words, by which +he succeeded in making them understand that he wished to die there, +without being moved or worried any further. He had no relative at +Lourdes, where nobody knew anything either of his former life or his +family. For three years he had lived there happily on the salary attached +to his little post at the station, and now he at last beheld his ardent, +his only desire, approaching fulfilment--the desire that he might depart +and fall into the eternal sleep. His eyes expressed the great joy he felt +at being so near his end. + +“Have you any wish to make known to us?” resumed Abbé Judaine. “Cannot we +be useful to you in any way?” + +No, no; his eyes replied that he was all right, well pleased. For three +years past he had never got up in the morning without hoping that by +night time he would be sleeping in the cemetery. Whenever he saw the sun +shine he was wont to say in an envious tone: “What a beautiful day for +departure!” And now that death was at last at hand, ready to deliver him +from his hateful existence, it was indeed welcome. + +“I can do nothing, science is powerless. He is condemned,” said Doctor +Chassaigne in a low, bitter tone to the old priest, who begged him to +attempt some effort. + +However, at that same moment it chanced that an aged woman, a pilgrim of +fourscore years, who had lost her way and knew not whither she was going, +entered the shed. Lame and humpbacked, reduced to the stature of +childhood’s days, afflicted with all the ailments of extreme old age, she +was dragging herself along with the assistance of a stick, and at her +side was slung a can full of Lourdes water, which she was taking away +with her, in the hope of yet prolonging her old age, in spite of all its +frightful 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 her +dim, vague eyes; and with the sisterly feelings of one who was very aged +and suffered very grievously she drew nearer, and, taking hold of her can +with her hands, which never ceased shaking, she offered it to the man. + +To Abbé Judaine this seemed like a sudden flash of light, an inspiration +from on high. He, who had prayed so fervently and so often for the cure +of Madame Dieulafay without being heard by the Blessed Virgin, now glowed +with fresh faith in the conviction that if the Commander would only drink +that water he would be cured. + +The old priest fell upon his knees beside the mattress. “O brother!” he +said, “it is God who has sent you this woman. Reconcile yourself with +God, drink and pray, whilst we ourselves implore the divine mercy with +our whole souls. God will prove His power to you; God will work the great +miracle of setting you erect once more, so that you may yet spend many +years upon this earth, loving Him and glorifying Him.” + +No, no! the Commander’s sparkling eyes cried no! He, indeed, show himself +as cowardly as those flocks of pilgrims who came from afar, through so +many fatigues, in order to drag themselves on the ground and sob and beg +Heaven to let them live a month, a year, ten years longer! It was so +pleasant, so simple to die quietly in your bed. You turned your face to +the wall and you died. + +“Drink, O my brother, I implore you!” continued the old priest. “It is +life that you will drink, it is strength and health, the very joy of +living. Drink that you may become young again, that you may begin a new +and 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 growing +obstinacy, and in their expression now appeared a covert fear of the +miraculous. The Commander did not believe; for three years he had been +shrugging his shoulders at the pretended cases of cure. But could one +ever tell in this strange world of ours? Such extraordinary things did +sometimes happen. And if by chance their water should really have a +supernatural power, and if by force they should make him drink some of +it, it would be terrible to have to live again--to endure once more the +punishment of a galley-slave existence, that abomination which +Lazarus--the pitiable object of the great miracle--had suffered twice. +No, no, he would not drink; he would not incur the fearful risk of +resurrection. + +“Drink, drink, my brother,” repeated Abbé 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, raised +himself, shaking off the stifling bonds of paralysis, loosening for a +second 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 right +direction again. She had failed to understand that refusal of the water +which 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. Lame +of one leg, humpbacked, dragging the sorry remnants of her fourscore +years along by the assistance of her stick, she disappeared among the +tramping 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 for +death, that greedy hungering for the end which the Commander showed. Ah! +to sleep, to sleep without a dream, in the infinite darkness forever and +ever--nothing in the world could have seemed so sweet to him. He did not +hope in a better life; he had no desire to become happy, at last, in +Paradise where equality and justice would reign. His sole longing was for +black night and endless sleep, the joy of being no more, of never, never +being again. And Doctor Chassaigne also had shuddered, for he also +nourished but one thought, the thought of the happy moment when he would +depart. But, in his case, on the other side of this earthly existence he +would find his dear lost ones awaiting him, at the spot where eternal +life began; and how icy cold all would have seemed had he but for a +single moment thought that he might not meet them there. + +Abbé Judaine painfully rose up. It had seemed to him that the Commander +was now fixing his bright eyes upon Marie. Deeply grieved that his +entreaties should have been of no avail, the priest wished to show the +dying 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 who +arrived here on Saturday so ill, with both legs paralysed. And you see +her now, so full of health, so strong, so beautiful. Heaven has taken +pity on her, and now she is reviving to youth, to the long life she was +born to live. Do you feel no regret in seeing her? Would you also like +her to be dead? would you have advised her not to drink the water?” + +The Commander could not answer; but his eyes no longer strayed from +Marie’s young face, on which one read such great happiness at having +resuscitated, such vast hopes in countless morrows; and tears appeared in +those fixed eyes of his, gathered under their lids, and rolled down his +cheeks, which were already cold. He was certainly weeping for her; he +must have been thinking of that other miracle which he had wished +her--that if she should be cured, she might be happy. It was the +tenderness of an old man, who knows the miseries of this world, stirred +to pity by the thought of all the sorrows which awaited this young +creature. Ah! poor woman, how many times; perhaps, might she regret that +she had not died in her twentieth year! + +Then the Commander’s eyes grew very dim, as though those last pitiful +tears had dissolved them. It was the end; coma was coming; the mind was +departing with the breath. He slightly turned, and died. + +Doctor Chassaigne at once drew Marie aside. “The train’s starting,” he +said; “make haste, make haste!” + +Indeed, the loud ringing of a bell was clearly resounding above the +growing tumult of the crowd. And the doctor, having requested two bearers +to watch the body, which would be removed later on when the train had +gone, desired to accompany his friends to their carriage. + +They hastened their steps. Abbé Judaine, who was in despair, joined them +after saying a short prayer for the repose of that rebellious soul. +However, while Marie, followed by Pierre and M. de Guersaint, was running +along the platform, she was stopped once more, and this time by Doctor +Bonamy, who triumphantly presented her to Father Fourcade. “Here is +Mademoiselle de Guersaint, your reverence, the young lady who was healed +so marvellously yesterday.” + +The radiant smile of a general who is reminded of his most decisive +victory appeared on Father Fourcade’s face. “I know, I know; I was +there,” he replied. “God has blessed you among all women, my dear +daughter; go, and cause His name to be worshipped.” + +Then he congratulated M. de Guersaint, whose paternal pride savoured +divine enjoyment. It was the ovation beginning afresh--the concert of +loving words and enraptured glances which had followed the girl through +the streets of Lourdes that morning, and which again surrounded her at +the moment of departure. The bell might go on ringing; a circle of +delighted pilgrims still lingered around her; it seemed as if she were +carrying away in her person all the glory of the pilgrimage, the triumph +of religion, which would echo and echo to the four corners of the earth. + +And Pierre was moved as he noticed the dolorous group which Madame +Jousseur and M. Dieulafay formed near by. Their eyes were fixed upon +Marie; like the others, they were astonished by the resurrection of this +beautiful girl, whom they had seen lying inert, emaciated, with ashen +face. Why should that child have been healed? Why not the young woman, +the dear woman, whom they were taking home in a dying state? Their +confusion, their sense of shame, seemed to increase; they drew back, +uneasy, like pariahs burdened with too much wealth; and it was a great +relief for them when, three bearers having with difficulty placed Madame +Dieulafay in the first-class compartment, they themselves were able to +vanish into it in company with Abbé Judaine. + +The _employés_ were already shouting, “Take your seats! take your seats,” + and Father Massias, the spiritual director of the train, had returned to +his compartment, leaving Father Fourcade on the platform leaning on +Doctor Bonamy’s shoulder. In all haste Gérard and Berthaud again saluted +the ladies, while Raymonde got in to join Madame Désagneaux and Madame +Volmar in their corner; and Madame de Jonquière at last ran off to her +carriage, which she reached at the same time as the Guersaints. There was +hustling, and shouting, and wild running from one to the other end of the +long 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 back +at a gallop, shouted to him: “It’ll be good to-morrow, it’ll be good +tomorrow!” Very red in the face, he showed and waved his ticket, and then +galloped off again to the compartment where his wife and son had their +seats, in order to announce the good news to them. + +When Marie and her father were installed in their places, Pierre lingered +for another moment on the platform with Doctor Chassaigne, who embraced +him paternally. The young man wished to induce the doctor to return to +Paris and take some little interest in life again. But M. Chassaigne +shook his head. “No, no, my dear child,” he replied. “I shall remain +here. They are here, they keep me here.” He was speaking of his dear lost +ones. 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 so +sweet as to die, but to die in order to live again.” + +Baron Suire was now giving orders for the removal of the white flags on +the foremost and hindmost carriages of the train; the shouts of the +railway _employés_ 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, and +covered with perspiration. Madame de Jonquière and Sister Hyacinthe were +counting their party in the carriage. La Grivotte, Elise Rouquet, and +Sophie Couteau were all three there. Madame Sabathier, too, had taken her +seat in front of her husband, who, with his eyes half closed, was +patiently awaiting the departure. However, a voice inquired, “And Madame +Vincent, isn’t she going back with us?” + +Thereupon Sister Hyacinthe, who was leaning out of the window exchanging +a 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, breathless +and haggard. And at once, by an involuntary impulse, Pierre glanced at +her arms. They carried nothing now. + +All the doors were being closed, slammed one after the other; the +carriages were full, and only the signal for departure was awaited. +Panting and smoking, the engine gave vent to a first loud whistle, shrill +and 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 the +legendary Paradise. No bitterness, but a divine, infantile gaiety +attended the departure. All the sick appeared to be healed. Though most +of them were being taken away in the same condition as they had been +brought, they went off relieved and happy, at all events, for an hour. +And not the slightest jealousy tainted their brotherly and sisterly +feelings; those who were not cured waxed quite gay, triumphant at the +cure of the others. Their own turns would surely come; yesterday’s +miracle was the formal promise of to-morrow’s. Even after those three +days of burning entreaty their fever of desire remained within them; the +faith of the forgotten ones continued as keen as ever in the conviction +that the Blessed Virgin had simply deferred a cure for their souls’ +benefit. Inextinguishable love, invincible hope glowed within all those +wretched ones thirsting for life. And so a last outburst of joy, a +turbulent display of happiness, laughter and shouts, overflowed from all +the crowded carriages. “Till next year! We’ll come back, we’ll come +back again!” was the cry; and then the gay little Sisters of the +Assumption clapped their hands, and the hymn of gratitude, the +“Magnificat,” began, sung by all the eight hundred pilgrims: “_Magnificat +anima mea Dominum_.” “My soul doth magnify the Lord.” + +Thereupon the station-master, his mind at last at ease, his arms hanging +beside him, caused the signal to be given. The engine whistled once again +and then set out, rolling along in the dazzling sunlight as amidst a +glory. Although his leg was causing him great suffering, Father Fourcade +had remained on the platform, leaning upon Doctor Bonamy’s shoulder, and, +in spite of everything, saluting the departure of his dear children with +a smile. Berthaud, Gérard, and Baron Suire formed another group, and near +them 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 produced +by the motion of the train. Madame Vigneron compelled Gustave to show his +pale little face, and for a long time Raymonde’s small hand could be seen +waving good wishes; but Marie remained the last, looking back on Lourdes +as 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 hundred +voices: “_Et exsultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo_.” “And my +spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour!” + + + + +IV. MARIE’S VOW + +ONCE more was the white train rolling, rolling towards Paris on its way +home; and the third-class carriage, where the shrill voices singing the +“Magnificat” at full pitch rose above the growling of the wheels, had +again become a common room, a travelling hospital ward, full of disorder, +littered like an improvised ambulance. Basins and brooms and sponges lay +about under the seats, which half concealed them. Articles of luggage, +all the wretched mass of poor worn-out things, were heaped together, a +little bit everywhere; and up above, the litter began again, what with +the parcels, the baskets, and the bags hanging from the brass pegs and +swinging to and fro without a moment’s rest. The same Sisters of the +Assumption and the same lady-hospitallers were there with their patients, +amidst the contingent of healthy pilgrims, who were already suffering +from the overpowering heat and unbearable odour. And at the far end there +was again the compartment full of women, the ten close-packed female +pilgrims, some young, some old, and all looking pitifully ugly as they +violently 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 of +anxious preoccupation, as though haunted by a sudden sorrow which she +could not reveal. However, she found her gay, healthful smile again to +say: “Twenty-two hours’ journey! Ah! it won’t be so long and trying as it +was 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 seat +which Marie, now sitting up like any other passenger, no longer +encumbered with her box. Moreover, little Sophie had this time been +placed in the next compartment, where there was neither Brother Isidore +nor his sister Marthe. The latter, it was said, had remained at Lourdes +in service with a pious lady. On the other side, Madame de Jonquière and +Sister Hyacinthe also had the benefit of a vacant seat, that of Madame +Vetu; and it had further occurred to them to get rid of Elise Rouquet by +placing her with Sophie, so that only La Grivotte and the Sabathier +couple were with them in their compartment. Thanks to these new +arrangements, they were better able to breathe, and perhaps they might +manage to sleep a little. + +The last verse of the “Magnificat” having been sung, the ladies finished +installing themselves as comfortably as possible by setting their little +household in order. One of the most important matters was to put the zinc +water-can, which interfered with their legs, out of the way. All the +blinds of the left-hand windows had been pulled down, for the oblique +sunrays were falling on the train, and had poured into it in sheets of +fire. The last storms, however, must have laid the dust, and the night +would certainly be cool. Moreover, there was less suffering: death had +carried off the most afflicted ones, and only stupefied ailments, numbed +by fatigue and lapsing into a slow torpor, remained. The overpowering +reaction which always follows great moral shocks was about to declare +itself. The souls had made the efforts required of them, the miracles had +been worked, and now the relaxing was beginning amidst a hebetude tinged +with profound relief. + +Until they got to Tarbes they were all very much occupied in setting +things in order and making themselves comfortable. But as they left that +station Sister Hyacinthe rose up and clapped her hands. “My children,” + said she, “we must not forget the Blessed Virgin who has been so kind to +us. Let us begin the Rosary.” + +Then the whole carriage repeated the first chaplet--the five joyful +mysteries, the Annunciation, the Visitation, the Nativity, the +Purification, and the Finding of Jesus in the Temple. And afterwards they +intoned the canticle, “Let us contemplate the heavenly Archangel,” in +such loud voices that the peasants working in the fields raised their +heads 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 and +the immense stretch of sky, which had gradually freed itself of its mist +and 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 were +fixing themselves on Pierre with that mute sadness which had previously +dimmed them, when all at once a sound of furious sobbing burst forth in +front of her. The canticle was finished, and it was Madame Vincent who +was crying, stammering confused words, half-choked by her tears: “Ah, my +poor little one!” she gasped. “Ah, my jewel, my treasure, my life!” + +She had previously remained in her corner, shrinking back into it as +though anxious to disappear. With a fierce face, her lips tightly set, +and her eyes closed, as though to isolate herself in the depths of her +cruel grief, she had hitherto not said a word. But, chancing to open her +eyes, she had espied the leathern window-strap hanging down beside the +door, and the sight of that strap, which her daughter had touched, almost +played with at one moment during the previous journey, had overwhelmed +her with a frantic despair which swept away her resolution to remain +silent. + +“Ah! my poor little Rose,” she continued. “Her little hand touched that +strap, 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 had +her on my lap, in my arms. It was still so nice, so nice! But now I no +longer have her; I shall never, never have her again, my poor little +Rose, my poor little Rose!” + +Distracted, sobbing bitterly, she looked at her knees and her arms, on +which nothing now rested, and which she was at a loss how to employ. She +had so long rocked her daughter on her knees, so long carried her in her +arms, that it now seemed to her as if some portion of her being had been +amputated, as if her body had been deprived of one of its functions, +leaving her diminished, unoccupied, distracted at being unable to fulfil +that function any more. Those useless arms and knees of hers quite +embarrassed her. + +Pierre and Marie, who were deeply moved, had drawn near, uttering kind +words and striving to console the unhappy mother. And, little by little, +from the disconnected sentences which mingled with her sobs, they learned +what a Calvary she had ascended since her daughter’s death. On the +morning of the previous day, when she had carried the body off in her +arms amidst the storm, she must have long continued walking, blind and +deaf to everything, whilst the torrential rain beat down upon her. She no +longer remembered what squares she had crossed, what streets she had +traversed, as she roamed through that infamous Lourdes, that Lourdes +which killed little children, that Lourdes which she cursed. + +“Ah! I can’t remember, I can’t remember,” she faltered. “But some people +took me in, had pity upon me, some people whom I don’t know, but who live +somewhere. Ah! I can’t remember where, but it was somewhere high up, far +away, at the other end of the town. And they were certainly very poor +folk, for I can still see myself in a poor-looking room with my dear +little one who was quite cold, and whom they laid upon their bed.” + +At this recollection a fresh attack of sobbing shook her, in fact almost +stifled her. + +“No, no,” she at last resumed, “I would not part with her dear little +body by leaving it in that abominable town. And I can’t tell exactly how +it happened, but it must have been those poor people who took me with +them. We did a great deal of walking, oh! a great deal of walking; we saw +all those gentlemen of the pilgrimage and the railway. ‘What can it +matter to you?’ I repeated to them. ‘Let me take her back to Paris in my +arms. I brought her here like that when she was alive, I may surely take +her back dead? Nobody will notice anything, people will think that she is +asleep.’” + +“And all of them, all those officials, began shouting and driving me away +as though I were asking them to let me do something wicked. Then I ended +by telling them my mind. When people make so much fuss, and bring so many +agonising sick to a place like that, they surely ought to send the dead +ones home again, ought they not? And do you know how much money they +ended by asking of me at the station? Three hundred francs! Yes, it +appears it is the price! Three hundred francs, good Lord! of me, who came +here with thirty sous in my pocket and have only five left. Why, I don’t +earn that amount of money by six months’ sewing. They ought to have asked +me 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 would +have 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 to +induce me to go back. A work-woman like myself, with work waiting, ought +to return to Paris, they said; and, besides, I couldn’t afford to +sacrifice my return ticket; I must take the three-forty train. And they +told me, too, that people are compelled to put up with things when they +are not rich. Only the rich can keep their dead, do what they like with +them, eh? And I can’t remember--no, again I can’t remember! I didn’t even +know the time; I should never have been able to find my way back to the +station. After the funeral over there, at a place where there were two +trees, it must have been those poor people who led me away, half out of +my senses, and brought me to the station, and pushed me into the carriage +just at the moment when the train was starting. But what a rending it +was--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 Blessed +Virgin 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 the +truth! Why did she deceive me? I should never have gone to Lourdes if I +hadn’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 my +foot among the priests formerly! Ah! I was right! I was right! There’s no +Blessed 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 that +Sister Hyacinthe had to intervene: “Be quiet, you unhappy woman! It is +God who is making you suffer, to punish you.” + +The scene had already lasted a long time, and as they passed Riscle at +full speed the Sister again clapped her hands and gave the signal for the +chanting of the “Laudate Mariam.” “Come, come, my children,” she +exclaimed, “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, now +only sobbed, with her hands pressed to her face. Her revolt was over, she +was again strengthless, weak like a suffering woman whom grief and +weariness have stupefied. + +After the canticle, fatigue fell more or less heavily upon all the +occupants of the carriage. Only Sister Hyacinthe, so quick and active, +and Sister Claire des Anges, so gentle, serious, and slight, retained, as +on their departure from Paris and during their sojourn at Lourdes, the +professional serenity of women accustomed to everything, amidst the +bright gaiety of their white coifs and wimples. Madame de Jonquière, who +had scarcely slept for five days past, had to make an effort to keep her +poor eyes open; and yet she was delighted with the journey, for her heart +was full of joy at having arranged her daughter’s marriage, and at +bringing back with her the greatest of all the miracles, a _miraculée_ +whom everybody was talking of. She decided in her own mind that she would +get to sleep that night, however bad the jolting might be; though on the +other hand she could not shake off a covert fear with regard to La +Grivotte, who looked very strange, excited, and haggard, with dull eyes, +and cheeks glowing with patches of violet colour. Madame de Jonquière had +tried a dozen times to keep her from fidgeting, but had not been able to +induce her to remain still, with joined hands and closed eyes. +Fortunately, the other patients gave her no anxiety; most of them were +either so relieved or so weary that they were already dozing off. Elise +Rouquet, however, had bought herself a pocket mirror, a large round one, +in which she did not weary of contemplating herself, finding herself +quite pretty, and verifying from minute to minute the progress of her +cure with a coquetry which, now that her monstrous face was becoming +human again, made her purse her lips and try a variety of smiles. As for +Sophie Couteau, she was playing very prettily; for finding that nobody +now asked to examine her foot, she had taken off her shoe and stocking of +her own accord, repeating that she must surely have a pebble in one or +the other of them; and as her companions still paid no attention to that +little foot which the Blessed Virgin had been pleased to visit, she kept +it in her hands, caressing it, seemingly delighted to touch it and turn +it into a plaything. + +M. de Guersaint had meantime risen from his seat, and, leaning on the low +partition between the compartments, he was glancing at M. Sabathier, when +all of a sudden Marie called: “Oh! father, father, look at this notch in +the seat; it was the ironwork of my box that made it!” + +The discovery of this trace rendered her so happy that for a moment she +forgot the secret sorrow which she seemed anxious to keep to herself. And +in the same way as Madame Vincent had burst out sobbing on perceiving the +leather strap which her little girl had touched, so she burst into joy at +the sight of this scratch, which reminded her of her long martyrdom in +this same carriage, all the abomination which had now disappeared, +vanished like a nightmare. “To think that four days have scarcely gone +by,” she said; “I was lying there, I could not stir, and now, now I come +and go, and feel so comfortable!” + +Pierre and M. de Guersaint were smiling at her; and M. Sabathier, who had +heard her, slowly said: “It is quite true. We leave a little of ourselves +in things, a little of our sufferings and our hopes, and when we find +them again they speak to us, and once more tell us the things which +sadden us or make us gay.” + +He had remained in his corner silent, with an air of resignation, ever +since their departure from Lourdes. Even his wife whilst wrapping up his +legs had only been able to obtain sundry shakes of the head from him in +response to her inquiries whether he was suffering. In point of fact he +was not suffering, but extreme dejection was overcoming him. + +“Thus for my own part,” he continued, “during our long journey from Paris +I tried to divert my thoughts by counting the bands in the roofing up +there. There were thirteen from the lamp to the door. Well, I have just +been 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 had +whilst I watched it shining at night-time when Monsieur l’Abbé was +reading the story of Bernadette to us. Yes, I saw myself cured; I was +making that journey to Rome which I have been talking of for twenty years +past; I walked and travelled the world--briefly, I had all manner of wild +and delightful dreams. And now here we are on our way back to Paris, and +there are thirteen bands across the roofing there, and the knob is still +shining--all of which tells me that I am again on the same seat, with my +legs lifeless. Well, well, it’s understood, I’m a poor, old, used-up +animal, and such I shall remain.” + +Two big tears appeared in his eyes; he must have been passing through an +hour of frightful bitterness. However, he raised his big square head, +with its jaw typical of patient obstinacy, and added: “This is the +seventh year that I have been to Lourdes, and the Blessed Virgin has not +listened 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, was +stupefied 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 refusal +to accept evidence, this determination to remain blind? He stubbornly +clung to the resolution to be saved when all human probabilities were +against him, when the experiment of the miracle itself had failed so many +times already; and he had reached such a point that he wished to explain +his fresh rebuff, urging moments of inattention at the Grotto, a lack of +sufficient contrition, and all sorts of little transgressions which must +have displeased the Blessed Virgin. Moreover, he was already deciding in +his mind that he would perform a novena somewhere next year, before again +repairing to Lourdes. + +“Ah! by the way,” he resumed, “do you know of the good-luck which my +substitute has had? Yes, you must remember my telling you about that poor +fellow suffering from tuberculosis, for whom I paid fifty francs when I +obtained _hospitalisation_ for myself. Well, he has been thoroughly +cured.” + +“Really! And he was suffering from tuberculosis!” exclaimed M. de +Guersaint. + +“Certainly, monsieur, perfectly cured I had seen him looking so low, so +yellow, so emaciated, when we started; but when he came to pay me a visit +at the hospital he was quite a new man; and, dear me, I gave him five +francs.” + +Pierre had to restrain a smile, for be had heard the story from Doctor +Chassaigne. This miraculously healed individual was a feigner, who had +eventually been recognised at the Medical Verification Office. It was, +apparently, the third year that he had presented himself there, the first +time alleging paralysis and the second time a tumour, both of which had +been as completely healed as his pretended tuberculosis. On each occasion +he obtained an outing, lodging and food, and returned home loaded with +alms. It appeared that he had formerly been a hospital nurse, and that he +transformed himself, “made-up” a face suited to his pretended ailment, in +such an extremely artistic manner that it was only by chance that Doctor +Bonamy had detected the imposition. Moreover, the Fathers had immediately +required that the incident should be kept secret. What was the use of +stirring up a scandal which would only have led to jocular remarks in the +newspapers? Whenever any fraudulent miracles of this kind were +discovered, the Fathers contented themselves with forcing the guilty +parties to go away. Moreover, these feigners were far from numerous, +despite all that was related of them in the amusing stories concocted by +Voltairean 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 had +healed this man who had gone to Lourdes at his expense, whereas he +himself was returning home still helpless, still in the same woeful +state. He sighed, and, despite all his resignation, could not help +saying, with a touch of envy: “What would you, however? The Blessed +Virgin must know very well what she’s about. Neither you nor I can call +her to account to us for her actions. Whenever it may please her to cast +her eyes on me she will find me at her feet.” + +After the “Angelus” when they got to Mont-de-Marsan, Sister Hyacinthe +made them repeat the second chaplet, the five sorrowful mysteries, Jesus +in the Garden of Olives, Jesus scourged, Jesus crowned with thorns, Jesus +carrying the cross, and Jesus crucified. Then they took dinner in the +carriage, for there would be no stopping until they reached Bordeaux, +where they would only arrive at eleven o’clock at night. All the +pilgrims’ baskets were crammed with provisions, to say nothing of the +milk, broth, chocolate, and fruit which Sister Saint-François had sent +from the cantine. Then, too, there was fraternal sharing: they sat with +their food on their laps and drew close together, every compartment +becoming, as it were, the scene of a picnic, to which each contributed +his share. And they had finished their meal and were packing up the +remaining bread again when the train passed Morceux. + +“My children,” now said Sister Hyacinthe, rising up, “the evening +prayer!” + +Thereupon came a confused murmuring made up of “Paters” and “Aves,” + self-examinations, acts of contrition and vows of trustful reliance in +God, the Blessed Virgin, and the Saints, with thanksgivings for that +happy day, and, at last, a prayer for the living and for the faithful +departed. + +“I warn you,” then resumed the Sister, “that when we get to Lamothe, at +ten o’clock, I shall order silence. However, I think you will all be very +good and won’t require any rocking to get to sleep.” + +This made them laugh. It was now half-past eight o’clock, and the night +had slowly covered the country-side. The hills alone retained a vague +trace of the twilight’s farewell, whilst a dense sheet of darkness +blotted out all the low ground. Rushing on at full speed, the train +entered an immense plain, and then there was nothing but a sea of +darkness, 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 La +Grivotte. While the other pilgrims and patients were already dozing off, +sinking down amidst the luggage, which the constant jolting shook, she +had risen to her feet and was clinging to the partition in a sudden spasm +of agony. And under the pale, yellow, dancing gleam of the lamp she once +more looked emaciated, with a livid, tortured face. + +“Take care, madame, she will fall!” the priest called to Madame de +Jonquière, who, with eyelids lowered, was at last giving way to sleep. + +She made all haste to intervene, but Sister Hyacinthe had turned more +quickly and caught La Grivotte in her arms. A frightful fit of coughing, +however, prostrated the unhappy creature upon the seat, and for five +minutes she continued stifling, shaken by such an attack that her poor +body seemed to be actually cracking and rending. Then a red thread oozed +from between her lips, and at last she spat up blood by the throatful. + +“Good heavens! good heavens! it’s coming on her again!” repeated Madame +de Jonquière in despair. “I had a fear of it; I was not at ease, seeing +her 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’ll +watch over her. You are not accustomed to it: you would end by making +yourself ill as well.” + +Then she settled herself beside La Grivotte, made her rest her head +against her shoulder, and wiped the blood from her lips. The attack +subsided, but weakness was coming back, so extreme that the wretched +woman was scarcely able to stammer: “Oh, it is nothing, nothing at all; I +am cured, I am cured, completely cured!” + +Pierre was thoroughly upset: This sudden, overwhelming relapse had sent +an icy chill through the whole carriage. Many of the passengers raised +themselves up and looked at La Grivotte with terror in their eyes. Then +they dived down into their corners again, and nobody spoke, nobody +stirred any further. Pierre, for his part, reflected on the curious +medical aspect of this girl’s case. Her strength had come back to her +over yonder. She had displayed a ravenous appetite, she had walked long +distances with a dancing gait, her face quite radiant the while; and now +she had spat blood, her cough had broken out afresh, she again had the +heavy ashen face of one in the last agony. Her ailment had returned to +her with brutal force, victorious over everything. Was this, then, some +special case of phthisis complicated by neurosis? Or was it some other +malady, some unknown disease, quietly continuing its work in the midst of +contradictory diagnosis? The sea of error and ignorance, the darkness +amidst which human science is still struggling, again appeared to Pierre. +And he once more saw Doctor Chassaigne shrugging his shoulders with +disdain, whilst Doctor Bonamy, full of serenity, quietly continued his +verification work, absolutely convinced that nobody would be able to +prove to him the impossibility of his miracles any more than he himself +could have proved their possibility. + +“Oh! I am not frightened,” La Grivotte continued, stammering. “I am +cured, completely cured; they all told me so, over yonder.” + +Meantime the carriage was rolling, rolling along, through the black +night. Each of its occupants was making preparations, stretching himself +out in order to sleep more comfortably. They compelled Madame Vincent to +lie down on the seat, and gave her a pillow on which to rest her poor +pain-racked head; and then, as docile as a child, quite stupefied, she +fell asleep in a nightmare-like torpor, with big, silent tears still +flowing from her closed eyes. Elise Rouquet, who had a whole seat to +herself, was also getting ready to lie down, but first of all she made +quite an elaborate toilet, tying the black wrap which had served to hide +her sore about her head, and then again peering into her glass to see if +this headgear became her, now that the swelling of her lip had subsided. +And again did Pierre feel astonished at sight of that sore, which was +certainly healing, if not already healed--that face, so lately a +monster’s face, which one could now look at without feeling horrified. +The sea of incertitude stretched before him once more. Was it even a real +lupus? Might it not rather be some unknown form of ulcer of hysterical +origin? Or ought one to admit that certain forms of lupus, as yet but +imperfectly studied and arising from faulty nutrition of the skin, might +be benefited by a great moral shock? At all events there here seemed to +be a miracle, unless, indeed, the sore should reappear again in three +weeks’, three months’, or three years’ time, like La Grivotte’s phthisis. + +It was ten o’clock, and the people in the carriage were falling asleep +when they left Lamothe. Sister Hyacinthe, upon whose knees La Grivotte +was now drowsily resting her head, was unable to rise, and, for form’s +sake, merely said, “Silence, silence, my children!” in a low voice, which +died away amidst the growling rumble of the wheels. + +However, something continued stirring in an adjoining compartment; she +heard a noise which irritated her nerves, and the cause of which she at +last fancied she could understand. + +“Why do you keep on kicking the seat, Sophie?” she asked. “You must get +to sleep, my child.” + +“I’m not kicking, Sister. It’s a key that was rolling about under my +foot.” + +“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 where +it had been broken and resoldered. However, they all searched their +pockets, and none of them, it seemed, had lost a key. + +“I found it in the corner,” now resumed Sophie; “it must have belonged to +the man.” + +“What man?” asked Sister Hyacinthe. + +“The man who died there.” + +They had already forgotten him. But it had surely been his, for Sister +Hyacinthe recollected that she had heard something fall while she was +wiping his forehead. And she turned the key over and continued looking at +it, as it lay in her hand, poor, ugly, wretched key that it was, no +longer of any use, never again to open the lock it belonged to--some +unknown lock, hidden far away in the depths of the world. For a moment +she was minded to put it in her pocket, as though by a kind of compassion +for this little bit of iron, so humble and so mysterious, since it was +all that remained of that unknown man. But then the pious thought came to +her that it is wrong to show attachment to any earthly thing; and, the +window being half-lowered, she threw out the key, which fell into the +black night. + +“You must not play any more, Sophie,” she resumed. “Come, come, my +children, silence!” + +It was only after the brief stay at Bordeaux, however, at about half-past +eleven o’clock, that sleep came back again and overpowered all in the +carriage. Madame de Jonquière had been unable to contend against it any +longer, and her head was now resting against the partition, her face +wearing an expression of happiness amidst all her fatigue. The Sabathiers +were, in a like fashion, calmly sleeping; and not a sound now came from +the compartment which Sophie Couteau and Elise Rouquet occupied, +stretched in front of each other, on the seats. From time to time a low +plaint would rise, a strangled cry of grief or fright, escaping from the +lips of Madame Vincent, who, amidst her prostration, was being tortured +by evil dreams. Sister Hyacinthe was one of the very few who still had +their eyes open, anxious as she was respecting La Grivotte, who now lay +quite motionless, like a felled animal, breathing painfully, with a +continuous wheezing sound. From one to the other end of this travelling +dormitory, shaken by the rumbling of the train rolling on at full speed, +the pilgrims and the sick surrendered themselves to sleep, and limbs +dangled 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 all +open-mouthed, as though sleep had suddenly fallen upon them at the moment +they were finishing some hymn. Great pity came to the heart at the sight +of all those mournful, weary beings, prostrated by five days of wild hope +and infinite ecstasy, and destined to awaken, on the very morrow, to the +stern realities of life. + +And now Pierre once more felt himself to be alone with Marie. She had not +consented to stretch herself on the seat--she had been lying down too +long, 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 the +light of the lamp annoyed her he drew the little screen, and they thus +found themselves in the shade, a soft and transparent shade. The train +must now have been crossing a plain, for it glided through the night as +in an endless flight, with a sound like the regular flapping of huge +wings. Through the window, which they had opened, a delicious coolness +came from the black fields, the fathomless fields, where not even any +lonely little village lights could be seen gleaming. For a moment Pierre +had turned towards Marie and had noticed that her eyes were closed. But +he could divine that she was not sleeping, that she was savouring the +deep peacefulness which prevailed around them amidst the thundering roar +of their rush through the darkness, and, like her, he closed his eyelids +and began dreaming. + +Yet once again did the past arise before him: the little house at +Neuilly, the embrace which they had exchanged near the flowering hedge +under the trees flecked with sunlight. How far away all that already was, +and with what perfume had it not filled his life! Then bitter thoughts +returned 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 was +to make her a wife and a mother after all. Had he only been able to +retain his faith he might have found eternal consolation in it. But all +his attempts to regain it had been in vain. He had gone to Lourdes, he +had striven his utmost at the Grotto, he had hoped for a moment that he +would end by believing should Marie be miraculously healed; but total and +irremediable ruin had come when the predicted cure had taken place even +as science had foretold. And their idyl, so pure and so painful, the long +story of their affection bathed in tears, likewise spread out before him. +She, having penetrated his sad secret, had come to Lourdes to pray to +Heaven for the miracle of his conversion. When they had remained alone +under the trees amidst the perfume of the invisible roses, during the +night procession, they had prayed one for the other, mingling one in the +other, with an ardent desire for their mutual happiness. Before the +Grotto, too, she had entreated the Blessed Virgin to forget her and to +save him, if she could obtain but one favour from her Divine Son. Then, +healed, beside herself, transported with love and gratitude, whirled with +her little car up the inclined ways to the Basilica, she had thought her +prayers granted, and had cried aloud the joy she felt that they should +have both been saved, together, together! Ah! that lie which he, prompted +by affection and charity, had told, that error in which he had from that +moment suffered her to remain, with what a weight did it oppress his +heart! It was the heavy slab which walled him in his voluntarily chosen +sepulchre. He remembered the frightful attack of grief which had almost +killed him in the gloom of the crypt, his sobs, his brutal revolt, his +longing to keep her for himself alone, to possess her since he knew her +to be his own--all that rising passion of his awakened manhood, which +little by little had fallen asleep again, drowned by the rushing river of +his tears; and in order that he might not destroy the divine illusion +which possessed her, yielding to brotherly compassion, he had taken that +heroic vow to lie to her, that vow which now filled him with such +anguish. + +Pierre shuddered amidst his reverie. Would he have the strength to keep +that vow forever? Had he not detected a feeling of impatience in his +heart even whilst he was waiting for her at the railway station, a +jealous longing to leave that Lourdes which she loved too well, in the +vague hope that she might again become his own, somewhere far away? If he +had not been a priest he would have married her. And what rapture, what +felicity would then have been his! He would have given himself wholly +unto her, she would have been wholly his own, and he and she would have +lived again in the dear child that would doubtless have been born to +them. Ah! surely that alone was divine, the life which is complete, the +life which creates life! And then his reverie strayed: he pictured +himself married, and the thought filled him with such delight that he +asked why such a dream should be unrealisable? She knew no more than a +child of ten; he would educate her, form her mind. She would then +understand that this cure for which she thought herself indebted to the +Blessed Virgin, had in reality come to her from the Only Mother, serene +and impassive Nature. But even whilst he was thus settling things in his +mind, a kind of terror, born of his religious education, arose within +him. Could he tell if that human happiness with which he desired to endow +her would ever be worth as much as the holy ignorance, the infantile +candour in which she now lived? How bitterly he would reproach himself +afterwards if she should not be happy. Then, too, what a drama it would +all be; he to throw off the cassock, and marry this girl healed by an +alleged miracle--ravage her faith sufficiently to induce her to consent +to such sacrilege? Yet therein lay the brave course; there lay reason, +life, real manhood, real womanhood. Why, then, did he not dare? Horrible +sadness was breaking upon his reverie, he became conscious of nothing +beyond 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 the +weary 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 yet +I can’t sleep.” Then, with a light laugh, she added: “I’ve got Paris in my +head!” + +“How is that--Paris?” + +“Yes, yes. I’m thinking that it’s waiting for me, that I am about to +return to it--that Paris which I know nothing of, and where I shall have +to live!” + +These words brought fresh anguish to Pierre’s heart. He had well foreseen +it; she could no longer belong to him, she would belong to others. If +Lourdes had restored her to him, Paris was about to take her from him +again. And he pictured this ignorant little being fatally acquiring all +the education of woman. That little spotless soul which had remained so +candid in the frame of a big girl of three-and-twenty, that soul which +illness 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 amuse +ourselves?” 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 to +continue earning all the money.” + +And, after a fresh pause, as he, deeply moved, remained silent, she +added: “Formerly, before I suffered so dreadfully, I painted miniatures +rather nicely. You remember, don’t you, that I painted a portrait of papa +which 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. She +wanted 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 first +money she could save. Blanche had spoken to her of the big shops where +things could be bought so cheaply. To go out with Blanche and run about a +little would be so amusing for her, who, confined to her bed since +childhood, had never seen anything. Then Pierre, who for a moment had +been calmer, again began to suffer, for he could divine all her glowing +desire to live, her ardour to see everything, know everything, and taste +everything. It was at last the awakening of the woman whom she was +destined to be, whom he had divined in childhood’s days--a dear creature +of gaiety and passion, with blooming lips, starry eyes, a milky +complexion, 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 woods +where 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 plays +that one may see. But, after all, it’s not all that. Provided I can go +out and walk in the streets and see things, I shall be so happy; I shall +come 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 no +longer a man was filling him with agony. But since she tempted him like +this with her irritating candour, why should he not confess to her the +truth which was ravaging his being? He would have won her, have conquered +her. Never had a more frightful struggle arisen between his heart and his +will. 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! look +at 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 a +comfortable expression on his face, as though he were in his bed, and had +no consciousness of the continual jolting of the train. This monotonous +rolling and heaving seemed, in fact, a lullaby rocking the whole carriage +to sleep. All surrendered themselves to it, sinking powerless on to the +piles of bags and parcels, many of which had also fallen; and the +rhythmical growling of the wheels never ceased in the unknown darkness +through which the train was still rolling. Now and again, as they passed +through 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 sound +would begin again, ever the same for hours together. + +Marie gently took hold of Pierre’s hands; he and she were so lost, so +completely alone among all those prostrated beings, in the deep, rumbling +peacefulness of the train flying across the black night. And sadness, the +sadness 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 was +on his lips, he was making up his mind to speak. However, he once again +restrained himself and stammered: “I am not always at liberty, Marie; a +priest 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 been +oppressing her heart ever since they had started. She leant nearer, and +in a lower voice resumed: “Listen, my good Pierre; I am fearfully sad. I +may look pleased, but there is death in my soul. You did not tell me the +truth yesterday.” + +He became quite scared, but did not at first understand her. “I did not +tell you the truth--About what?” he asked. + +A kind of shame restrained her, and she again hesitated at the moment of +descending into the depths of another conscience than her own. Then, like +a friend, a sister, she continued: “No, you let me believe that you had +been saved with me, and it was not true, Pierre, you have not found your +lost faith again.” + +Good Lord! she knew. For him this was desolation, such a catastrophe that +he forgot his torments. And, at first, he obstinately clung to the +falsehood born of his fraternal charity. “But I assure you, Marie. How +can you have formed such a wicked idea?” + +“Oh! be quiet, my friend, for pity’s sake. It would grieve me too deeply +if 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. Good +Abbé Judaine had knelt down to pray for the repose of that rebellious +soul. And I divined everything, I understood everything when I saw that +you did not kneel as well, that prayer did not rise to your lips as to +his.” + +“But, really, I assure you, Marie--” + +“No, no, you did not pray for the dead; you no longer believe. And +besides, there is something else; something I can guess, something which +comes to me from you, a despair which you can’t hide from me, a +melancholy look which comes into your poor eyes directly they meet mine. +The Blessed Virgin did not grant my prayer, she did not restore your +faith, and I am very, very wretched.” + +She was weeping, a hot tear fell upon the priest’s hand, which she was +still holding. It quite upset him, and he ceased struggling, confessing, +in his turn letting his tears flow, whilst, in a very low voice, he +stammered: “Ah! Marie, I am very wretched also. Oh! so very wretched.” + +For a moment they remained silent, in their cruel grief at feeling that +the abyss which parts different beliefs was yawning between them. They +would never belong to one another again, and they were in despair at +being so utterly unable to bring themselves nearer to one another; but +the severance was henceforth definitive, since Heaven itself had been +unable to reconnect the bond. And thus, side by side, they wept over +their separation. + +“I who prayed so fervently for your conversion,” she said in a dolorous +voice, “I who was so happy. It had seemed to me that your soul was +mingling with mine; and it was so delightful to have been saved together, +together. I felt such strength for life; oh, strength enough to raise the +world!” + +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 great +happiness fell upon me without you having any share in it. And to see you +so forsaken, so desolate, when I am loaded with grace and joy, rends my +heart. Ah! how severe the Blessed Virgin has been! Why did she not heal +your soul at the same time that she healed my body?” + +The last opportunity was presenting itself; he ought to have illumined +this innocent creature’s mind with the light of reason, have explained +the miracle to her, in order that life, after accomplishing its healthful +work in her body, might complete its triumph by throwing them into one +another’s arms. He also was healed, his mind was healthy now, and it was +not for the loss of faith, but for the loss of herself, that he was +weeping. However, invincible compassion was taking possession of him +amidst all his grief. No, no, he would not trouble that dear soul; he +would not rob her of her belief, which some day might prove her only stay +amidst the sorrows of this world. One cannot yet require of children and +women the bitter heroism of reason. He had not the strength to do it; he +even thought that he had not the right. It would have seemed to him +violation, abominable murder. And he did not speak out, but his tears +flowed, hotter and hotter, in this immolation of his love, this +despairing sacrifice of his own happiness in order that she might remain +candid and ignorant and gay at heart. + +“Oh, Marie, how wretched I am! Nowhere on the roads, nowhere at the +galleys even, is there a man more wretched than myself! Oh, Marie, if you +only knew; if you only knew how wretched I am!” + +She was distracted, and caught him in her trembling arms, wishing to +console him with a sisterly embrace. And at that moment the woman awaking +within her understood everything, and she herself sobbed with sorrow that +both human and divine will should thus part them. She had never yet +reflected on such things, but suddenly she caught a glimpse of life, with +its passions, its struggles, and its sufferings; and then, seeking for +what she might say to soothe in some degree that broken heart, she +stammered very faintly, distressed that she could find nothing sweet +enough, “I know, I know--” + +Then the words it was needful she should speak came to her; and as though +that which she had to say ought only to be heard by the angels, she +became anxious and looked around her. But the slumber which reigned in +the carriage seemed more heavy even than before. Her father was still +sleeping, 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 which +bore them onward. Even Sister Hyacinthe, giving way to her overpowering +weariness, had just closed her eyes, after drawing the lamp-screen in her +own compartment. And now there were only vague shadows there, ill-defined +bodies amidst nameless things, ghostly forms scarce visible, which a +tempest blast, a furious rush, was carrying on and on through the +darkness. And she likewise distrusted that black country-side whose +unknown depths went by on either side of the train without one even being +able to tell what forests, what rivers, what hills one was crossing. A +short time back some bright sparks of light had appeared, possibly the +lights of some distant forges, or the woeful lamps of workers or +sufferers. Now, however, the night again streamed deeply all around, the +obscure, infinite, nameless sea, farther and farther through which they +ever went, not knowing where they were. + +Then, with a chaste confusion, blushing amidst her tears, Marie placed +her lips near Pierre’s ear. “Listen, my friend; there is a great secret +between the Blessed Virgin and myself. I had sworn that I would never +tell it to anybody. But you are too unhappy, you are suffering too +bitterly; 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 engaged +myself by a vow: I promised the Blessed Virgin the gift of my chastity if +she 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 falling +on his poor wounded heart. It was a divine enchantment, a delicious +relief. If she belonged to none other she would always be a little bit +his own. And how well she had known his torment and what it was needful +she 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 would +ever be hers, ever love her as he had loved her since childhood, like the +dear creature she was, whose one kiss, long, long ago, had sufficed to +perfume his entire life. But she made him stop, already anxious, fearing +to spoil that pure moment. “No, no, my friend,” she murmured, “let us say +nothing more; it would be wrong, perhaps. I am very weary; I shall sleep +quietly now.” + +And, with her head against his shoulder, she fell asleep at once, like a +sister who is all confidence. He for a moment kept himself awake in that +painful happiness of renunciation which they had just tasted together. It +was all over, quite over now; the sacrifice was consummated. He would +live a solitary life, apart from the life of other men. Never would he +know woman, never would any child be born to him. And there remained to +him only the consoling pride of that accepted and desired suicide, with +the desolate grandeur that attaches to lives which are beyond the pale of +nature. + +But fatigue overpowered him also; his eyes closed, and in his turn he +fell asleep. And afterwards his head slipped down, and his cheek touched +the cheek of his dear friend, who was sleeping very gently with her brow +against his shoulder. Then their hair mingled. She had her golden hair, +her royal hair, half unbound, and it streamed over his face, and he +dreamed amidst its perfume. Doubtless the same blissful dream fell upon +them both, for their loving faces assumed the same expression of rapture; +they both seemed to be smiling to the angels. It was chaste and +passionate abandon, the innocence of chance slumber placing them in one +another’s arms, with warm, close lips so that their breath mingled, like +the breath of two babes lying in the same cradle. And such was their +bridal night, the consummation of the spiritual marriage in which they +were to live, a delicious annihilation born of extreme fatigue, with +scarcely a fleeting dream of mystical possession, amidst that carriage of +wretchedness and suffering, which still and ever rolled along through the +dense night. Hours and hours slipped by, the wheels growled, the bags and +baskets swung from the brass hooks, whilst from the piled-up, crushed +bodies there only arose a sense of terrible fatigue, the great physical +exhaustion brought back from the land of miracles when the overworked +souls returned home. + +At last, at five o’clock, whilst the sun was rising, there was a sudden +awakening, a resounding entry into a large station, with porters calling, +doors opening, and people scrambling together. They were at Poitiers, and +at once the whole carriage was on foot, amidst a chorus of laughter and +exclamations. Little Sophie Couteau alighted here, and was bidding +everybody farewell. She embraced all the ladies, even passing over the +partition to take leave of Sister Claire des Anges, whom nobody had seen +since the previous evening, for, silent and slight of build, with eyes +full of mystery, she had vanished into her corner. Then the child came +back again, took her little parcel, and showed herself particularly +amiable towards Sister Hyacinthe and Madame de Jonquière. + +“_Au revoir_, Sister! _Au revoir_, madame! I thank you for all your +kindness.” + +“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 the +Blessed Virgin may be proud of you.” + +“To be sure, madame, she was so good to me, and it amuses me so much to +go to see her.” + +When she was on the platform, all the pilgrims in the carriage leaned +out, 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 the +stoppage at Poitiers, when the train was once more rolling on in the +fresh breeze of morning, M. de Guersaint gaily declared that he had slept +delightfully, in spite of the hardness of the seat. Madame de Jonquière +also congratulated herself on the good rest which she had had, and of +which she had been in so much need; though, at the same time, she was +somewhat annoyed at having left Sister Hyacinthe all alone to watch over +La Grivotte, who was now shivering with intense fever, again attacked by +her horrible cough. Meanwhile the other female pilgrims were tidying +themselves. The ten women at the far end were fastening their _fichus_ +and tying their cap strings, with a kind of modest nervousness displayed +on their mournfully ugly faces. And Elise Rouquet, all attention, with +her face close to her pocket glass, did not cease examining her nose, +mouth, and cheeks, admiring herself with the thought that she was really +and truly becoming nice-looking. + +And it was then that Pierre and Marie again experienced a feeling of deep +compassion on glancing at Madame Vincent, whom nothing had been able to +rouse from a state of torpor, neither the tumultuous stoppage at +Poitiers, nor the noise of voices which had continued ever since they had +started off again. Prostrate on the seat, she had not opened her eyes, +but still and ever slumbered, tortured by atrocious dreams. And, with big +tears still streaming from her closed eyes, she had caught hold of the +pillow which had been forced upon her, and was closely pressing it to her +breast in some nightmare born of her suffering. Her poor arms, which had +so long carried her dying daughter, her arms now unoccupied, forever +empty, had found this cushion whilst she slept, and had coiled around +them, as around a phantom, with a blind and frantic embrace. + +On the other hand, M. Sabathier had woke up feeling quite joyous. Whilst +his wife was pulling up his rug, carefully wrapping it round his lifeless +legs; he began to chat with sparkling eyes, once more basking in +illusion. He had dreamt of Lourdes, said he, and had seen the Blessed +Virgin leaning towards him with a smile of kindly promise. And then, +although he had before him both Madame Vincent, that mother whose +daughter the Virgin had allowed to die, and La Grivotte, the wretched +woman whom she had healed and who had so cruelly relapsed into her mortal +disease, he nevertheless rejoiced and made merry, repeating to M. de +Guersaint, with an air of perfect conviction: “Oh! I shall return home +quite easy in mind, monsieur--I shall be cured next year. Yes, yes, as +that dear little girl said just now: ‘Till next year, till next year!’” + +It was indestructible illusion, victorious even over certainty, eternal +hope 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 the +happiness of a glorious day: “O God, grant me sufficient strength that I +may avoid all that is evil, do all that is good, and suffer without +complaint 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 at +Sainte-Pierre-des-Corps the “Credo” was chanted. However, the religious +exercises no longer proved so welcome; the pilgrims’ zeal was flagging +somewhat in the increasing fatigue of their return journey, after such +prolonged mental excitement. It occurred to Sister Hyacinthe that the +happiest way of entertaining these poor worn-out folks would be for +someone to read aloud; and she promised that she would allow Monsieur +l’Abbé to read them the finish of Bernadette’s life, some of the +marvellous episodes of which he had already on two occasions related to +them. However, they must wait until they arrived at Les Aubrais; there +would be nearly two hours between Les Aubrais and Etampes, ample time to +finish the story without being disturbed. + +Then the various religious exercises followed one after the other, in a +monotonous repetition of the order which had been observed whilst they +crossed the same plains on their way to Lourdes. They again began the +Rosary at Amboise, where they said the first chaplet, the five joyful +mysteries; then, after singing the canticle, “O loving Mother, bless,” at +Blois, they recited the second chaplet, the five sorrowful mysteries, at +Beaugency. Some little fleecy clouds had veiled the sun since morning, +and the landscapes, very sweet and somewhat sad, flew by with a +continuous fan-like motion. The trees and houses on either side of the +line disappeared in the grey light with the fleetness of vague visions, +whilst the distant hills, enveloped in mist, vanished more slowly, with +the gentle rise and fall of a swelling sea. Between Beaugency and Les +Aubrais the train seemed to slacken speed, though it still kept up its +rhythmical, persistent rumbling, which the deafened pilgrims no longer +even heard. + +At length, when Les Aubrais had been left behind, they began to lunch in +the carriage. It was then a quarter to twelve, and when they had said the +“Angelus,” and the three “Aves” had been thrice repeated, Pierre took +from Marie’s bag the little book whose blue cover was ornamented with an +artless picture of Our Lady of Lourdes. Sister Hyacinthe clapped her +hands as a signal for silence, and amidst general wakefulness and ardent +curiosity like that of big children impassioned by the marvellous story, +the priest was able to begin reading in his fine, penetrating voice. Now +came the narrative of Bernadette’s sojourn at Nevers, and then her death +there. Pierre, however, as on the two previous occasions, soon ceased +following the exact text of the little book, and added charming anecdotes +of his own, both what he knew and what he could divine; and, for himself +alone, he again evolved the true story, the human, pitiful story, that +which none had ever told, but which he felt so deeply. + +It was on the 8th July, 1866, that Bernadette left Lourdes. She went to +take the veil at Nevers, in the convent of Saint-Gildard, the chief +habitation of the Sisters on duty at the Asylum where she had learnt to +read and had been living for eight years. She was then twenty-two years +of age, and it was eight years since the Blessed Virgin had appeared to +her. And her farewells to the Grotto, to the Basilica, to the whole town +which she loved, were watered with tears. But she could no longer remain +there, owing to the continuous persecution of public curiosity, the +visits, the homage, and the adoration paid to her, from which, on account +of her delicate health, she suffered cruelly. Her sincere humility, her +timid love of shade and silence, had at last produced in her an ardent +desire to disappear, to hide her resounding glory--the glory of one whom +heaven had chosen and whom the world would not leave in peace--in the +depth of some unknown darkness; and she longed only for +simple-mindedness, for a quiet humdrum life devoted to prayer and petty +daily occupations. Her departure was therefore a relief both to her and +to the Grotto, which she was beginning to embarrass with her excessive +innocence and burdensome complaints. + +At Nevers, Saint-Gildard ought to have proved a paradise. She there found +fresh air, sunshine, spacious apartments, and an extensive garden planted +with fine trees. Yet she did not enjoy peace,--that utter forgetfulness +of the world for which one flees to the far-away desert. Scarcely twenty +days after her arrival, she donned the garb of the Order and assumed the +name of Sister Marie-Bernard, for the time simply engaging herself by +partial vows. However, the world still flocked around her, the +persecution of the multitude began afresh. She was pursued even into the +cloister through an irresistible desire to obtain favours from her +saintly person. Ah! to see her, touch her, become lucky by gazing on her +or surreptitiously rubbing some medal against her dress. It was the +credulous passion of fetishism, a rush of believers pursuing this poor +beatified being in the desire which each felt to secure a share of hope +and divine illusion. She wept at it with very weariness, with impatient +revolt, and often repeated: “Why do they torment me like this? What more +is there in me than in others?” And at last she felt real grief at thus +becoming “the raree-show,” as she ended by calling herself with a sad, +suffering smile. She defended herself as far as she could, refusing to +see anyone. Her companions defended her also, and sometimes very sternly, +showing her only to such visitors as were authorised by the Bishop. The +doors of the Convent remained closed, and ecclesiastics almost alone +succeeded in effecting an entrance. Still, even this was too much for her +desire for solitude, and she often had to be obstinate, to request that +the priests who had called might be sent away, weary as she was of always +telling the same story, of ever answering the same questions. She was +incensed, wounded, on behalf of the Blessed Virgin herself. Still, she +sometimes had to yield, for the Bishop in person would bring great +personages, dignitaries, and prelates; and she would then appear with her +grave air, answering politely and as briefly as possible; only feeling at +ease when she was allowed to return to her shadowy corner. Never, indeed, +had distinction weighed more heavily on a mortal. One day, when she was +asked if she was not proud of the continual visits paid her by the +Bishop, she answered simply: “Monseigneur does not come to see me, he +comes to show me.” On another occasion some princes of the Church, great +militant Catholics, who wished to see her, were overcome with emotion and +sobbed before her; but, in her horror of being shown, in the vexation +they caused her simple mind, she left them without comprehending, merely +feeling very weary and very sad. + +At length, however, she grew accustomed to Saint-Gildard, and spent a +peaceful existence there, engaged in avocations of which she became very +fond. She was so delicate, so frequently ill, that she was employed in +the 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 times +she, 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 an +easy-chair, her only diversion being to recite her rosary or to read some +pious work. Now that she had learnt to read, books interested her, +especially the beautiful stories of conversion, the delightful legends in +which saints of both sexes appear, and the splendid and terrible dramas +in which the devil is baffled and cast back into hell. But her great +favourite, the book at which she continually marvelled, was the Bible, +that wonderful New Testament of whose perpetual miracle she never +wearied. She remembered the Bible at Bartres, that old book which had +been 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 to +open the book at random, and then read aloud from the top of the +right-hand page; and even at that time she had already known those +beautiful stories so well that she could have continued repeating the +narrative by heart, whatever might be the passage at which the perusal +had ceased. And now that she read the book herself, she found in it a +constant source of surprise, an ever-increasing delight. The story of the +Passion particularly upset her, as though it were some extraordinary +tragical event that had happened only the day before. She sobbed with +pity; it made her poor suffering body quiver for hours. Mingled with her +tears, perhaps, there was the unconscious dolour of her own passion, the +desolate Calvary which she also had been ascending ever since her +childhood. + +When Bernadette was well and able to perform her duties in the infirmary, +she bustled about, filling the building with childish liveliness. Until +her death she remained an innocent, infantile being, fond of laughing, +romping, and play. She was very little, the smallest Sister of the +community, so that her companions always treated her somewhat like a +child. Her face grew long and hollow, and lost its bloom of youth; but +she retained the pure divine brightness of her eyes, the beautiful eyes +of a visionary, in which, as in a limpid sky, you detected the flight of +her dreams. As she grew older and her sufferings increased, she became +somewhat sour-tempered and violent, cross-grained, anxious, and at times +rough; little imperfections which after each attack filled her with +remorse. She would humble herself, think herself damned, and beg pardon +of everyone. But, more frequently, what a good little daughter of +Providence she was! She became lively, alert, quick at repartee, full of +mirth-provoking remarks, with a grace quite her own, which made her +beloved. In spite of her great devotion, although she spent days in +prayer, she was not at all bigoted or over-exacting with regard to +others, but tolerant and compassionate. In fact, no nun was ever so much +a woman, with distinct features, a decided personality, charming even in +its puerility. And this gift of childishness which she had retained, the +simple 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 the +garden 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 once +more feeling herself a poor unknown little girl as in the far-away days +of Bartres! Later on it was related that a mother had one day brought her +paralysed child to the convent for the saint to touch and cure it. The +woman sobbed so much that the Superior ended by consenting to make the +attempt. However, as Bernadette indignantly protested whenever she was +asked to perform a miracle, she was not forewarned, but simply called to +take the sick child to the infirmary. And she did so, and when she stood +the child on the ground it walked. It was cured. + +Ah! how many times must Bartres and her free childhood spent watching her +lambs--the years passed among the hills, in the long grass, in the leafy +woods--have returned to her during the hours she gave to her dreams when +weary of praying for sinners! No one then fathomed her soul, no one could +say if involuntary regrets did not rend her wounded heart. One day she +spoke some words, which her historians have preserved, with the view of +making her passion more touching. Cloistered far away from her mountains, +confined to a bed of sickness, she exclaimed: “It seems to me that I was +made to live, to act, to be ever on the move, and yet the Lord will have +me remain motionless.” What a revelation, full of terrible testimony and +immense sadness! Why should the Lord wish that dear being, all grace and +gaiety, to remain motionless? Could she not have honoured Him equally +well by living the free, healthy life that she had been born to live? And +would she not have done more to increase the world’s happiness and her +own if, instead of praying for sinners, her constant occupation, she had +given her love to the husband who might have been united to her and to +the children who might have been born to her? She, so gay and so active, +would, on certain evenings, become extremely depressed. She turned gloomy +and remained wrapped in herself, as though overcome by excess of pain. No +doubt the cup was becoming too bitter. The thought of her life’s +perpetual 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 were +daily transforming the land of miracles? These questions were never +thoroughly elucidated. Her companions were forbidden to talk to her of +such matters, which remained enveloped in absolute, continual silence. +She herself did not care to speak of them; she kept silent with regard to +the mysterious past, and evinced no desire to know the present, however +triumphant it might be. But all the same did not her heart, in +imagination, fly away to the enchanted country of her childhood, where +lived her kith and kin, where all her life-ties had been formed, where +she 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 taken +place at Lourdes. What she most dreaded was to go there herself, and, she +always refused to do so, knowing full well that she could not remain +unrecognised, and fearful of meeting the crowds whose adoration awaited +her. 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, with +the infallibility and sovereignty of one of the elect, a friend of the +Blessed Virgin. But the Fathers never really feared this, although +express orders had been given to withdraw her from the world for her +salvation’s sake. In reality they were easy, for they knew her, so gentle +and so humble in her fear of becoming divine, in her ignorance of the +colossal machine which she had put in motion, and the working of which +would have made her recoil with affright had she understood it. No, no! +that was no longer her land, that place of crowds, of violence and +trafficking. She would have suffered too much there, she would have been +out of her element, bewildered, ashamed. And so, when pilgrims bound +thither asked her with a smile, “Will you come with us?” she shivered +slightly, 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 and +noiseless wings, which continually went on pilgrimage to the Grotto. In +her dreams, indeed, she must have continually lived at Lourdes, though in +the flesh she had not even gone there for either her father’s or her +mother’s funeral. Yet she loved her kin; she was anxious to procure work +for her relations who had remained poor, and she had insisted on seeing +her eldest brother, who, coming to Nevers to complain, had been refused +admission to the convent. However, he found her weary and resigned, and +she did not ask him a single question about New Lourdes, as though that +rising town were no longer her own. The year of the crowning of the +Virgin, a priest whom she had deputed to pray for her before the Grotto +came back and told her of the never-to-be forgotten wonders of the +ceremony, the hundred thousand pilgrims who had flocked to it, and the +five-and-thirty bishops in golden vestments who had assembled in the +resplendent Basilica. Whilst listening, she trembled with her customary +little quiver of desire and anxiety. And when the priest exclaimed, “Ah! +if you had only seen that pomp!” she answered: “Me! I was much better +here in my little corner in the infirmary.” They had robbed her of her +glory; 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 the +re-echoing solemnities that prompted her mysterious journeys; the little +bird of her soul only winged its lonesome flight to Lourdes on days of +solitude, in the peaceful hours when no one could there disturb its +devotions. It was before the wild primitive Grotto that she returned to +kneel, amongst the bushy eglantine, as in the days when the Gave was not +walled in by a monumental quay. And it was the old town that she visited +at twilight, when the cool, perfumed breezes came down from the +mountains, the old painted and gilded semi-Spanish church where she had +made her first communion, the old Asylum so full of suffering where +during eight years she had grown accustomed to solitude--all that poor, +innocent old town, whose every paving-stone awoke old affections in her +memory’s depths. + +And did Bernadette ever extend the pilgrimage of her dreams as far as +Bartres? Probably, at times when she sat in her invalid-chair and let +some pious book slip from her tired hands, and closed her eyes, Bartres +did appear to her, lighting up the darkness of her view. The little +antique Romanesque church with sky-blue nave and blood-red altar screens +stood there amidst the tombs of the narrow cemetery. Then she would find +herself once more in the house of the Lagues, in the large room on the +left, where the fire was burning, and where, in winter-time, such +wonderful stories were told whilst the big clock gravely ticked the hours +away. At times the whole countryside spread out before her, meadows +without end, giant chestnut-trees beneath which you lost yourself, +deserted table-lands whence you descried the distant mountains, the Pic +du Midi and the Pic de Viscos soaring aloft as airy and as rose-coloured +as dreams, in a paradise such as the legends have depicted. And +afterwards, afterwards came her free childhood, when she scampered off +whither she listed in the open air, her lonely, dreamy thirteenth year, +when with all the joy of living she wandered through the immensity of +nature. And now, too, perhaps, she again beheld herself roaming in the +tall grass among the hawthorn bushes beside the streams on a warm sunny +day in June. Did she not picture herself grown, with a lover of her own +age, whom she would have loved with all the simplicity and affection of +her 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 passed +confusedly before her--a husband who worshipped her, children gaily +growing up around her, the life that everybody led, the joys and sorrows +that her own parents had known, and which her children would have had to +know in their turn. But little by little all vanished, and she again +found herself in her chair of suffering, imprisoned between four cold +walls, with no other desire than a longing one for a speedy death, since +she had been denied a share of the poor common happiness of this world. + +Bernadette’s ailments increased each year. It was, in fact, the +commencement of her passion, the passion of this new child-Messiah, who +had come to bring relief to the unhappy, to announce to mankind the +religion of divine justice and equality in the face of miracles which +flouted the laws of impassible nature. If she now rose it was only to +drag herself from chair to chair for a few days at a time, and then she +would have a relapse and be again forced to take to her bed. Her +sufferings became terrible. Her hereditary nervousness, her asthma, +aggravated by cloister life, had probably turned into phthisis. She +coughed frightfully, each fit rending her burning chest and leaving her +half dead. To complete her misery, caries of the right knee-cap +supervened, a gnawing disease, the shooting pains of which caused her to +cry aloud. Her poor body, to which dressings were continually being +applied, became one great sore, which was irritated by the warmth of her +bed, by her prolonged sojourn between sheets whose friction ended by +breaking her skin. One and all pitied her; those who beheld her martyrdom +said 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? Then +dost Thou not save the souls of the others? What an inexplicable +selection! How absurd that in the eternal evolution of worlds it should +be necessary for this poor being to be tortured! She sobbed, and again +and 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 that +suffering is the test, that it is necessary to suffer upon earth if one +would triumph elsewhere, that suffering is indispensable, enviable, and +blessed. But is this not blasphemous, O Lord? Hast Thou not created youth +and joy? Is it Thy wish that Thy creatures should enjoy neither the sun, +nor the smiling Nature which Thou hast created, nor the human affections +with which Thou hast endowed their flesh? She dreaded the feeling of +revolt which maddened her at times, and wished also to strengthen herself +against the disease which made her groan, and she crucified herself in +thought, extending her arms so as to form a cross and unite herself to +Jesus, her limbs against His limbs, her mouth against His mouth, +streaming the while with blood like Him, and steeped like Him in +bitterness! Jesus died in three hours, but a longer agony fell to her, +who again brought redemption by pain, who died to give others life. When +her bones ached with agony she would sometimes utter complaints, but she +reproached herself immediately. “Oh! how I suffer, oh! how I suffer! but +what happiness it is to bear this pain!” There can be no more frightful +words, words pregnant with a blacker pessimism. Happy to suffer, O Lord! +but why, and to what unknown and senseless end? Where is the reason in +this useless cruelty, in this revolting glorification of suffering, when +from the whole of humanity there ascends but one desperate longing for +health and happiness? + +In the midst of her frightful sufferings, however, Sister Marie-Bernard +took the final vows on September 22, 1878. Twenty years had gone by since +the Blessed Virgin had appeared to her, visiting her as the Angel had +visited the Virgin, choosing her as the Virgin had been chosen, amongst +the most lowly and the most candid, that she might hide within her the +secret of King Jesus. Such was the mystical explanation of that election +of suffering, the _raison d’être_ of that being who was so harshly +separated from her fellows, weighed down by disease, transformed into the +pitiable 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 the +unhappy creature staggered beneath the weight of her cross, her +companions would say to her: “Do you forget that the Blessed Virgin +promised you that you should be happy, not in this world, but in the +next?” And with renewed strength, and striking her forehead, she would +answer: “Forget? no, no! it is here!” She only recovered temporary energy +by means of this illusion of a paradise of glory, into which she would +enter escorted by seraphims, to be forever and ever happy. The three +personal secrets which the Blessed Virgin had confided to her, to arm her +against evil, must have been promises of beauty, felicity, and +immortality in heaven. What monstrous dupery if there were only the +darkness of the earth beyond the grave, if the Blessed Virgin of her +dream were not there to meet her with the prodigious guerdons she had +promised! But Bernadette had not a doubt; she willingly undertook all the +little commissions with which her companions naïvely entrusted her for +Heaven: “Sister Marie-Bernard, you’ll say this, you’ll say that, to the +Almighty.” “Sister Marie-Bernard, you’ll kiss my brother if you meet him +in Paradise.” “Sister Marie-Bernard, give me a little place beside you +when I die.” And she obligingly answered each one: “Have no fear, I will +do it!” Ah! all-powerful illusion, delicious repose, power ever reviving +and 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 the +night. She had a despairing longing for the tomb, in order that she might +suffer no more, and live again in heaven. And thus she obstinately +refused to receive extreme unction, saying that twice already it had +cured her. She wished, in short, that God would let her die, for it was +more than she could bear; it would have been unreasonable to require that +she should suffer longer. Yet she ended by consenting to receive the +sacraments, and her last agony was thereby prolonged for nearly three +weeks. The priest who attended her frequently said: “My daughter, you +must make the sacrifice of your life”; and one day, quite out of +patience, she sharply answered him: “But, Father, it is no sacrifice.” A +terrible saying, that also, for it implied disgust at _being_, furious +contempt for existence, and an immediate ending of her humanity, had she +had the power to suppress herself by a gesture. It is true that the poor +girl had nothing to regret, that she had been compelled to banish +everything from her life, health, joy, and love, so that she might leave +it as one casts off a soiled, worn, tattered garment. And she was right; +she condemned her useless, cruel life when she said: “My passion will +finish 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 to +the cross with her Divine Master. She had induced them to give her a +large crucifix; she pressed it vehemently against her poor maidenly +breast, exclaiming that she would like to thrust it into her bosom and +leave it there. Towards the end, her strength completely forsook her, and +she could no longer grasp the crucifix with her trembling hands. “Let it +be tightly tied to me,” she prayed, “that I may feel it until my last +breath!” The Redeemer upon that crucifix was the only spouse that she was +destined to know; His bleeding kiss was to be the only one bestowed upon +her womanhood, diverted from nature’s course. The nuns took cords, passed +them under her aching back, and fastened the crucifix so roughly to her +bosom that it did indeed penetrate it. + +At last death took pity upon her. On Easter Monday she was seized with a +great fit of shivering. Hallucinations perturbed her, she trembled with +fright, she beheld the devil jeering and prowling around her. “Be off, be +off, Satan!” she gasped; “do not touch me, do not carry me away!” And +amidst her delirium she related that the fiend had sought to throw +himself upon her, that she had felt his mouth scorching her with all the +flames of hell. The devil in a life so pure, in a soul without sin! what +for, O Lord! and again I ask it, why this relentless suffering, intense +to the very last, why this nightmare-like ending, this death troubled +with such frightful fancies, after so beautiful a life of candour, +purity, and innocence? Could she not fall asleep serenely in the +peacefulness of her chaste soul? But doubtless so long as breath remained +in 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 which +she cast out, in the same way that she denied life when she reserved to +the Celestial Bridegroom her tortured, crucified womanhood. That dogma of +the Immaculate Conception, which her dream had come to strengthen, was a +blow dealt by the Church to woman, both wife and mother. To decree that +woman is only worthy of worship on condition that she be a virgin, to +imagine that virgin to be herself born without sin, is not this an insult +to Nature, the condemnation of life, the denial of womanhood, whose true +greatness consists in perpetuating life? “Be off, be off, Satan! let me +die without fulfilling Nature’s law.” And she drove the sunshine from the +room and the free air that entered by the window, the air that was sweet +with the scent of flowers, laden with all the floating germs which +transmit love throughout the whole vast world. + +On the Wednesday after Easter (April 16th), the death agony commenced. It +is related that on the morning of that day one of Bernadette’s +companions, a nun attacked with a mortal illness and lying in the +infirmary in an adjoining bed, was suddenly healed upon drinking a glass +of 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 sending +her into the good sound sleep of the earth, in which there is no more +suffering. She asked pardon of everyone. Her passion was consummated; +like the Saviour, she had the nails and the crown of thorns, the scourged +limbs, the pierced side. Like Him she raised her eyes to heaven, extended +her 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 her +lips 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 Charity +of Nevers. During three days her body remained exposed to view, and vast +crowds passed before it; a whole people hastened to the convent, an +interminable procession of devotees hungering after hope, who rubbed +medals, chaplets, pictures, and missals against the dead woman’s dress, +to obtain from her one more favour, a fetish bringing happiness. Even in +death her dream of solitude was denied her: a mob of the wretched ones of +this 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 the +apparitions had been nearest to the Blessed Virgin, remained obstinately +open. Then a last miracle amazed the convent: the body underwent no +change, but was interred on the third day, still supple, warm, with red +lips, and a very white skin, rejuvenated as it were, and smelling sweet. +And to-day Bernadette Soubirous, exiled from Lourdes, obscurely sleeps +her 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, whilst +yonder the Grotto shines resplendently in all its triumph. + +Pierre ceased speaking; the beautiful, marvellous story was ended. And +yet the whole carriage was still listening, deeply impressed by that +death, at once so tragic and so touching. Compassionate tears fell from +Marie’s eyes, while the others, Elise Rouquet, La Grivotte herself, now +calmer, clasped their hands and prayed to her who was in heaven to +intercede with the Divinity to complete their cure. M. Sabathier made a +big sign of the cross, and then ate a cake which his wife had bought him +at Poitiers. + +M. de Guersaint, whom sad things always upset, had fallen asleep again in +the middle of the story. And there was only Madame Vincent, with her face +buried in her pillow, who had not stirred, like a deaf and blind +creature, determined to see and hear nothing more. + +Meanwhile the train rolled, still rolled along. Madame de Jonquière, +after putting her head out of the window, informed them that they were +approaching Etampes. And, when they had left that station behind them, +Sister Hyacinthe gave the signal, and they recited the third chaplet of +the Rosary, the five glorious mysteries--the Resurrection of Our Lord, +the Ascension of Our Lord, the Mission of the Holy Ghost, the Assumption +of 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 the +now sunlit landscape, the continual flight of which seemed to lull his +thoughts. The noise of the wheels was making him dizzy, and he ended by +no longer recognising the familiar horizon of this vast suburban expanse +with which he had once been acquainted. They still had to pass Bretigny +and Juvisy, and then, in an hour and a half at the utmost, they would at +last be at Paris. So the great journey was finished! the inquiry, which +he had so much desired to make, the experiment which he had attempted +with so much passion, were over! He had wished to acquire certainty, to +study Bernadette’s case on the spot, and see if grace would not come back +to him in a lightning flash, restoring him his faith. And now he had +settled the point--Bernadette had dreamed through the continual torments +of her flesh, and he himself would never believe again. And this forced +itself upon his mind like a brutal fact: the simple faith of the child +who kneels and prays, the primitive faith of young people, bowed down by +an awe born of their ignorance, was dead. Though thousands of pilgrims +might each year go to Lourdes, the nations were no longer with them; this +attempt to bring about the resurrection of absolute faith, the faith of +dead-and-gone centuries, without revolt or examination, was fatally +doomed to fail. History never retraces its steps, humanity cannot return +to childhood, times have too much changed, too many new inspirations have +sown new harvests for the men of to-day to become once more like the men +of olden time. It was decisive; Lourdes was only an explainable accident, +whose reactionary violence was even a proof of the extreme agony in which +belief under the antique form of Catholicism was struggling. Never again, +as in the cathedrals of the twelfth century, would the entire nation +kneel 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 dash +oneself against the impossible, to rush, perhaps, towards great moral +catastrophes. + +And of his journey there already only remained to Pierre an immense +feeling of compassion. Ah! his heart was overflowing with pity; his poor +heart was returning wrung by all that he had seen. He recalled the words +of worthy Abbé Judaine; and he had seen those thousands of unhappy beings +praying, weeping, and imploring God to take pity on their suffering; and +he had wept with them, and felt within himself, like an open wound, a +sorrowful fraternal feeling for all their ailments. He could not think of +those poor people without burning with a desire to relieve them. If it +were true that the faith of the simple-minded no longer sufficed; if one +ran the risk of going astray in wishing to turn back, would it become +necessary to close the Grotto, to preach other efforts, other sufferings? +However, his compassion revolted at that thought. No, no! it would be a +crime to snatch their dream of Heaven from those poor creatures who +suffered either in body or in mind, and who only found relief in kneeling +yonder amidst the splendour of tapers and the soothing repetition of +hymns. He had not taken the murderous course of undeceiving Marie, but +had sacrificed himself in order to leave her the joy of her fancy, the +divine consolation of having been healed by the Virgin. Where was the man +hard enough, cruel enough, to prevent the lowly from believing, to rob +them of the consolation of the supernatural, the hope that God troubled +Himself about them, that He held a better life in His paradise in reserve +for them? All humanity was weeping, desperate with anguish, like some +despairing invalid, irrevocably condemned, and whom only a miracle could +save. He felt mankind to be unhappy indeed, and he shuddered with +fraternal affection in the presence of such pitiable humility, ignorance, +poverty in its rags, disease with its sores and evil odour, all the lowly +sufferers, in hospital, convent, and slums, amidst vermin and dirt, with +ugliness and imbecility written on their faces, an immense protest +against health, life, and Nature, in the triumphal name of justice, +equality, and benevolence. No, no! it would never do to drive the +wretched to despair. Lourdes must be tolerated, in the same way that you +tolerate a falsehood which makes life possible. And, as he had already +said in Bernadette’s chamber, she remained the martyr, she it was who +revealed to him the only religion which still filled his heart, the +religion of human suffering. Ah! to be good and kindly, to alleviate all +ills, to lull pain, to sleep in a dream, to lie even, so that no one +might suffer any more! + +The train passed at full speed through a village, and Pierre vaguely +caught sight of a church nestling amidst some large apple trees. All the +pilgrims in the carriage crossed themselves. But he was now becoming +uneasy, scruples were tingeing his reverie with anxiety. This religion of +human suffering, this redemption by pain, was not this yet another lure, +a continual aggravation of pain and misery? It is cowardly and dangerous +to allow superstition to live. To tolerate and accept it is to revive the +dark evil ages afresh. It weakens and stupefies; the sanctimoniousness +bequeathed by heredity produces humiliated, timorous generations, +decadent and docile nations, who are an easy prey to the powerful of the +earth. Whole nations are imposed upon, robbed, devoured, when they have +devoted the whole effort of their will to the mere conquest of a future +existence. Would it not, therefore, be better to cure humanity at once by +boldly closing the miraculous Grottos whither it goes to weep, and thus +restore to it the courage to live the real life, even in the midst of +tears? And it was the same prayer, that incessant flood of prayer which +ascended from Lourdes, the endless supplication in which he had been +immersed and softened: was it not after all but puerile lullaby, a +debasement of all one’s energies? It benumbed the will, one’s very being +became dissolved in it and acquired disgust for life and action. Of what +use could it be to will anything, do anything, when you totally resigned +yourself to the caprices of an unknown almighty power? And, in another +respect, what a strange thing was this mad desire for prodigies, this +anxiety to drive the Divinity to transgress the laws of Nature +established by Himself in His infinite wisdom! Therein evidently lay +peril and unreasonableness; at the risk even of losing illusion, that +divine comforter, only the habit of personal effort and the courage of +truth should have been developed in man, and especially in the child. + +Then a great brightness arose in Pierre’s mind and dazzled him. It was +Reason, protesting against the glorification of the absurd and the +deposition of common-sense. Ah! reason, it was through her that he had +suffered, through her alone that he was happy. As he had told Doctor +Chassaigne, his one consuming longing was to satisfy reason ever more and +more, although it might cost him happiness to do so. It was reason, he +now well understood it, whose continual revolt at the Grotto, at the +Basilica, throughout entire Lourdes, had prevented him from believing. +Unlike his old friend--that stricken old man, who was afflicted with such +dolorous senility, who had fallen into second childhood since the +shipwreck of his affections,--he had been unable to kill reason and +humiliate and annihilate himself. Reason remained his sovereign mistress, +and she it was who buoyed him up even amidst the obscurities and failures +of science. Whenever he met with a thing which he could not understand, +it was she who whispered to him, “There is certainly a natural +explanation which escapes me.” He repeated that there could be no healthy +ideal outside the march towards the discovery of the unknown, the slow +victory of reason amidst all the wretchedness of body and mind. In the +clashing of the twofold heredity which he had derived from his father, +all brain, and his mother, all faith, he, a priest, found it possible to +ravage his life in order that he might keep his vows. He had acquired +strength enough to master his flesh, but he felt that his paternal +heredity had now definitely gained the upper hand, for henceforth the +sacrifice of his reason had become an impossibility; this he would not +renounce and would not master. No, no, even human suffering, the hallowed +suffering of the poor, ought not to prove an obstacle, enjoining the +necessity of ignorance and folly. Reason before all; in her alone lay +salvation. If at Lourdes, whilst bathed in tears, softened by the sight +of so much affliction, he had said that it was sufficient to weep and +love, he had made a dangerous mistake. Pity was but a convenient +expedient. 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 once +more appeared, this time on the fringe of heaven, some votive chapel +perched upon a hill and surmounted by a lofty statue of the Virgin. And +once more all the pilgrims made the sign of the cross, and once more +Pierre’s reverie strayed, a fresh stream of reflections bringing his +anguish back to him. What was this imperious need of the things beyond, +which tortured suffering humanity? Whence came it? Why should equality +and justice be desired when they did not seem to exist in impassive +nature? Man had set them in the unknown spheres of the Mysterious, in the +supernatural realms of religious paradises, and there contented his +ardent thirst for them. That unquenchable thirst for happiness had ever +consumed, and would consume him always. If the Fathers of the Grotto +drove such a glorious trade, it was simply because they made motley out +of what was divine. That thirst for the Divine, which nothing had +quenched through the long, long ages, seemed to have returned with +increased violence at the close of our century of science. Lourdes was a +resounding and undeniable proof that man could never live without the +dream of a Sovereign Divinity, re-establishing equality and re-creating +happiness by dint of miracles. When man has reached the depths of life’s +misfortunes, he returns to the divine illusion, and the origin of all +religions lies there. Man, weak and bare, lacks the strength to live +through his terrestrial misery without the everlasting lie of a paradise. +To-day, thought Pierre, the experiment had been made; it seemed that +science alone could not suffice, and that one would be obliged to leave a +door 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 was +indeed a new religion. To subject mankind to brutal amputation, lop off +its dream, and forcibly deprive it of the Marvellous, which it needed to +live as much as it needed bread, would possibly kill it. Would it ever +have the philosophical courage to take life as it is, and live it for its +own sake, without any idea of future rewards and penalties? It certainly +seemed that centuries must elapse before the advent of a society wise +enough to lead a life of rectitude without the moral control of some +cultus and the consolation of superhuman equality and justice. Yes, a new +religion! The call burst forth, resounded within Pierre’s brain like the +call of the nations, the eager, despairing desire of the modern soul. The +consolation and hope which Catholicism had brought the world seemed +exhausted after eighteen hundred years full of so many tears, so much +blood, so much vain and barbarous agitation. It was an illusion +departing, and it was at least necessary that the illusion should be +changed. If mankind had long ago darted for refuge into the Christian +paradise, it was because that paradise then opened before it like a fresh +hope. But now a new religion, a new hope, a new paradise, yes, that was +what the world thirsted for, in the discomfort in which it was +struggling. And Father Fourcade, for his part, fully felt such to be the +case; he had not meant to imply anything else when he had given rein to +his anxiety, entreating that the people of the great towns, the dense +mass 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 whole +people, that was required. But the people has forever deserted the +churches, it no longer puts any soul in the Blessed Virgins which it +manufactures, and nothing nowadays could restore its lost faith. A +Catholic democracy--yes, history would then begin afresh; only were it +possible to create a new Christian people, would not the advent of a new +Saviour, the mighty breath of a new Messiah, have been needed for such a +task? + +However, the words still sounded, still rang out in Pierre’s mind with +the growing clamour of pealing bells. A new religion; a new religion. +Doubtless it must be a religion nearer to life, giving a larger place to +the 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 for +death--Bernadette living solely in order that she might die, Doctor +Chassaigne aspiring to the tomb as to the only happiness--for all that +spiritualistic abandonment was so much continuous disorganisation of the +will to live. At bottom of it was hatred to life, disgust with and +cessation of action. Every religion, it is true, is but a promise of +immortality, an embellishment of the spheres beyond, an enchanted garden +to be entered on the morrow of death. Could a new religion ever place +such a garden of eternal happiness on earth? Where was the formula, the +dogma, that would satisfy the hopes of the mankind of to-day? What belief +should be sown to blossom forth in a harvest of strength and peace? How +could one fecundate the universal doubt so that it should give birth to a +new faith? and what sort of illusion, what divine falsehood of any kind +could be made to germinate in the contemporary world, ravaged as it had +been upon all sides, broken up by a century of science? + +At that moment, without any apparent transition, Pierre saw the face of +his brother Guillaume arise in the troublous depths of his mind. Still, +he was not surprised; some secret link must have brought that vision +there. Ah! how fond they had been of one another long ago, and what a +good brother that elder brother, so upright and gentle, had been! +Henceforth, also, the rupture was complete; Pierre no longer saw +Guillaume, since the latter had cloistered himself in his chemical +studies, living like a savage in a little suburban house, with a mistress +and two big dogs. Then Pierre’s reverie again diverged, and he thought of +that trial in which Guillaume had been mentioned, like one suspected of +having 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 would +suffice to blow up a cathedral. And Pierre then thought of those +Anarchists who wished to renew and save the world by destroying it. They +were but dreamers, horrible dreamers; yet dreamers in the same way as +those innocent pilgrims whom he had seen kneeling at the Grotto in an +enraptured flock. If the Anarchists, if the extreme Socialists, demanded +with violence the equality of wealth, the sharing of all the enjoyments +of the world, the pilgrims on their side demanded with tears equality of +health and an equitable sharing of moral and physical peace. The latter +relied 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 bliss +for one and all. And, in fact, had not the primitive Christians been +terrible revolutionaries for the pagan world, which they threatened, and +did, indeed, destroy? They who were persecuted, whom the others sought to +exterminate, are to-day inoffensive, because they have become the Past. +The frightful Future is ever the man who dreams of a future society; even +as to-day it is the madman so wildly bent on social renovation that he +harbours the great black dream of purifying everything by the flame of +conflagrations. 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, made +common cause with old society now reduced to defend itself, unable though +he was to say whence would come the new Messiah of Gentleness, in whose +hands 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 to +what conclusion to come between the ancient faith, which was dead, and +the young faith of to-morrow, as yet unborn. For his part, in his +desolation, he was only sure of keeping his vow, like an unbelieving +priest watching over the belief of others, chastely and honestly +discharging his duties, with the proud sadness that he had been unable to +renounce his reason as he had renounced his flesh. And for the rest, he +would wait. + +However, the train rolled on between large parks, and the engine gave a +prolonged whistle, a joyful flourish, which drew Pierre from his +reflections. The others were stirring, displaying emotion around him. The +train had just left Juvisy, and Paris was at last near at hand, within a +short half-hour’s journey. One and all were getting their things +together: the Sabathiers were remaking their little parcels, Elise +Rouquet was giving a last glance at her mirror. For a moment Madame de +Jonquière again became anxious concerning La Grivotte, and decided that +as the girl was in such a pitiful condition she would have her taken +straight to a hospital on arriving; whilst Marie endeavoured to rouse +Madame Vincent from the torpor in which she seemed determined to remain. +M. de Guersaint, who had been indulging in a little siesta, also had to +be awakened. And at last, when Sister Hyacinthe had clapped her hands, +the whole carriage intonated the “Te Deum,” the hymn of praise and +thanksgiving. “_Te Deum, laudamus, te Dominum confitemur_.” The voices +rose amidst a last burst of fervour. All those glowing souls returned +thanks to God for the beautiful journey, the marvellous favours that He +had already bestowed on them, and would bestow on them yet again. + +At last came the fortifications. The two o’clock sun was slowly +descending the vast, pure heavens, so serenely warm. Distant smoke, a +ruddy smoke, was rising in light clouds above the immensity of Paris like +the scattered, flying breath of that toiling colossus. It was Paris in +her forge, Paris with her passions, her battles, her ever-growling +thunder, her ardent life ever engendering the life of to-morrow. And the +white train, the woeful train of every misery and every dolour, was +returning into it all at full speed, sounding in higher and higher +strains the piercing flourishes of its whistle-calls. The five hundred +pilgrims, the three hundred patients, were about to disappear in the vast +city, fall again upon the hard pavement of life after the prodigious +dream in which they had just indulged, until the day should come when +their need of the consolation of a fresh dream would irresistibly impel +them to start once more on the everlasting pilgrimage to mystery and +forgetfulness. + +Ah! unhappy mankind, poor ailing humanity, hungering for illusion, and in +the weariness of this waning century distracted and sore from having too +greedily acquired science; it fancies itself abandoned by the physicians +of both the mind and the body, and, in great danger of succumbing to +incurable disease, retraces its steps and asks the miracle of its cure of +the 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 with +the penalty of being neither woman, nor wife, nor mother, because she +beheld the Blessed Virgin. + + +THE END + + ***** + + + + + +ROME + +FROM “THE THREE CITIES” + + +By Émile 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 to +offer on behalf of the author, whose views on Rome, its past, present, +and future, will be found fully expounded in the following pages. That a +book of this character will, like its forerunner “Lourdes,” provoke +considerable controversy is certain, but comment or rejoinder may well be +postponed until that controversy has arisen. At present then I only +desire to say, that in spite of the great labour which I have bestowed on +this translation, I am sensible of its shortcomings, and in a work of +such length, such intricacy, and such a wide range of subject, it will +not be surprising if some slips are discovered. Any errors which may be +pointed out to me, however, shall be rectified in subsequent editions. I +have given, I think, the whole essence of M. Zola’s text; but he himself +has admitted to me that he has now and again allowed his pen to run away +with him, and thus whilst sacrificing nothing of his sense I have at +times abbreviated his phraseology so as slightly to condense the book. I +may add that there are no chapter headings in the original, and that the +circumstances under which the translation was made did not permit me to +supply any whilst it was passing through the press; however, as some +indication of the contents of the book--which treats of many more things +than are usually found in novels--may be a convenience to the reader, I +have prepared a table briefly epitomising the chief features of each +successive chapter. + + E. A. V. + + MERTON, SURREY, ENGLAND, + April, 1896. + + + + + CONTENTS TO PART I. I + “NEW ROME”--Abbé 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--Abbés + 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 and +Civita Vecchia, and it was close upon nine o’clock in the morning when, +after a fatiguing journey of twenty-five hours’ duration, Abbé Pierre +Froment at last reached Rome. He had brought only a valise with him, and, +springing hastily out of the railway carriage amidst the scramble of the +arrival, he brushed the eager porters aside, intent on carrying his +trifling luggage himself, so anxious was he to reach his destination, to +be alone, and look around him. And almost immediately, on the Piazza dei +Cinquecento, in front of the railway station, he climbed into one of the +small open cabs ranged alongside the footwalk, and placed the valise near +him 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 mild +morning, with a clear sky overhead. The cabby, a plump little man with +sparkling eyes and white teeth, smiled on realising by Pierre’s accent +that he had to deal with a French priest. Then he whipped up his lean +horse, and the vehicle started off at the rapid pace customary to the +clean and cheerful cabs of Rome. However, on reaching the Piazza delle +Terme, after skirting the greenery of a little public garden, the man +turned round, still smiling, and pointing to some ruins with his whip, + +“The baths of Diocletian,” said he in broken French, like an obliging +driver who is anxious to court favour with foreigners in order to secure +their custom. + +Then, at a fast trot, the vehicle descended the rapid slope of the Via +Nazionale, which dips down from the summit of the Viminalis,* where the +railway station is situated. And from that moment the driver scarcely +ceased turning round and pointing at the monuments with his whip. In this +broad new thoroughfare there were only buildings of recent erection. +Still, the wave of the cabman’s whip became more pronounced and his voice +rose to a higher key, with a somewhat ironical inflection, when he gave +the name of a huge and still chalky pile on his left, a gigantic erection +of 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, Cœlian, + 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 make +the journey, had spent wellnigh every day in studying Roman topography in +maps and books. Thus he could have directed his steps to any given spot +without inquiring his way, and he anticipated most of the driver’s +explanations. At the same time he was disconcerted by the sudden slopes, +the perpetually recurring hills, on which certain districts rose, house +above house, in terrace fashion. On his right-hand clumps of greenery +were now climbing a height, and above them stretched a long bare yellow +building 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, on +raising his eyes, was delighted to perceive a sort of aerial garden high +above him--a garden which was upheld by a lofty smooth wall, and whence +the elegant and vigorous silhouette of a parasol pine, many centuries +old, rose aloft into the limpid heavens. At this sight he realised all +the pride and grace of Rome. + +“The Villa Aldobrandini,” the cabman called. + +Then, yet lower down, there came a fleeting vision which decisively +impassioned Pierre. The street again made a sudden bend, and in one +corner, beyond a short dim alley, there was a blazing gap of light. On a +lower level appeared a white square, a well of sunshine, filled with a +blinding golden dust; and amidst all that morning glory there arose a +gigantic marble column, gilt from base to summit on the side which the +sun in rising had laved with its beams for wellnigh eighteen hundred +years. And Pierre was surprised when the cabman told him the name of the +column, for in his mind he had never pictured it soaring aloft in such a +dazzling 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. And +then other names fell hastily from the driver’s lips as his horse went on +at a fast trot. There was the Palazzo Colonna, with its garden edged by +meagre cypresses; the Palazzo Torlonia, almost ripped open by recent +“improvements”; the Palazzo di Venezia, bare and fearsome, with its +crenelated walls, its stern and tragic appearance, that of some fortress +of the middle ages, forgotten there amidst the commonplace life of +nowadays. Pierre’s surprise increased at the unexpected aspect which +certain buildings and streets presented; and the keenest blow of all was +dealt him when the cabman with his whip triumphantly called his attention +to the Corso, a long narrow thoroughfare, about as broad as Fleet +Street,* white with sunshine on the left, and black with shadows on the +right, whilst at the far end the Piazza del Popolo (the Square of the +People) showed like a bright star. Was this, then, the heart of the city, +the vaunted promenade, the street brimful of life, whither flowed all the +blood of Rome? + + * M. Zola likens the Corso to the Rue St. Honoré 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, which +follows the Via Nazionale, these being the two piercings effected right +across the olden city from the railway station to the bridge of St. +Angelo. On the left-hand the rounded apsis of the Gesù church looked +quite golden in the morning brightness. Then, between the church and the +heavy Altieri palace which the “improvers” had not dared to demolish, the +street became narrower, and one entered into cold, damp shade. But a +moment afterwards, before the façade of the Gesù, when the square was +reached, the sun again appeared, dazzling, throwing golden sheets of +light around; whilst afar off at the end of the Via di Ara Coeli, steeped +in 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 of +greenery at the end of the dim corridor-like street. The sudden +alternations of warm light and cold shade made him shiver. In front of +the Palazzo di Venezia, and in front of the Gesù, it had seemed to him as +if all the night of ancient times were falling icily upon his shoulders; +but at each fresh square, each broadening of the new thoroughfares, there +came a return to light, to the pleasant warmth and gaiety of life. The +yellow sunflashes, in falling from the house fronts, sharply outlined the +violescent shadows. Strips of sky, very blue and very benign, could be +perceived between the roofs. And it seemed to Pierre that the air he +breathed had a particular savour, which he could not yet quite define, +but it was like that of fruit, and increased the feverishness which had +possessed him ever since his arrival. + +The Corso Vittorio Emanuele is, in spite of its irregularity, a very fine +modern thoroughfare; and for a time Pierre might have fancied himself in +any great city full of huge houses let out in flats. But when he passed +before the Cancelleria,* Bramante’s masterpiece, the typical monument of +the Roman Renascence, his astonishment came back to him and his mind +returned to the mansions which he had previously espied, those bare, +huge, heavy edifices, those vast cubes of stone-work resembling hospitals +or prisons. Never would he have imagined that the famous Roman “palaces” + were like that, destitute of all grace and fancy and external +magnificence. However, they were considered very fine and must be so; he +would doubtless end by understanding things, but for that he would +require 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 Emanuele +into a succession of winding alleys, through which it had difficulty in +making its way. Quietude and solitude now came back again; the olden +city, cold and somniferous, followed the new city with its bright +sunshine and its crowds. Pierre remembered the maps which he had +consulted, and realised that he was drawing near to the Via Giulia, and +thereupon his curiosity, which had been steadily increasing, augmented to +such a point that he suffered from it, full of despair at not seeing more +and learning more at once. In the feverish state in which he had found +himself ever since leaving the station, his astonishment at not finding +things such as he had expected, the many shocks that his imagination had +received, aggravated his passion beyond endurance, and brought him an +acute desire to satisfy himself immediately. Nine o’clock had struck but +a few minutes previously, he had the whole morning before him to repair +to the Boccanera palace, so why should he not at once drive to the +classic spot, the summit whence one perceives the whole of Rome spread +out upon her seven hills? And when once this thought had entered into his +mind 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 him +this 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 nod +of 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 narrow +streets. One of these was pent between high walls, and the daylight +descended into it as into a deep trench. But at the end came a sudden +return to light, and the Tiber was crossed by the antique bridge of +Sixtus IV, right and left of which stretched the new quays, amidst the +ravages and fresh plaster-work of recent erections. On the other side of +the river the Trastevere district also was ripped open, and the vehicle +ascended the slope of the Janiculum by a broad thoroughfare where large +slabs bore the name of Garibaldi. For the last time the driver made a +gesture of good-natured pride as he named this triumphal route. + +“Via Garibaldi!” + +The horse had been obliged to slacken its pace, and Pierre, mastered by +childish impatience, turned round to look at the city as by degrees it +spread 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 young +priest felt that he was spoiling the contentment of his desire by thus +gradually satisfying it, slowly and but partially effecting his conquest +of the horizon. He wished to receive the shock full in the face, to +behold all Rome at one glance, to gather the holy city together, and +embrace the whole of it at one grasp. And thereupon he mustered +sufficient strength of mind to refrain from turning round any more, in +spite of the impulses of his whole being. + +There is a spacious terrace on the summit of the incline. The church of +San 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 hot +summer suns; but a little further away in the rear, the clear and noisy +waters of the Acqua Paola fall bubbling from the three basins of a +monumental fountain amidst sempiternal freshness. And alongside the +terrace parapet, on the very crown of the Trastevere, there are always +rows of tourists, slim Englishmen and square-built Germans, agape with +traditional admiration, or consulting their guide-books in order to +identify the monuments. + +Pierre sprang lightly from the cab, leaving his valise on the seat, and +making 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, his +head drooping like that of his horse, both resigning themselves to the +customary long stoppage. + +Meantime Pierre, erect against the parapet, in his tight black cassock, +and with his bare feverish hands nervously clenched, was gazing before +him with all his eyes, with all his soul. Rome! Rome! the city of the +Caesars, the city of the Popes, the Eternal City which has twice +conquered the world, the predestined city of the glowing dream in which +he had indulged for months! At last it was before him, at last his eyes +beheld it! During the previous days some rainstorms had abated the +intense August heat, and on that lovely September morning the air had +freshened under the pale blue of the spotless far-spreading heavens. And +the Rome that Pierre beheld was a Rome steeped in mildness, a visionary +Rome which seemed to evaporate in the clear sunshine. A fine bluey haze, +scarcely perceptible, as delicate as gauze, hovered over the roofs of the +low-lying districts; whilst the vast Campagna, the distant hills, died +away in a pale pink flush. At first Pierre distinguished nothing, sought +no particular edifice or spot, but gave sight and soul alike to the whole +of Rome, to the living colossus spread out below him, on a soil +compounded of the dust of generations. Each century had renewed the +city’s glory as with the sap of immortal youth. And that which struck +Pierre, that which made his heart leap within him, was that he found Rome +such 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 new +life in the pure dawn of a lovely day. + +And standing motionless before the sublime vista, with his hands still +clenched and burning, Pierre in a few minutes again lived the last three +years of his life. Ah! what a terrible year had the first been, spent in +his little house at Neuilly, with doors and windows ever closed, +burrowing there like some wounded animal suffering unto death. He had +come back from Lourdes with his soul desolate, his heart bleeding, with +nought but ashes within him. Silence and darkness fell upon the ruins of +his love and his faith. Days and days went by, without a pulsation of his +veins, without the faintest gleam arising to brighten the gloom of his +abandonment. His life was a mechanical one; he awaited the necessary +courage to resume the tenor of existence in the name of sovereign reason, +which had imposed upon him the sacrifice of everything. Why was he not +stronger, more resistant, why did he not quietly adapt his life to his +new opinions? As he was unwilling to cast off his cassock, through +fidelity to the love of one and disgust of backsliding, why did he not +seek occupation in some science suited to a priest, such as astronomy or +archaeology? The truth was that something, doubtless his mother’s spirit, +wept within him, an infinite, distracted love which nothing had yet +satisfied and which ever despaired of attaining contentment. Therein lay +the perpetual suffering of his solitude: beneath the lofty dignity of +reason regained, the wound still lingered, raw and bleeding. + +One autumn evening, however, under a dismal rainy sky, chance brought him +into relations with an old priest, Abbé Rose, who was curate at the +church of Ste. Marguerite, in the Faubourg St. Antoine. He went to see +Abbé Rose in the Rue de Charonne, where in the depths of a damp ground +floor he had transformed three rooms into an asylum for abandoned +children, whom he picked up in the neighbouring streets. And from that +moment Pierre’s life changed, a fresh and all-powerful source of interest +had entered into it, and by degrees he became the old priest’s passionate +helper. It was a long way from Neuilly to the Rue de Charonne, and at +first he only made the journey twice a week. But afterwards he bestirred +himself every day, leaving home in the morning and not returning until +night. As the three rooms no longer sufficed for the asylum, he rented +the first floor of the house, reserving for himself a chamber in which +ultimately 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 from +heaven, would often embrace Pierre, weeping, and call him a child of God. + +It was then that Pierre knew want and wretchedness--wicked, abominable +wretchedness; then that he lived amidst it for two long years. The +acquaintance began with the poor little beings whom he picked up on the +pavements, or whom kind-hearted neighbours brought to him now that the +asylum was known in the district--little boys, little girls, tiny mites +stranded on the streets whilst their fathers and mothers were toiling, +drinking, or dying. The father had often disappeared, the mother had gone +wrong, drunkenness and debauchery had followed slack times into the home; +and then the brood was swept into the gutter, and the younger ones half +perished of cold and hunger on the footways, whilst their elders betook +themselves to courses of vice and crime. One evening Pierre rescued from +the wheels of a stone-dray two little nippers, brothers, who could not +even give him an address, tell him whence they had come. On another +evening he returned to the asylum with a little girl in his arms, a +fair-haired little angel, barely three years old, whom he had found on a +bench, and who sobbed, saying that her mother had left her there. And by +a logical chain of circumstances, after dealing with the fleshless, +pitiful fledglings ousted from their nests, he came to deal with the +parents, to enter their hovels, penetrating each day further and further +into a hellish sphere, and ultimately acquiring knowledge of all its +frightful horror, his heart meantime bleeding, rent by terrified anguish +and impotent charity. + +Oh! the grievous City of Misery, the bottomless abyss of human suffering +and degradation--how frightful were his journeys through it during those +two years which distracted his whole being! In that Ste. Marguerite +district of Paris, in the very heart of that Faubourg St. Antoine, so +active and so brave for work, however hard, he discovered no end of +sordid dwellings, whole lanes and alleys of hovels without light or air, +cellar-like in their dampness, and where a multitude of wretches wallowed +and suffered as from poison. All the way up the shaky staircases one’s +feet slipped upon filth. On every story there was the same destitution, +dirt, and promiscuity. Many windows were paneless, and in swept the wind +howling, and the rain pouring torrentially. Many of the inmates slept on +the bare tiled floors, never unclothing themselves. There was neither +furniture nor linen, the life led there was essentially an animal life, a +commingling of either sex and of every age--humanity lapsing into +animality through lack of even indispensable things, through indigence of +so complete a character that men, women, and children fought even with +tooth and nail for the very crumbs swept from the tables of the rich. And +the worst of it all was the degradation of the human being; this was no +case of the free naked savage, hunting and devouring his prey in the +primeval 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 of +the queens of the world. + +In every household Pierre heard the same story. There had been youth and +gaiety 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 were +never to get rich? And so, by way of snatching a share of happiness, the +husband turned to drink; the wife neglected her home, also drinking at +times, and letting the children grow up as they might. Sordid +surroundings, ignorance, and overcrowding did the rest. In the great +majority of cases, prolonged lack of work was mostly to blame; for this +not only empties the drawers of the savings hidden away in them, but +exhausts human courage, and tends to confirmed habits of idleness. During +long weeks the workshops empty, and the arms of the toilers lose +strength. In all Paris, so feverishly inclined to action, it is +impossible to find the slightest thing to do. And then the husband comes +home in the evening with tearful eyes, having vainly offered his arms +everywhere, having failed even to get a job at street-sweeping, for that +employment is much sought after, and to secure it one needs influence and +protectors. Is it not monstrous to see a man seeking work that he may +eat, and finding no work and therefore no food in this great city +resplendent and resonant with wealth? The wife does not eat, the children +do not eat. And then comes black famine, brutishness, and finally revolt +and the snapping of all social ties under the frightful injustice meted +out to poor beings who by their weakness are condemned to death. And the +old workman, he whose limbs have been worn out by half a century of hard +toil, without possibility of saving a copper, on what pallet of agony, in +what dark hole must he not sink to die? Should he then be finished off +with a mallet, like a crippled beast of burden, on the day when ceasing +to 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 a +poor devil who had died of hunger and had been forgotten there for a +week. The rats had devoured his face. + +But it was particularly on an evening of the last winter that Pierre’s +heart had overflowed with pity. Awful in winter time are the sufferings +of the poor in their fireless hovels, where the snow penetrates by every +chink. The Seine rolls blocks of ice, the soil is frost-bound, in all +sorts of callings there is an enforced cessation of work. Bands of +urchins, barefooted, scarcely clad, hungry and racked by coughing, wander +about the ragpickers’ “rents” and are carried off by sudden hurricanes of +consumption. Pierre found families, women with five and six children, who +had not eaten for three days, and who huddled together in heaps to try to +keep themselves warm. And on that terrible evening, before anybody else, +he went down a dark passage and entered a room of terror, where he found +that a mother had just committed suicide with her five little +ones--driven to it by despair and hunger--a tragedy of misery which for a +few hours would make all Paris shudder! There was not an article of +furniture or linen left in the place; it had been necessary to sell +everything bit by bit to a neighbouring dealer. There was nothing but the +stove where the charcoal was still smoking and a half-emptied palliasse +on which the mother had fallen, suckling her last-born, a babe but three +months old. And a drop of blood had trickled from the nipple of her +breast, towards which the dead infant still protruded its eager lips. Two +little girls, three and five years old, two pretty little blondes, were +also lying there, sleeping the eternal sleep side by side; whilst of the +two boys, who were older, one had succumbed crouching against the wall +with his head between his hands, and the other had passed through the +last throes on the floor, struggling as though he had sought to crawl on +his knees to the window in order to open it. Some neighbours, hurrying +in, told Pierre the fearful commonplace story; slow ruin, the father +unable to find work, perchance taking to drink, the landlord weary of +waiting, threatening the family with expulsion, and the mother losing her +head, thirsting for death, and prevailing on her little ones to die with +her, while her husband, who had been out since the morning, was vainly +scouring the streets. Just as the Commissary of Police arrived to verify +what had happened, the poor devil returned, and when he had seen and +understood things, he fell to the ground like a stunned ox, and raised a +prolonged, plaintive howl, such a poignant cry of death that the whole +terrified street wept at it. + +Both in his ears and in his heart Pierre carried away with him that +horrible cry, the plaint of a condemned race expiring amidst abandonment +and hunger; and that night he could neither eat nor sleep. Was it +possible that such abomination, such absolute destitution, such black +misery leading straight to death should exist in the heart of that great +city of Paris, brimful of wealth, intoxicated with enjoyment, flinging +millions out of the windows for mere pleasure? What! there should on one +side be such colossal fortunes, so many foolish fancies gratified, with +lives endowed with every happiness, whilst on the other was found +inveterate poverty, lack even of bread, absence of every hope, and +mothers killing themselves with their babes, to whom they had nought to +offer but the blood of their milkless breast! And a feeling of revolt +stirred Pierre; he was for a moment conscious of the derisive futility of +charity. What indeed was the use of doing that which he did--picking up +the little ones, succouring the parents, prolonging the sufferings of the +aged? The very foundations of the social edifice were rotten; all would +soon collapse amid mire and blood. A great act of justice alone could +sweep the old world away in order that the new world might be built. And +at that moment he realised so keenly how irreparable was the breach, how +irremediable the evil, how deathly the cancer of misery, that he +understood the actions of the violent, and was himself ready to accept +the devastating and purifying whirlwind, the regeneration of the world by +flame and steel, even as when in the dim ages Jehovah in His wrath sent +fire from heaven to cleanse the accursed cities of the plains. + +However, on hearing him sob that evening, Abbé Rose came up to +remonstrate in fatherly fashion. The old priest was a saint, endowed with +infinite gentleness and infinite hope. Why despair indeed when one had +the Gospel? Did not the divine commandment, “Love one another,” suffice +for the salvation of the world? He, Abbé Rose, held violence in horror +and was wont to say that, however great the evil, it would soon be +overcome if humanity would but turn backward to the age of humility, +simplicity, and purity, when Christians lived together in innocent +brotherhood. What a delightful picture he drew of evangelical society, of +whose second coming he spoke with quiet gaiety as though it were to take +place on the very morrow! And Pierre, anxious to escape from his +frightful recollections, ended by smiling, by taking pleasure in Abbé +Rose’s bright consoling tale. They chatted until a late hour, and on the +following days reverted to the same subject of conversation, one which +the old priest was very fond of, ever supplying new particulars, and +speaking of the approaching reign of love and justice with the touching +confidence of a good if simple man, who is convinced that he will not die +till he shall have seen the Deity descend upon earth. + +And now a fresh evolution took place in Pierre’s mind. The practice of +benevolence in that poor district had developed infinite compassion in +his breast, his heart failed him, distracted, rent by contemplation of +the misery which he despaired of healing. And in this awakening of his +feelings he often thought that his reason was giving way, he seemed to be +retracing his steps towards childhood, to that need of universal love +which his mother had implanted in him, and dreamt of chimerical +solutions, awaiting help from the unknown powers. Then his fears, his +hatred of the brutality of facts at last brought him an increasing desire +to work salvation by love. No time should be lost in seeking to avert the +frightful catastrophe which seemed inevitable, the fratricidal war of +classes which would sweep the old world away beneath the accumulation of +its crimes. Convinced that injustice had attained its apogee, that but +little time remained before the vengeful hour when the poor would compel +the rich to part with their possessions, he took pleasure in dreaming of +a peaceful solution, a kiss of peace exchanged by all men, a return to +the pure morals of the Gospel as it had been preached by Jesus. + +Doubts tortured him at the outset. Could olden Catholicism be +rejuvenated, brought back to the youth and candour of primitive +Christianity? He set himself to study things, reading and questioning, +and taking a more and more passionate interest in that great problem of +Catholic socialism which had made no little noise for some years past. +And quivering with pity for the wretched, ready as he was for the miracle +of fraternisation, he gradually lost such scruples as intelligence might +have prompted, and persuaded himself that once again Christ would work +the redemption of suffering humanity. At last a precise idea took +possession of him, a conviction that Catholicism purified, brought back +to its original state, would prove the one pact, the supreme law that +might save society by averting the sanguinary crisis which threatened it. + +When he had quitted Lourdes two years previously, revolted by all its +gross idolatry, his faith for ever dead, but his mind worried by the +everlasting need of the divine which tortures human creatures, a cry had +arisen within him from the deepest recesses of his being: “A new +religion! a new religion!” And it was this new religion, or rather this +revived religion which he now fancied he had discovered in his desire to +work social salvation--ensuring human happiness by means of the only +moral authority that was erect, the distant outcome of the most admirable +implement ever devised for the government of nations. + +During the period of slow development through which Pierre passed, two +men, apart from Abbé Rose, exercised great influence on him. A benevolent +action brought him into intercourse with Monseigneur Bergerot, a bishop +whom the Pope had recently created a cardinal, in reward for a whole life +of 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 impassioned +by his intercourse with this apostle, this shepherd of souls, in whom he +detected one of the good simple leaders that he desired for the future +community. However, his apostolate was influenced even more decisively by +meeting Viscount Philibert de la Choue at the gatherings of certain +workingmen’s Catholic associations. A handsome man, with military +manners, and a long noble-looking face, spoilt by a small and broken nose +which seemed to presage the ultimate defeat of a badly balanced mind, the +Viscount was one of the most active agitators of Catholic socialism in +France. He was the possessor of vast estates, a vast fortune, though it +was said that some unsuccessful agricultural enterprises had already +reduced his wealth by nearly one-half. In the department where his +property was situated he had been at great pains to establish model +farms, at which he had put his ideas on Christian socialism into +practice, but success did not seem to follow him. However, it had all +helped 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 over +meetings, and delivered lectures, devoting himself particularly to the +people, the conquest of whom, so he privately remarked, could alone +ensure the triumph of the Church. And thus he exercised considerable +influence over Pierre, who in him admired qualities which himself did not +possess--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, he +nevertheless remained a sentimental dreamer, whose imagination, +disdainful of political requirements, straightway winged its flight to +the future abode of universal happiness; whereas the Viscount aspired to +complete the downfall of the liberal ideas of 1789 by utilising the +disillusion and anger of the democracy to work a return towards the past. + +Pierre spent some delightful months. Never before had neophyte lived so +entirely for the happiness of others. He was all love, consumed by the +passion of his apostolate. The sight of the poor wretches whom he +visited, the men without work, the women, the children without bread, +filled him with a keener and keener conviction that a new religion must +arise to put an end to all the injustice which otherwise would bring the +rebellious world to a violent death. And he was resolved to employ all +his strength in effecting and hastening the intervention of the divine, +the resuscitation of primitive Christianity. His Catholic faith remained +dead; he still had no belief in dogmas, mysteries, and miracles; but a +hope sufficed him, the hope that the Church might still work good, by +connecting itself with the irresistible modern democratic movement, so as +to save the nations from the social catastrophe which impended. His soul +had grown calm since he had taken on himself the mission of replanting +the Gospel in the hearts of the hungry and growling people of the +Faubourgs. He was now leading an active life, and suffered less from the +frightful void which he had brought back from Lourdes; and as he no +longer questioned himself, the anguish of uncertainty no longer tortured +him. It was with the serenity which attends the simple accomplishment of +duty that he continued to say his mass. He even finished by thinking that +the mystery which he thus celebrated--indeed, that all the mysteries and +all the dogmas were but symbols--rites requisite for humanity in its +childhood, which would be got rid of later on, when enlarged, purified, +and instructed humanity should be able to support the brightness of naked +truth. + +And in his zealous desire to be useful, his passion to proclaim his +belief aloud, Pierre one morning found himself at his table writing a +book. This had come about quite naturally; the book proceeded from him +like a heart-cry, without any literary idea having crossed his mind. One +night, whilst he lay awake, its title suddenly flashed before his eyes in +the darkness: “NEW ROME.” That expressed everything, for must not the new +redemption of the nations originate in eternal and holy Rome? The only +existing authority was found there; rejuvenescence could only spring from +the sacred soil where the old Catholic oak had grown. He wrote his book +in a couple of months, having unconsciously prepared himself for the work +by his studies in contemporary socialism during a year past. There was a +bubbling flow in his brain as in a poet’s; it seemed to him sometimes as +if he dreamt those pages, as if an internal distant voice dictated them +to him. + +When he read passages written on the previous day to Viscount Philibert +de la Choue, the latter often expressed keen approval of them from a +practical point of view, saying that one must touch the people in order +to lead them, and that it would also be a good plan to compose pious and +yet amusing songs for singing in the workshops. As for Monseigneur +Bergerot, without examining the book from the dogmatic standpoint, he was +deeply touched by the glowing breath of charity which every page exhaled, +and was even guilty of the imprudence of writing an approving letter to +the author, which letter he authorised him to insert in his work by way +of preface. And yet now the Congregation of the Index Expurgatorius was +about 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 plead +his cause in person before the Holy Father, having, he was convinced of +it, simply given expression to the pontiff’s views. + +Pierre had not stirred whilst thus living his three last years afresh: he +still stood erect before the parapet, before Rome, which he had so often +dreamt of and had so keenly desired to see. There was a constant +succession of arriving and departing vehicles behind him; the slim +Englishmen and the heavy Germans passed away after bestowing on the +classic view the five minutes prescribed by their guidebooks; whilst the +driver and the horse of Pierre’s cab remained waiting complacently, each +with his head drooping under the bright sun, which was heating the valise +on the seat of the vehicle. And Pierre, in his black cassock, seemed to +have grown slimmer and elongated, very slight of build, as he stood there +motionless, absorbed in the sublime spectacle. He had lost flesh after +his 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 father +seemed to have grown less conspicuous, while his kind and somewhat large +mouth, 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 the +Rome 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 veiled +light of that lovely morning, at present he could distinguish details, +and let his glance rest upon particular edifices. And it was with +childish delight that he identified them, having long studied them in +maps and collections of photographs. Beneath his feet, at the bottom of +the Janiculum, stretched the Trastevere district with its chaos of old +ruddy houses, whose sunburnt tiles hid the course of the Tiber. He was +somewhat surprised by the flattish aspect of everything as seen from the +terraced summit. It was as though a bird’s-eye view levelled the city, +the famous hills merely showing like bosses, swellings scarcely +perceptible amidst the spreading sea of house-fronts. Yonder, on the +right, distinct against the distant blue of the Alban mountains, was +certainly the Aventine with its three churches half-hidden by foliage; +there, too, was the discrowned Palatine, edged as with black fringe by a +line of cypresses. In the rear, the Cœlian hill faded away, showing only +the trees of the Villa Mattei paling in the golden sunshine. The slender +spire and two little domes of Sta. Maria Maggiore alone indicated the +summit of the Esquiline, right in front and far away at the other end of +the city; whilst on the heights of the neighbouring Viminal, Pierre only +perceived a confused mass of whitish blocks, steeped in light and +streaked with fine brown lines--recent erections, no doubt, which at that +distance suggested an abandoned stone quarry. He long sought the Capitol +without being able to discover it; he had to take his bearings, and ended +by convincing himself that the square tower, modestly lost among +surrounding house-roofs, which he saw in front of Sta. Maria Maggiore was +its campanile. Next, on the left, came the Quirinal, recognisable by the +long façade of the royal palace, a barrack or hospital-like façade, flat, +crudely yellow in hue, and pierced by an infinite number of regularly +disposed windows. However, as Pierre was completing the circuit, a sudden +vision made him stop short. Without the city, above the trees of the +Botanical Garden, the dome of St. Peter’s appeared to him. It seemed to +be poised upon the greenery, and rose up into the pure blue sky, sky-blue +itself and so ethereal that it mingled with the azure of the infinite. +The stone lantern which surmounts it, white and dazzling, looked as +though it were suspended on high. + +Pierre did not weary, and his glances incessantly travelled from one end +of the horizon to the other. They lingered on the noble outlines, the +proud gracefulness of the town-sprinkled Sabine and Alban mountains, +whose girdle limited the expanse. The Roman Campagna spread out in far +stretches, bare and majestic, like a desert of death, with the glaucous +green of a stagnant sea; and he ended by distinguishing “the stern round +tower” of the tomb of Cecilia Metella, behind which a thin pale line +indicated the ancient Appian Way. Remnants of aqueducts strewed the short +herbage amidst the dust of the fallen worlds. And, bringing his glance +nearer in, the city again appeared with its jumble of edifices, on which +his eyes lighted at random. Close at hand, by its loggia turned towards +the river, he recognised the huge tawny cube of the Palazzo Farnese. The +low cupola, farther away and scarcely visible, was probably that of the +Pantheon. Then by sudden leaps came the freshly whitened walls of San +Paolo-fuori-le-Mura,* similar to those of some huge barn, and the statues +crowning San Giovanni in Laterano, delicate, scarcely as big as insects. +Next the swarming of domes, that of the Gesù, that of San Carlo, that of +St’. Andrea della Valle, that of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini; then a +number of other sites and edifices, all quivering with memories, the +castle of St’. Angelo with its glittering statue of the Destroying Angel, +the Villa Medici dominating the entire city, the terrace of the Pincio +with its marbles showing whitely among its scanty verdure; and the +thick-foliaged trees of the Villa Borghese, whose green crests bounded +the 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 dissipate +the morning haze. Whole districts vigorously disentangled themselves, and +showed against the vaporous distance like promontories in a sunlit sea. +Here and there, in the indistinct swarming of houses, a strip of white +wall glittered, a row of window panes flared, or a garden supplied a +black splotch, of wondrous intensity of hue. And all the rest, the medley +of streets and squares, the endless blocks of buildings, scattered about +on either hand, mingled and grew indistinct in the living glory of the +sun, 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 take +interest in all but three points of the mighty panorama. That line of +slender cypresses which set a black fringe on the height of the Palatine +yonder filled him with emotion: beyond it he saw only a void: the palaces +of the Caesars had disappeared, had fallen, had been razed by time; and +he 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 soared +aloft, 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 to +him like a giant king, dominating the whole city and seen from every spot +throughout eternity. Then he fixed his eyes on the height in front of +him, on the Quirinal, and there the King’s palace no longer appeared +aught but a flat low barracks bedaubed with yellow paint. + +And for him all the secular history of Rome, with its constant +convulsions and successive resurrections, found embodiment in that +symbolical triangle, in those three summits gazing at one another across +the Tiber. Ancient Rome blossoming forth in a piling up of palaces and +temples, the monstrous florescence of imperial power and splendour; Papal +Rome, victorious in the middle ages, mistress of the world, bringing that +colossal church, symbolical of beauty regained, to weigh upon all +Christendom; and the Rome of to-day, which he knew nothing of, which he +had neglected, and whose royal palace, so bare and so cold, brought him +disparaging ideas--the idea of some out-of-place, bureaucratic effort, +some sacrilegious attempt at modernity in an exceptional city which +should have been left entirely to the dreams of the future. However, he +shook off the almost painful feelings which the importunate present +brought 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 could +distinctly see near St. Peter’s on the margin of the river. He had dreamt +of his own new Rome, and still dreamt of it, even in front of the +Palatine whose edifices had crumbled in the dust of centuries, of the +dome of St. Peter’s whose huge shadow lulled the Vatican to sleep, of the +Palace of the Quirinal repaired and repainted, reigning in homely fashion +over the new districts which swarmed on every side, while with its ruddy +roofs the olden city, ripped up by improvements, coruscated beneath the +bright 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 he +had just lived his life. He had written it amid a flow of enthusiasm, +utilising the _data_ which he had accumulated at random; and its division +into three parts, past, present, and future, had at once forced itself +upon him. + +The PAST was the extraordinary story of primitive Christianity, of the +slow evolution which had turned this Christianity into present-day +Catholicism. He showed that an economical question is invariably hidden +beneath each religious evolution, and that, upon the whole, the +everlasting evil, the everlasting struggle, has never been aught but one +between the rich and the poor. Among the Jews, when their nomadic life +was over, and they had conquered the land of Canaan, and ownership and +property came into being, a class warfare at once broke out. There were +rich, and there were poor; thence arose the social question. The +transition had been sudden, and the new state of things so rapidly went +from bad to worse that the poor suffered keenly, and protested with the +greater violence as they still remembered the golden age of the nomadic +life. Until the time of Jesus the prophets are but rebels who surge from +out the misery of the people, proclaim its sufferings, and vent their +wrath upon the rich, to whom they prophesy every evil in punishment for +their injustice and their harshness. Jesus Himself appears as the +claimant of the rights of the poor. The prophets, whether socialists or +anarchists, had preached social equality, and called for the destruction +of the world if it were unjust. Jesus likewise brings to the wretched +hatred of the rich. All His teaching threatens wealth and property; and +if by the Kingdom of Heaven which He promised one were to understand +peace and fraternity upon this earth, there would only be a question of +returning to a life of pastoral simplicity, to the dream of the Christian +community, such as after Him it would seem to have been realised by His +disciples. During the first three centuries each Church was an experiment +in communism, a real association whose members possessed all in +common--wives excepted. This is shown to us by the apologists and early +fathers of the Church. Christianity was then but the religion of the +humble and the poor, a form of democracy, of socialism struggling against +Roman society. And when the latter toppled over, rotted by money, it +succumbed far more beneath the results of frantic speculation, swindling +banks, and financial disasters, than beneath the onslaught of barbarian +hordes and the stealthy, termite-like working of the Christians. + +The money question will always be found at the bottom of everything. And +a new proof of this was supplied when Christianity, at last triumphing by +virtue of historical, social, and human causes, was proclaimed a State +religion. To ensure itself complete victory it was forced to range itself +on the side of the rich and the powerful; and one should see by means of +what artfulness and sophistry the fathers of the Church succeeded in +discovering a defence of property and wealth in the Gospel of Jesus. All +this, however, was a vital political necessity for Christianity; it was +only at this price that it became Catholicism, the universal religion. +From that time forth the powerful machine, the weapon of conquest and +rule, was reared aloft: up above were the powerful and the wealthy, those +whose duty it was to share with the poor, but who did not do so; while +down below were the poor, the toilers, who were taught resignation and +obedience, and promised the kingdom of futurity, the divine and eternal +reward--an admirable monument which has lasted for ages, and which is +entirely based on the promise of life beyond life, on the +inextinguishable thirst for immortality and justice that consumes +mankind. + +Pierre had completed this first part of his book, this history of the +past, by a broad sketch of Catholicism until the present time. First +appeared St. Peter, ignorant and anxious, coming to Rome by an +inspiration of genius, there to fulfil the ancient oracles which had +predicted the eternity of the Capitol. Then came the first popes, mere +heads of burial associations, the slow rise of the all-powerful papacy +ever struggling to conquer the world, unremittingly seeking to realise +its dream of universal domination. At the time of the great popes of the +middle ages it thought for a moment that it had attained its goal, that +it was the sovereign master of the nations. Would not absolute truth and +right 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 the +Deity whose vicar he is? This, the highest and mightiest of all +ambitions, one, too, that is perfectly logical, was attained by Augustus, +emperor and pontiff, master of all the known world; and it is the +glorious figure of Augustus, ever rising anew from among the ruins of +ancient Rome, which has always haunted the popes; it is his blood which +has pulsated in their veins. + +But power had become divided into two parts amidst the crumbling of the +Roman empire; it was necessary to content oneself with a share, and leave +temporal government to the emperor, retaining over him, however, the +right of coronation by divine grant. The people belonged to God, and in +God’s name the pope gave the people to the emperor, and could take it +from him; an unlimited power whose most terrible weapon was +excommunication, a superior sovereignty, which carried the papacy towards +real and final possession of the empire. Looking at things broadly, the +everlasting quarrel between the pope and the emperor was a quarrel for +the people, the inert mass of humble and suffering ones, the great silent +multitude whose irremediable wretchedness was only revealed by occasional +covert growls. It was disposed of, for its good, as one might dispose of +a child. Yet the Church really contributed to civilisation, rendered +constant services to humanity, diffused abundant alms. In the convents, +at any rate, the old dream of the Christian community was ever coming +back: 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, a +means of rendering existence possible to the faithful who had no earthly +desires, pending the marvellous contentment of heavenly life? Give us, +then, the whole earth, and we will divide terrestrial wealth into three +such parts, and you shall see what a golden age will reign amidst the +resignation and the obedience of all! + +However, Pierre went on to show how the papacy was assailed by the +greatest dangers on emerging from its all-powerfulness of the middle +ages. It was almost swept away amidst the luxury and excesses of the +Renascence, the bubbling of living sap which then gushed from eternal +nature, downtrodden and regarded as dead for ages past. More threatening +still were the stealthy awakenings of the people, of the great silent +multitude whose tongue seemed to be loosening. The Reformation burst +forth like the protest of reason and justice, like a recall to the +disregarded truths of the Gospel; and to escape total annihilation Rome +needed the stern defence of the Inquisition, the slow stubborn labour of +the Council of Trent, which strengthened the dogmas and ensured the +temporal power. And then the papacy entered into two centuries of peace +and effacement, for the strong absolute monarchies which had divided +Europe among themselves could do without it, and had ceased to tremble at +the harmless thunderbolts of excommunication or to look on the pope as +aught but a master of ceremonies, controlling certain rites. The +possession 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’s +duty to register the donation once for all, without ever intervening, +whatever the circumstances, in the government of states. Never was Rome +farther away from the realisation of its ancient dream of universal +dominion. And when the French Revolution burst forth, it may well have +been imagined that the proclamation of the rights of man would kill that +papacy to which the exercise of divine right over the nations had been +committed. And so how great at first was the anxiety, the anger, the +desperate resistance with which the Vatican opposed the idea of freedom, +the new _credo_ of liberated reason, of humanity regaining +self-possession and control. It was the apparent _dénouement_ of the long +struggle between the pope and the emperor for possession of the people: +the emperor vanished, and the people, henceforward free to dispose of +itself, claimed to escape from the pope--an unforeseen solution, in which +it seemed as though all the ancient scaffolding of the Catholic world +must fall to the very ground. + +At this point Pierre concluded the first part of his book by contrasting +primitive Christianity with present-day Catholicism, which is the triumph +of the rich and the powerful. That Roman society which Jesus had come to +destroy in the name of the poor and humble, had not Catholic Rome +steadily continued rebuilding it through all the centuries, by its policy +of cupidity and pride? And what bitter irony it was to find, after +eighteen hundred years of the Gospel, that the world was again collapsing +through frantic speculation, rotten banks, financial disasters, and the +frightful injustice of a few men gorged with wealth whilst thousands of +their brothers were dying of hunger! The whole redemption of the wretched +had to be worked afresh. However, Pierre gave expression to all these +terrible things in words so softened by charity, so steeped in hope, that +they lost their revolutionary danger. Moreover, he nowhere attacked the +dogmas. His book, in its sentimental, somewhat poetic form, was but the +cry of an apostle glowing with love for his fellow-men. + +Then came the second part of the work, the PRESENT, a study of Catholic +society as it now exists. Here Pierre had painted a frightful picture of +the misery of the poor, the misery of a great city, which he knew so well +and bled for, through having laid his hands upon its poisonous wounds. +The present-day injustice could no longer be tolerated, charity was +becoming powerless, and so frightful was the suffering that all hope was +dying away from the hearts of the people. And was it not the monstrous +spectacle presented by Christendom, whose abominations corrupted the +people, and maddened it with hatred and vengeance, that had largely +destroyed its faith? However, after this picture of rotting and crumbling +society, Pierre returned to history, to the period of the French +Revolution, to the mighty hope with which the idea of freedom had filled +the world. The middle classes, the great Liberal party, on attaining +power had undertaken to bring happiness to one and all. But after a +century’s experience it really seemed that liberty had failed to bring +any happiness whatever to the outcasts. In the political sphere illusions +were departing. At all events, if the reigning third estate declares +itself satisfied, the fourth estate, that of the toilers,* still suffers +and continues to demand its share of fortune. The working classes have +been proclaimed free; political equality has been granted them, but the +gift has been valueless, for economically they are still bound to +servitude, and only enjoy, as they did formerly, the liberty of dying of +hunger. All the socialist revendications have come from that; between +labour and capital rests the terrifying problem, the solution of which +threatens to sweep away society. When slavery disappeared from the olden +world to be succeeded by salaried employment the revolution was immense, +and certainly the Christian principle was one of the great factors in the +destruction of slavery. Nowadays, therefore, when the question is to +replace salaried employment by something else, possibly by the +participation of the workman in the profits of his work, why should not +Christianity again seek a new principle of action? The fatal and +proximate accession of the democracy means the beginning of another phase +in human history, the creation of the society of to-morrow. And Rome +cannot keep away from the arena; the papacy must take part in the quarrel +if it does not desire to disappear from the world like a piece of +mechanism 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 side +the socialist sects were battling with their various solutions for the +privilege of ensuring the happiness of the people, and the Church also +must offer her solution of the problem. Here it was that New Rome +appeared, that the evolution spread into a renewal of boundless hope. +Most certainly there was nothing contrary to democracy in the principles +of the Roman Catholic Church. Indeed she had only to return to the +evangelical traditions, to become once more the Church of the humble and +the poor, to re-establish the universal Christian community. She is +undoubtedly of democratic essence, and if she sided with the rich and +the powerful when Christianity became Catholicism, she only did so +perforce, that she might live by sacrificing some portion of her +original purity; so that if to-day she should abandon the condemned +governing classes in order to make common cause with the multitude of +the wretched, she would simply be drawing nearer to Christ, thereby +securing a new lease of youth and purifying herself of all the political +compromises which she formerly was compelled to accept. Without +renouncing aught of her absolutism the Church has at all times known how +to 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 become +the 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 the +people, thanks to liberty and education, has become strong, since it has +developed consciousness and will, and claimed its share of fortune, all +rulers have been seeking to attach it to themselves, to reign by it, and +even with it, should that be necessary. Socialism, therein lies the +future, the new instrument of government; and the kings tottering on +their thrones, the middle-class presidents of anxious republics, the +ambitious plotters who dream of power, all dabble in socialism! They all +agree that the capitalist organisation of the State is a return to pagan +times, to the olden slave-market; and they all talk of breaking for ever +the iron law by which the labour of human beings has become so much +merchandise, subject to supply and demand, with wages calculated on an +estimate of what is strictly necessary to keep a workman from dying of +hunger. And, down in the sphere below, the evil increases, the workmen +agonise with hunger and exasperation, while above them discussion still +goes on, systems are bandied about, and well-meaning persons exhaust +themselves in attempting to apply ridiculously inadequate remedies. +There is much stir without any progress, all the wild bewilderment which +precedes great catastrophes. And among the many, Catholic socialism, +quite as ardent as Revolutionary socialism, enters the lists and strives +to conquer. + +After these explanations Pierre gave an account of the long efforts made +by Catholic socialism throughout the Christian world. That which +particularly struck one in this connection was that the warfare became +keener and more victorious whenever it was waged in some land of +propaganda, as yet not completely conquered by Roman Catholicism. For +instance, in the countries where Protestantism confronted the latter, the +priests fought with wondrous passion, as for dear life itself, contending +with the schismatical clergy for possession of the people by dint of +daring, by unfolding the most audacious democratic theories. In Germany, +the classic land of socialism, Mgr. Ketteler was one of the first to +speak of adequately taxing the rich; and later he fomented a wide-spread +agitation which the clergy now directs by means of numerous associations +and newspapers. In Switzerland Mgr. Mermillod pleaded the cause of the +poor so loudly that the bishops there now almost make common cause with +the democratic socialists, whom they doubtless hope to convert when the +day for sharing arrives. In England, where socialism penetrates so very +slowly, Cardinal Manning achieved considerable success, stood by the +working classes on the occasion of a famous strike, and helped on a +popular movement, which was signalised by numerous conversions. But it +was particularly in the United States of America that Catholic socialism +proved triumphant, in a sphere of democracy where the bishops, like Mgr. +Ireland, were forced to set themselves at the head of the working-class +agitation. And there across the Atlantic a new Church seems to be +germinating, still in confusion but overflowing with sap, and upheld by +intense hope, as at the aurora of the rejuvenated Christianity of +to-morrow. + +Passing thence to Austria and Belgium, both Catholic countries, one found +Catholic socialism mingling in the first instance with anti-semitism, +while in the second it had no precise sense. And all movement ceased and +disappeared when one came to Spain and Italy, those old lands of faith. +The former with its intractable bishops who contented themselves with +hurling excommunication at unbelievers as in the days of the Inquisition, +seemed to be abandoned to the violent theories of revolutionaries, whilst +Italy, immobilised in the traditional courses, remained without +possibility of initiative, reduced to silence and respect by the presence +of the Holy See. In France, however, the struggle remained keen, but it +was more particularly a struggle of ideas. On the whole, the war was +there being waged against the revolution, and to some it seemed as though +it would suffice to re-establish the old organisation of monarchical +times in order to revert to the golden age. It was thus that the question +of working-class corporations had become the one problem, the panacea for +all the ills of the toilers. But people were far from agreeing; some, +those Catholics who rejected State interference and favoured purely moral +action, desired that the corporations should be free; whilst others, the +young and impatient ones, bent on action, demanded that they should be +obligatory, each with capital of its own, and recognised and protected by +the State. + +Viscount Philibert de la Choue had by pen and speech carried on a +vigorous campaign in favour of the obligatory corporations; and his great +grief was that he had so far failed to prevail on the Pope to say whether +in his opinion these corporations should be closed or open. According to +the Viscount, herein lay the fate of society, a peaceful solution of the +social question or the frightful catastrophe which must sweep everything +away. In reality, though he refused to own it, the Viscount had ended by +adopting State socialism. And, despite the lack of agreement, the +agitation remained very great; attempts, scarcely happy in their results, +were made; co-operative associations, companies for erecting workmen’s +dwellings, popular savings’ banks were started; many more or less +disguised efforts to revert to the old Christian community organisation +were tried; while day by day, amidst the prevailing confusion, in the +mental perturbation and political difficulties through which the country +passed, the militant Catholic party felt its hopes increasing, even to +the blind conviction of soon resuming sway over the whole world. + +The second part of Pierre’s book concluded by a picture of the moral and +intellectual uneasiness amidst which the end of the century is +struggling. While the toiling multitude suffers from its hard lot and +demands that in any fresh division of wealth it shall be ensured at least +its daily bread, the _élite_ is no better satisfied, but complains of the +void induced by the freeing of its reason and the enlargement of its +intelligence. It is the famous bankruptcy of rationalism, of positivism, +of science itself which is in question. Minds consumed by need of the +absolute grow weary of groping, weary of the delays of science which +recognises only proven truths; doubt tortures them, they need a complete +and immediate synthesis in order to sleep in peace; and they fall on +their knees, overcome by the roadside, distracted by the thought that +science will never tell them all, and preferring the Deity, the mystery +revealed and affirmed by faith. Even to-day, it must be admitted, science +calms neither our thirst for justice, our desire for safety, nor our +everlasting idea of happiness after life in an eternity of enjoyment. To +one and all it only brings the austere duty to live, to be a mere +contributor in the universal toil; and how well one can understand that +hearts should revolt and sigh for the Christian heaven, peopled with +lovely angels, full of light and music and perfumes! Ah! to embrace one’s +dead, to tell oneself that one will meet them again, that one will live +with them once more in glorious immortality! And to possess the certainty +of sovereign equity to enable one to support the abominations of +terrestrial life! And in this wise to trample on the frightful thought of +annihilation, to escape the horror of the disappearance of the _ego_, and +to tranquillise oneself with that unshakable faith which postpones until +the portal of death be crossed the solution of all the problems of +destiny! This dream will be dreamt by the nations for ages yet. And this +it is which explains why, in these last days of the century, excessive +mental labour and the deep unrest of humanity, pregnant with a new world, +have awakened religious feeling, anxious, tormented by thoughts of the +ideal and the infinite, demanding a moral law and an assurance of +superior justice. Religions may disappear, but religious feelings will +always create new ones, even with the help of science. A new religion! a +new religion! Was it not the ancient Catholicism, which in the soil of +the present day, where all seemed conducive to a miracle, was about to +spring up afresh, throw out green branches and blossom in a young yet +mighty florescence? + +At last, in the third part of his book and in the glowing language of an +apostle, Pierre depicted the FUTURE: Catholicism rejuvenated, and +bringing health and peace, the forgotten golden age of primitive +Christianity, back to expiring society. He began with an emotional and +sparkling portrait of Leo XIII, the ideal Pope, the Man of Destiny +entrusted with the salvation of the nations. He had conjured up a +presentment of him and beheld him thus in his feverish longing for the +advent of a pastor who should put an end to human misery. It was perhaps +not a close likeness, but it was a portrait of the needed saviour, with +open heart and mind, and inexhaustible benevolence, such as he had +dreamed. At the same time he had certainly searched documents, studied +encyclical letters, based his sketch upon facts: first Leo’s religious +education at Rome, then his brief nunciature at Brussels, and afterwards +his long episcopate at Perugia. And as soon as Leo became pope in the +difficult situation bequeathed by Pius IX, the duality of his nature +appeared: on one hand was the firm guardian of dogmas, on the other the +supple politician resolved to carry conciliation to its utmost limits. We +see him flatly severing all connection with modern philosophy, stepping +backward beyond the Renascence to the middle ages and reviving Christian +philosophy, as expounded by “the angelic doctor,” St. Thomas Aquinas, in +Catholic schools. Then the dogmas being in this wise sheltered, he +adroitly maintains himself in equilibrium by giving securities to every +power, striving to utilise every opportunity. He displays extraordinary +activity, reconciles the Holy See with Germany, draws nearer to Russia, +contents Switzerland, asks the friendship of Great Britain, and writes to +the Emperor of China begging him to protect the missionaries and +Christians in his dominions. Later on, too, he intervenes in France and +acknowledges the legitimacy of the Republic. + +From the very outset an idea becomes apparent in all his actions, an idea +which will place him among the great papal politicians. It is moreover +the ancient idea of the papacy--the conquest of every soul, Rome capital +and mistress of the world. Thus Leo XIII has but one desire, one object, +that of unifying the Church, of drawing all the dissident communities to +it in order that it may be invincible in the coming social struggle. He +seeks to obtain recognition of the moral authority of the Vatican in +Russia; he dreams of disarming the Anglican Church and of drawing it into +a sort of fraternal truce; and he particularly seeks to come to an +understanding with the Schismatical Churches of the East, which he +regards as sisters, simply living apart, whose return his paternal heart +entreats. Would not Rome indeed dispose of victorious strength if she +exercised uncontested sway over all the Christians of the earth? + +And here the social ideas of Leo XIII come in. Whilst yet Bishop of +Perugia he wrote a pastoral letter in which a vague humanitarian +socialism appeared. As soon, however, as he had assumed the triple crown +his opinions changed and he anathematised the revolutionaries whose +audacity was terrifying Italy. But almost at once he corrected himself, +warned by events and realising the great danger of leaving socialism in +the hands of the enemies of the Church. Then he listened to the bishops +of 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 Catholic +socialist writers to be placed in the Index. This evolution towards +democracy may be traced through his most famous encyclical letters: +_Immortale Dei_, on the constitution of States; _Libertas_, on human +liberty; _Sapientoe_, on the duties of Christian citizens; _Rerum +novarum_, on the condition of the working classes; and it is particularly +this last which would seem to have rejuvenated the Church. The Pope +herein chronicles the undeserved misery of the toilers, the undue length +of the hours of labour, the insufficiency of salaries. All men have the +right to live, and all contracts extorted by threats of starvation are +unjust. Elsewhere he declares that the workman must not be left +defenceless in presence of a system which converts the misery of the +majority into the wealth of a few. Compelled to deal vaguely with +questions of organisation, he contents himself with encouraging the +corporative movement, placing it under State patronage; and after thus +contributing to restore the secular power, he reinstates the Deity on the +throne of sovereignty, and discerns the path to salvation more +particularly in moral measures, in the ancient respect due to family ties +and ownership. Nevertheless, was not the helpful hand which the august +Vicar of Christ thus publicly tendered to the poor and the humble, the +certain token of a new alliance, the announcement of a new reign of Jesus +upon earth? Thenceforward the people knew that it was not abandoned. And +from that moment too how glorious became Leo XIII, whose sacerdotal +jubilee and episcopal jubilee were celebrated by all Christendom amidst +the coming of a vast multitude, of endless offerings, and of flattering +letters from every sovereign! + +Pierre next dealt with the question of the temporal power, and this he +thought he might treat freely. Naturally, he was not ignorant of the fact +that the Pope in his quarrel with Italy upheld the rights of the Church +over Rome as stubbornly as his predecessor; but he imagined that this was +merely a necessary conventional attitude, imposed by political +considerations, and destined to be abandoned when the times were ripe. +For his own part he was convinced that if the Pope had never appeared +greater than he did now, it was to the loss of the temporal power that he +owed it; for thence had come the great increase of his authority, the +pure splendour of moral omnipotence which he diffused. + +What a long history of blunders and conflicts had been that of the +possession of the little kingdom of Rome during fifteen centuries! +Constantine quits Rome in the fourth century, only a few forgotten +functionaries remaining on the deserted Palatine, and the Pope naturally +rises to power, and the life of the city passes to the Lateran. However, +it is only four centuries later that Charlemagne recognises accomplished +facts and formally bestows the States of the Church upon the papacy. From +that time warfare between the spiritual power and the temporal powers has +never ceased; though often latent it has at times become acute, breaking +forth with blood and fire. And to-day, in the midst of Europe in arms, is +it not unreasonable to dream of the papacy ruling a strip of territory +where it would be exposed to every vexation, and where it could only +maintain itself by the help of a foreign army? What would become of it in +the general massacre which is apprehended? Is it not far more sheltered, +far more dignified, far more lofty when disentangled from all terrestrial +cares, 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, slowly +acquiring dominion over all Christendom. In the same way the Sacred +College, at first a continuation of the Roman Senate, acquired an +international character, and in our time has ended by becoming the most +cosmopolitan of assemblies, in which representatives of all the nations +have seats. And is it not evident that the Pope, thus leaning on the +cardinals, has become the one great international power which exercises +the greater authority since it is free from all monarchical interests, +and can speak not merely in the name of country but in that of humanity +itself? The solution so often sought amidst such long wars surely lies in +this: Either give the Pope the temporal sovereignty of the world, or +leave him only the spiritual sovereignty. Vicar of the Deity, absolute +and infallible sovereign by divine delegation, he can but remain in the +sanctuary if, ruler already of the human soul, he is not recognised by +every 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 the +field sown by the French Revolution, an incursion conducting it perhaps +towards the domination, which it has striven for with a will that has +upheld it for centuries! For now it stands alone before the people. The +kings are down. And as the people is henceforth free to give itself to +whomsoever it pleases, why should it not give itself to the Church? The +depreciation which the idea of liberty has certainly undergone renders +every hope permissible. The liberal party appears to be vanquished in the +sphere of economics. The toilers, dissatisfied with 1789 complain of the +aggravation of their misery, bestir themselves, seek happiness +despairingly. On the other hand the new _régimes_ have increased the +international power of the Church; Catholic members are numerous in the +parliaments of the republics and the constitutional monarchies. All +circumstances seem therefore to favour this extraordinary return of +fortune, Catholicism reverting to the vigour of youth in its old age. +Even science, remember, is accused of bankruptcy, a charge which saves +the _Syllabus_ from ridicule, troubles the minds of men, and throws the +limitless sphere of mystery and impossibility open once more. And then a +prophecy is recalled, a prediction that the papacy shall be mistress of +the world on the day when she marches at the head of the democracy after +reuniting the Schismatical Churches of the East to the Catholic, +Apostolic, and Roman Church. And, in Pierre’s opinion, assuredly the +times had come since Pope Leo XIII, dismissing the great and the wealthy +of the world, left the kings driven from their thrones in exile to place +himself like Jesus on the side of the foodless toilers and the beggars of +the high roads. Yet a few more years, perhaps, of frightful misery, +alarming confusion, fearful social danger, and the people, the great +silent multitude which others have so far disposed of, will return to the +cradle, to the unified Church of Rome, in order to escape the destruction +which threatens human society. + +Pierre concluded his book with a passionate evocation of New Rome, the +spiritual Rome which would soon reign over the nations, reconciled and +fraternising as in another golden age. Herein he even saw the end of +superstitions. Without making a direct attack on dogma, he allowed +himself to dream of an enlargement of religious feeling, freed from +rites, and absorbed in the one satisfaction of human charity. And still +smarting from his journey to Lourdes, he felt the need of contenting his +heart. Was not that gross superstition of Lourdes the hateful symptom of +the excessive suffering of the times? On the day when the Gospel should +be universally diffused and practised, suffering ones would cease seeking +an illusory relief so far away, assured as they would be of finding +assistance, consolation, and cure in their homes amidst their brothers. +At Lourdes there was an iniquitous displacement of wealth, a spectacle so +frightful as to make one doubt of God, a perpetual conflict which would +disappear in the truly Christian society of to-morrow. Ah! that society, +that Christian community, all Pierre’s work ended in an ardent longing +for its speedy advent: Christianity becoming once more the religion of +truth and justice which it had been before it allowed itself to be +conquered by the rich and the powerful! The little ones and the poor ones +reigning, sharing the wealth of earth, and owing obedience to nought but +the levelling law of work! The Pope alone erect at the head of the +federation of nations, prince of peace, with the simple mission of +supplying the moral rule, the link of charity and love which was to unite +all men! And would not this be the speedy realisation of the promises of +Christ? The times were near accomplishment, secular and religious society +would mingle so closely that they would form but one; and it would be the +age of triumph and happiness predicted by all the prophets, no more +struggles possible, no more antagonism between the mind and the body, but +a marvellous equilibrium which would kill evil and set the kingdom of +heaven upon earth. New Rome, the centre of the world, bestowing on the +world the new religion! + +Pierre felt that tears were coming to his eyes, and with an unconscious +movement, never noticing how much he astonished the slim Englishmen and +thick-set Germans passing along the terrace, he opened his arms and +extended them towards the _real_ Rome, steeped in such lovely sunshine +and stretched out at his feet. Would she prove responsive to his dream? +Would he, as he had written, find within her the remedy for our +impatience and our alarms? Could Catholicism be renewed, could it return +to the spirit of primitive Christianity, become the religion of the +democracy, the faith which the modern world, overturned and in danger of +perishing, awaits in order to be pacified and to live? + +Pierre was full of generous passion, full of faith. He again beheld good +Abbé Rose weeping with emotion as he read his book. He heard Viscount +Philibert de la Choue telling him that such a book was worth an army. And +he particularly felt strong in the approval of Cardinal Bergerot, that +apostle of inexhaustible charity. Why should the Congregation of the +Index threaten his work with interdiction? Since he had been officiously +advised to go to Rome if he desired to defend himself, he had been +turning this question over in his mind without being able to discover +which of his pages were attacked. To him indeed they all seemed to glow +with the purest Christianity. However, he had arrived quivering with +enthusiasm and courage: he was all eagerness to kneel before the Pope, +and place himself under his august protection, assuring him that he had +not written a line without taking inspiration from his ideas, without +desiring the triumph of his policy. Was it possible that condemnation +should be passed on a book in which he imagined in all sincerity that he +had exalted Leo XIII by striving to help him in his work of Christian +reunion and universal peace? + +For a moment longer Pierre remained standing before the parapet. He had +been there for nearly an hour, unable to drink in enough of the grandeur +of Rome, which, given all the unknown things she hid from him, he would +have 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! This +again, like Lourdes, was an experiment, but a graver one, a decisive one, +whence he would emerge either strengthened or overcome for evermore. He +no longer sought the simple, perfect faith of the little child, but the +superior faith of the intellectual man, raising himself above rites and +symbols, working for the greatest happiness of humanity as based on its +need of certainty. His temples throbbed responsive to his heart. What +would be the answer of Rome? + +The sunlight had increased and the higher districts now stood out more +vigorously against the fiery background. Far away the hills became gilded +and empurpled, whilst the nearer house-fronts grew very distinct and +bright with their thousands of windows sharply outlined. However, some +morning haze still hovered around; light veils seemed to rise from the +lower streets, blurring the summits for a moment, and then evaporating in +the ardent heavens where all was blue. For a moment Pierre fancied that +the Palatine had vanished, for he could scarcely see the dark fringe of +cypresses; it was as though the dust of its ruins concealed the hill. But +the Quirinal was even more obscured; the royal palace seemed to have +faded away in a fog, so paltry did it look with its low flat front, so +vague in the distance that he no longer distinguished it; whereas above +the trees on his left the dome of St. Peter’s had grown yet larger in the +limpid gold of the sunshine, and appeared to occupy the whole sky and +dominate the whole city! + +Ah! the Rome of that first meeting, the Rome of early morning, whose new +districts he had not even noticed in the burning fever of his +arrival--with what boundless hopes did she not inspirit him, this Rome +which 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 her +that lovely day, what a shout of coming redemption seemed to arise from +her house-roofs, what a promise of universal peace seemed to issue from +that sacred soil, twice already Queen of the world! It was the third +Rome, it was New Rome whose maternal love was travelling across the +frontiers to all the nations to console them and reunite them in a common +embrace. In the passionate candour of his dream he beheld her, he heard +her, rejuvenated, full of the gentleness of childhood, soaring, as it +were, amidst the morning freshness into the vast pure heavens. + +But at last Pierre tore himself away from the sublime spectacle. The +driver and the horse, their heads drooping under the broad sunlight, had +not stirred. On the seat the valise was almost burning, hot with rays of +the sun which was already heavy. And once more Pierre got into the +vehicle and gave this address: + +“Via Giulia, Palazzo Boccanera.” + + + + +II. + +THE Via Giulia, which runs in a straight line over a distance of five +hundred yards from the Farnese palace to the church of St. John of the +Florentines, was at that hour steeped in bright sunlight, the glow +streaming from end to end and whitening the small square paving stones. +The street had no footways, and the cab rolled along it almost to the +farther extremity, passing the old grey sleepy and deserted residences +whose large windows were barred with iron, while their deep porches +revealed sombre courts resembling wells. Laid out by Pope Julius II, who +had dreamt of lining it with magnificent palaces, the street, then the +most regular and handsome in Rome, had served as Corso* in the sixteenth +century. One could tell that one was in a former luxurious district, +which had lapsed into silence, solitude, and abandonment, instinct with a +kind of religious gentleness and discretion. The old house-fronts +followed one after another, their shutters closed and their gratings +occasionally decked with climbing plants. At some doors cats were seated, +and dim shops, appropriated to humble trades, were installed in certain +dependencies. But little traffic was apparent. Pierre only noticed some +bare-headed women dragging children behind them, a hay cart drawn by a +mule, a superb monk draped in drugget, and a bicyclist speeding along +noiselessly, 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 the +corner of a lane running towards the Tiber. + +“Palazzo Boccanera.” + +Pierre raised his head and was pained by the severe aspect of the +structure, so bare and massive and blackened by age. Like its neighbours +the Farnese and Sacchetti palaces, it had been built by Antonio da +Sangallo in the early part of the sixteenth century, and, as with the +former of those residences, the tradition ran that in raising the pile +the architect had made use of stones pilfered from the Colosseum and the +Theatre of Marcellus. The vast, square-looking façade had three upper +stories, each with seven windows, and the first one very lofty and noble. +Down below, the only sign of decoration was that the high ground-floor +windows, barred with huge projecting gratings as though from fear of +siege, rested upon large consoles, and were crowned by attics which +smaller consoles supported. Above the monumental entrance, with folding +doors of bronze, there was a balcony in front of the central first-floor +window. And at the summit of the façade against the sky appeared a +sumptuous entablature, whose frieze displayed admirable grace and purity +of ornamentation. The frieze, the consoles, the attics, and the door-case +were of white marble, but marble whose surface had so crumbled and so +darkened that it now had the rough yellowish grain of stone. Right and +left of the entrance were two antique seats upheld by griffons also of +marble; and incrusted in the wall at one corner, a lovely Renascence +fountain, its source dried up, still lingered; and on it a cupid riding a +dolphin could with difficulty be distinguished, to such a degree had the +wear and tear of time eaten into the sculpture. + +Pierre’s eyes, however, had been more particularly attracted by an +escutcheon carved above one of the ground-floor windows, the escutcheon +of the Boccaneras, a winged dragon venting flames, and underneath it he +could plainly read the motto which had remained intact: “_Bocca nera, +Alma rossa_” (black mouth, red soul). Above another window, as a pendant +to the escutcheon, there was one of those little shrines which are still +common in Rome, a satin-robed statuette of the Blessed Virgin, before +which a lantern burnt in the full daylight. + +The cabman was about to drive through the dim and gaping porch, according +to 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 court +without having met a living soul. + +It was a square and fairly spacious court, surrounded by a porticus like +a cloister. Some remnants of statuary, marbles discovered in excavating, +an armless Apollo, and the trunk of a Venus, were ranged against the +walls under the dismal arcades; and some fine grass had sprouted between +the pebbles which paved the soil as with a black and white mosaic. It +seemed as if the sun-rays could never reach that paving, mouldy with +damp. A dimness and a silence instinct with departed grandeur and +infinite mournfulness reigned there. + +Surprised by the emptiness of this silent mansion, Pierre continued +seeking somebody, a porter, a servant; and, fancying that he saw a shadow +flit by, he decided to pass through another arch which led to a little +garden fringing the Tiber. On this side the façade of the building was +quite plain, displaying nothing beyond its three rows of symmetrically +disposed windows. However, the abandonment reigning in the garden brought +Pierre yet a keener pang. In the centre some large box-plants were +growing in the basin of a fountain which had been filled up; while among +the mass of weeds, some orange-trees with golden, ripening fruit alone +indicated the tracery of the paths which they had once bordered. Between +two huge laurel-bushes, against the right-hand wall, there was a +sarcophagus of the second century--with fauns offering violence to +nymphs, one of those wild _baccanali_, those scenes of eager passion +which 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 tragic +mask incrusted in the wall. Facing the Tiber there had formerly been a +sort of colonnaded loggia, a terrace whence a double flight of steps +descended to the river. For the construction of the new quays, however, +the river bank was being raised, and the terrace was already lower than +the new ground level, and stood there crumbling and useless amidst piles +of rubbish and blocks of stone, all the wretched chalky confusion of the +improvements which were ripping up and overturning the district. + +Pierre, however, was suddenly convinced that he could see somebody +crossing the court. So he returned thither and found a woman somewhat +short of stature, who must have been nearly fifty, though as yet she had +not a white hair, but looked very bright and active. At sight of the +priest, however, an expression of distrust passed over her round face and +clear eyes. + +Employing the few words of broken Italian which he knew, Pierre at once +sought to explain matters: “I am Abbé 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 the +Ile-de-France: “Ah! yes, Monsieur l’Abbé, I know, I know--I was expecting +you, I received orders about you.” And then, as he gazed at her in +amazement, she added: “Oh! I’m a Frenchwoman! I’ve been here for five and +twenty years, but I haven’t yet been able to get used to their horrible +lingo!” + +Pierre thereupon remembered that Viscount Philibert de la Choue had +spoken to him of this servant, one Victorine Bosquet, a native of Auneau +in La Beauce, who, when two and twenty, had gone to Rome with a +consumptive mistress. The latter’s sudden death had left her in as much +terror and bewilderment as if she had been alone in some land of savages; +and so she had gratefully devoted herself to the Countess Ernesta +Brandini, a Boccanera by birth, who had, so to say, picked her up in the +streets. The Countess had at first employed her as a nurse to her +daughter Benedetta, hoping in this way to teach the child some French; +and Victorine--remaining for some five and twenty years with the same +family--had by degrees raised herself to the position of housekeeper, +whilst still remaining virtually illiterate, so destitute indeed of any +linguistic gift that she could only jabber a little broken Italian, just +sufficient for her needs in her intercourse with the other servants. + +“And is Monsieur le Vicomte quite well?” she resumed with frank +familiarity. “He is so very pleasant, and we are always so pleased to see +him. He stays here, you know, each time he comes to Rome. I know that the +Princess and the Contessina received a letter from him yesterday +announcing you.” + +It was indeed Viscount Philibert de la Choue who had made all the +arrangements for Pierre’s sojourn in Rome. Of the ancient and once +vigorous race of the Boccaneras, there now only remained Cardinal Pio +Boccanera, the Princess his sister, an old maid who from respect was +called “Donna” Serafina, their niece Benedetta--whose mother Ernesta had +followed her husband, Count Brandini, to the tomb--and finally their +nephew, Prince Dario Boccanera, whose father, Prince Onofrio, was +likewise dead, and whose mother, a Montefiori, had married again. It so +chanced that the Viscount de la Choue was connected with the family, his +younger brother having married a Brandini, sister to Benedetta’s father; +and thus, with the courtesy rank of uncle, he had, in Count Brandini’s +time, frequently sojourned at the mansion in the Via Giulia. He had also +become attached to Benedetta, especially since the advent of a private +family drama, consequent upon an unhappy marriage which the young woman +had contracted, and which she had petitioned the Holy Father to annul. +Since Benedetta had left her husband to live with her aunt Serafina and +her uncle the Cardinal, M. de la Choue had often written to her and sent +her parcels of French books. Among others he had forwarded her a copy of +Pierre’s book, and the whole affair had originated in that wise. Several +letters on the subject had been exchanged when at last Benedetta sent +word 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, where +she graciously offered him the hospitality of the Boccanera mansion. + +The Viscount was quite as much astonished as the young priest at these +tidings, and failed to understand why the book should be threatened at +all; however, he prevailed on Pierre to make the journey as a matter of +good policy, becoming himself impassioned for the achievement of a +victory which he counted in anticipation as his own. And so it was easy +to understand the bewildered condition of Pierre, on tumbling into this +unknown mansion, launched into an heroic adventure, the reasons and +circumstances of which were beyond him. + +Victorine, however, suddenly resumed: “But I am leaving you here, +Monsieur l’Abbé. Let me conduct you to your rooms. Where is your +luggage?” + +Then, when he had shown her his valise which he had placed on the ground +beside him, and explained that having no more than a fortnight’s stay in +view he had contented himself with bringing a second cassock and some +linen, 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 his +appearance, she said: “Take that up into the red room, Giacomo. Will you +kindly follow me, Monsieur l’Abbé?” + +Pierre felt quite comforted and inspirited by thus unexpectedly meeting +such a lively, good-natured compatriot in this gloomy Roman “palace.” + Whilst crossing the court he listened to her as she related that the +Princess had gone out, and that the Contessina--as Benedetta from motives +of affection was still called in the house, despite her marriage--had not +yet shown herself that morning, being rather poorly. However, added +Victorine, she had her orders. + +The staircase was in one corner of the court, under the porticus. It was +a monumental staircase with broad, low steps, the incline being so gentle +that a horse might easily have climbed it. The stone walls, however, were +quite bare, the landings empty and solemn, and a death-like mournfulness +fell from the lofty vault above. + +As they reached the first floor, noticing Pierre’s emotion, Victorine +smiled. The mansion seemed to be uninhabited; not a sound came from its +closed chambers. Simply pointing to a large oaken door on the right-hand, +the housekeeper remarked: “The wing overlooking the court and the river +is 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. How +could one keep up such a big place, and what, too, would be the use of +it? We should need somebody to lodge.” + +With her lithe step she continued ascending the stairs. She had remained +essentially a foreigner, a Frenchwoman, too different from those among +whom she lived to be influenced by her environment. On reaching the +second floor she resumed: “There, on the left, are Donna Serafina’s +rooms; those of the Contessina are on the right. This is the only part of +the house where there’s a little warmth and life. Besides, it’s Monday +to-day, the Princess will be receiving visitors this evening. You’ll +see.” + +Then, opening a door, beyond which was a second and very narrow +staircase, she went on: “We others have our rooms on the third floor. I +must ask Monsieur l’Abbé to let me go up before him.” + +The grand staircase ceased at the second floor, and Victorine explained +that the third story was reached exclusively by this servants’ staircase, +which led from the lane running down to the Tiber on one side of the +mansion. There was a small private entrance in this lane, which was very +convenient. + +At last, reaching the third story, she hurried along a passage, again +calling Pierre’s attention to various doors. “These are the apartments of +Don Vigilio, his Eminence’s secretary. These are mine. And these will be +yours. Monsieur le Vicomte will never have any other rooms when he comes +to 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 door +in the lane, and I’ll give you one too. And, besides, you’ll see what a +nice view there is from here!” + +Whilst speaking she had gone in. The apartments comprised two rooms: a +somewhat spacious _salon_, with wall-paper of a large scroll pattern on a +red 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 of +the mansion overlooking the lane and the Tiber, and Victorine at once +went to the windows, one of which afforded a view over the distant lower +part of the river, while the other faced the Trastevere and the Janiculum +across the water. + +“Ah! yes, it’s very pleasant!” said Pierre, who had followed and stood +beside her. + +Giaccomo, who did not hurry, came in behind them with the valise. It was +now past eleven o’clock; and seeing that the young priest looked tired, +and realising that he must be hungry after such a journey, Victorine +offered to have some breakfast served at once in the sitting-room. He +would then have the afternoon to rest or go out, and would only meet the +ladies in the evening at dinner. At the mere suggestion of resting, +however, Pierre began to protest, declaring that he should certainly go +out, not wishing to lose an entire afternoon. The breakfast he readily +accepted, for he was indeed dying of hunger. + +However, he had to wait another full half hour. Giaccomo, who served him +under Victorine’s orders, did everything in a most leisurely way. And +Victorine, lacking confidence in the man, remained with the young priest +to make sure that everything he might require was provided. + +“Ah! Monsieur l’Abbé,” said she, “what people! What a country! You can’t +have an idea of it. I should never get accustomed to it even if I were to +live here for a hundred years. Ah! if it were not for the Contessina, but +she’s so good and beautiful.” + +Then, whilst placing a dish of figs on the table, she astonished Pierre +by adding that a city where nearly everybody was a priest could not +possibly 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’Abbé, the priests don’t suit me,” said Victorine; “I +knew one in France when I was very little, and since I’ve been here I’ve +seen too many of them. It’s all over. Oh! I don’t say that on account of +his Eminence, who is a holy man worthy of all possible respect. And +besides, everybody in the house knows that I’ve nothing to reproach +myself with. So why not leave me alone, since I’m fond of my employers +and attend properly to my duties?” + +She burst into a frank laugh. “Ah!” she resumed, “when I was told that +another priest was coming, just as if we hadn’t enough already, I +couldn’t help growling to myself. But you look like a good young man, +Monsieur l’Abbé, and I feel sure we shall get on well together.... I +really don’t know why I’m telling you all this--probably it’s because +you’ve come from yonder, and because the Contessina takes an interest in +you. At all events, you’ll excuse me, won’t you, Monsieur l’Abbé? And +take my advice, stay here and rest to-day; don’t be so foolish as to go +running about their tiring city. There’s nothing very amusing to be seen +in it, whatever they may say to the contrary.” + +When Pierre found himself alone, he suddenly felt overwhelmed by all the +fatigue of his journey coupled with the fever of enthusiasm that had +consumed him during the morning. And as though dazed, intoxicated by the +hasty meal which he had just made--a couple of eggs and a cutlet--he +flung 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 those +Boccaneras, with whose history he was partly acquainted, and of whose +life in that deserted and silent palace, instinct with such dilapidated +and melancholy grandeur, he began to dream. But at last his ideas grew +confused, and by degrees he sunk into sleep amidst a crowd of shadowy +forms, some tragic and some sweet, with vague faces which gazed at him +with enigmatical eyes as they whirled before him in the depths of +dreamland. + +The Boccaneras had supplied two popes to Rome, one in the thirteenth, the +other in the fifteenth century, and from those two favoured ones, those +all-powerful masters, the family had formerly derived its vast +fortune--large estates in the vicinity of Viterbo, several palaces in +Rome, enough works of art to fill numerous spacious galleries, and a pile +of gold sufficient to cram a cellar. The family passed as being the most +pious of the Roman _patriziato_, a family of burning faith whose sword +had always been at the service of the Church; but if it were the most +believing family it was also the most violent, the most disputatious, +constantly at war, and so fiercely savage that the anger of the +Boccaneras had become proverbial. And thence came their arms, the winged +dragon spitting flames, and the fierce, glowing motto, with its play on +the name “_Bocca sera, Alma rossa_” (black mouth, red soul), the mouth +darkened by a roar, the soul flaming like a brazier of faith and love. + +Legends of endless passion, of terrible deeds of justice and vengeance +still circulated. There was the duel fought by Onfredo, the Boccanera by +whom the present palazzo had been built in the sixteenth century on the +site of the demolished antique residence of the family. Onfredo, learning +that his wife had allowed herself to be kissed on the lips by young Count +Costamagna, had caused the Count to be kidnapped one evening and brought +to 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. Then +he severed the cords with a stiletto, threw the lamps over and +extinguished them, calling to the Count to keep the stiletto and defend +himself. During more than an hour, in complete obscurity, in this hall +full 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 found +among the pools of blood, among the overturned tables and broken seats, +Costamagna with his nose sliced off and his hips pierced with two and +thirty wounds, whilst Onfredo had lost two fingers of his right hand, and +had both shoulders riddled with holes! The wonder was that neither died +of the encounter. + +A century later, on that same bank of the Tiber, a daughter of the +Boccaneras, a girl barely sixteen years of age, the lovely and passionate +Cassia, filled all Rome with terror and admiration. She loved Flavio +Corradini, the scion of a rival and hated house, whose alliance her +father, Prince Boccanera, roughly rejected, and whom her elder brother, +Ercole, swore to slay should he ever surprise him with her. Nevertheless +the young man came to visit her in a boat, and she joined him by the +little staircase descending to the river. But one evening Ercole, who was +on the watch, sprang into the boat and planted his dagger full in +Flavio’s heart. Later on the subsequent incidents were unravelled; it was +understood that Cassia, wrathful and frantic with despair, unwilling to +survive her love and bent on wreaking justice, had thrown herself upon +her brother, had seized both murderer and victim with the same grasp +whilst overturning the boat; for when the three bodies were recovered +Cassia still retained her hold upon the two men, pressing their faces one +against the other with her bare arms, which had remained as white as +snow. + +But those were vanished times. Nowadays, if faith remained, blood +violence seemed to be departing from the Boccaneras. Their huge fortune +also had been lost in the slow decline which for a century past has been +ruining the Roman _patriziato_. It had been necessary to sell the +estates; the palace had emptied, gradually sinking to the mediocrity and +bourgeois life of the new times. For their part the Boccaneras +obstinately declined to contract any alien alliances, proud as they were +of the purity of their Roman blood. And poverty was as nothing to them; +they found contentment in their immense pride, and without a plaint +sequestered themselves amidst the silence and gloom in which their race +was dwindling away. + +Prince Ascanio, dead since 1848, had left four children by his wife, a +Corvisieri; first Pio, the Cardinal; then Serafina, who, in order to +remain with her brother, had not married; and finally Ernesta and +Onofrio, both of whom were deceased. As Ernesta had merely left a +daughter, Benedetta, behind her, it followed that the only male heir, the +only possible continuator of the family name was Onofrio’s son, young +Prince Dario, now some thirty years of age. Should he die without +posterity, the Boccaneras, once so full of life and whose deeds had +filled 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 for +the other; they could not imagine that they had been brought into the +world for any other purpose than that of becoming husband and wife as +soon as they should be old enough to marry. When Prince Onofrio--an +amiable man of forty, very popular in Rome, where he spent his modest +fortune as his heart listed--espoused La Montefiori’s daughter, the +little Marchesa Flavia, whose superb beauty, suggestive of a youthful +Juno, had maddened him, he went to reside at the Villa Montefiori, the +only property, indeed the only belonging, that remained to the two +ladies. It was in the direction of St’. Agnese-fuori-le-Mura,* and there +were vast grounds, a perfect park in fact, planted with centenarian +trees, among which the villa, a somewhat sorry building of the +seventeenth century, was falling into ruins. + + * St. Agnes-without-the-walls, N.E. of Rome. + +Unfavourable reports were circulated about the ladies, the mother having +almost lost caste since she had become a widow, and the girl having too +bold a beauty, too conquering an air. Thus the marriage had not met with +the approval of Serafina, who was very rigid, or of Onofrio’s elder +brother Pio, at that time merely a _Cameriere segreto_ of the Holy Father +and a Canon of the Vatican basilica. Only Ernesta kept up a regular +intercourse with Onofrio, fond of him as she was by reason of his gaiety +of disposition; and thus, later on, her favourite diversion was to go +each week to the Villa Montefiori with her daughter Benedetta, there to +spend the day. And what a delightful day it always proved to Benedetta +and Dario, she ten years old and he fifteen, what a fraternal loving day +in that vast and almost abandoned garden with its parasol pines, its +giant box-plants, and its clumps of evergreen oaks, amidst which one lost +oneself as in a virgin forest. + +The poor stifled soul of Ernesta was a soul of pain and passion. Born +with 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 large +limpid eyes and the charming oval of her gentle face. Extremely ignorant, +like all the daughters of the Roman nobility, having learnt the little +she knew in a convent of French nuns, she had grown up cloistered in the +black Boccanera palace, having no knowledge of the world than by those +daily drives to the Corso and the Pincio on which she accompanied her +mother. Eventually, when she was five and twenty, and was already weary +and desolate, she contracted the customary marriage of her caste, +espousing Count Brandini, the last-born of a very noble, very numerous +and 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 young +couple. And nothing changed, Ernesta continued to live in the same cold +gloom, in the midst of the same dead past, the weight of which, like that +of a tombstone, she felt pressing more and more heavily upon her. + +The marriage was, on either side, a very honourable one. Count Brandini +soon passed as being the most foolish and haughty man in Rome. A strict, +intolerant formalist in religious matters, he became quite triumphant +when, after innumerable intrigues, secret plottings which lasted ten long +years, he at last secured the appointment of grand equerry to the Holy +Father. With this appointment it seemed as if all the dismal majesty of +the Vatican entered his household. However, Ernesta found life still +bearable in the time of Pius IX--that is until the latter part of +1870--for she might still venture to open the windows overlooking the +street, receive a few lady friends otherwise than in secrecy, and accept +invitations to festivities. But when the Italians had conquered Rome and +the Pope declared himself a prisoner, the mansion in the Via Giulia +became a sepulchre. The great doors were closed and bolted, even nailed +together in token of mourning; and during ten years the inmates only went +out and came in by the little staircase communicating with the lane. It +was also forbidden to open the window shutters of the façade. This was +the sulking, the protest of the black world, the mansion sinking into +death-like immobility, complete seclusion; no more receptions, barely a +few shadows, the intimates of Donna Serafina who on Monday evenings +slipped in by the little door in the lane which was scarcely set ajar. +And during those ten lugubrious years, overcome by secret despair, the +young woman wept every night, suffered untold agony at thus being buried +alive. + +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 to +divert her mind. But afterwards her wonted existence, like a grinding +millstone, again seized hold of her, and she had to place the child in +the charge of the French nuns, by whom she herself had been educated, at +the convent of the Sacred Heart of La Trinita de’ Monti. When Benedetta +left the convent, grown up, nineteen years of age, she was able to speak +and write French, knew a little arithmetic and her catechism, and +possessed a few hazy notions of history. Then the life of the two women +was resumed, the life of a _gynoeceum_, suggestive of the Orient; never +an 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 relationship +possessed an authority, a strength, which made both women bow to the will +of the Count, without possible thought of rebellion; and to the Count’s +will was added that of Donna Serafina and that of Cardinal Pio, both of +whom were stern defenders of the old-time customs. Since the Pope had +ceased to show himself in Rome, the post of grand equerry had left the +Count considerable leisure, for the number of equipages in the pontifical +stables had been very largely reduced; nevertheless, he was constant in +his attendance at the Vatican, where his duties were now a mere matter of +parade, and ever increased his devout zeal as a mark of protest against +the usurping monarchy installed at the Quirinal. However, Benedetta had +just attained her twentieth year, when one evening her father returned +coughing and shivering from some ceremony at St. Peter’s. A week later he +died, carried off by inflammation of the lungs. And despite their +mourning, 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 daughter +from that awful life of immurement and entombment. She herself had +sorrowed too deeply: it was no longer possible for her to remount the +current of existence; but she was unwilling that Benedetta should in her +turn lead a life contrary to nature, in a voluntary grave. Moreover, +similar lassitude and rebellion were showing themselves among other +patrician families, which, after the sulking of the first years, were +beginning to draw nearer to the Quirinal. Why indeed should the children, +eager for action, liberty, and sunlight, perpetually keep up the quarrel +of the fathers? And so, though no reconciliation could take place between +the black world and the white world,* intermediate tints were already +appearing, 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 knew +next to nothing about it; but that which she passionately desired was +that her race might at last emerge from that hateful sepulchre, that +black, silent Boccanera mansion, where her woman’s joys had been frozen +by so long a death. She had suffered very grievously in her heart, as +girl, as lover, and as wife, and yielded to anger at the thought that her +life should have been so spoiled, so lost through idiotic resignation. +Then, too, her mind was greatly influenced by the choice of a new +confessor at this period; for she had remained very religious, practising +all the rites of the Church, and ever docile to the advice of her +spiritual director. To free herself the more, however, she now quitted +the Jesuit father whom her husband had chosen for her, and in his stead +took Abbé Pisoni, the rector of the little church of Sta. Brigida, on the +Piazza Farnese, close by. He was a man of fifty, very gentle, and very +good-hearted, of a benevolence seldom found in the Roman world; and +archaeology, a passion for the old stones of the past, had made him an +ardent patriot. Humble though his position was, folks whispered that he +had on several occasions served as an intermediary in delicate matters +between the Vatican and the Quirinal. And, becoming confessor not only of +Ernesta but of Benedetta also, he was fond of discoursing to them about +the grandeur of Italian unity, the triumphant sway that Italy would +exercise when the Pope and the King should agree together. + +Meantime Benedetta and Dario loved as on the first day, patiently, with +the strong tranquil love of those who know that they belong to one +another. But it happened that Ernesta threw herself between them and +stubbornly opposed their marriage. No, no! her daughter must not espouse +that Dario, that cousin, the last of the name, who in his turn would +immure his wife in the black sepulchre of the Boccanera palace! Their +union would be a prolongation of entombment, an aggravation of ruin, a +repetition of the haughty wretchedness of the past, of the everlasting +peevish sulking which depressed and benumbed one! She was well acquainted +with the young man’s character; she knew that he was egotistical and +weak, incapable of thinking and acting, predestined to bury his race with +a smile on his lips, to let the last remnant of the house crumble about +his head without attempting the slightest effort to found a new family. +And that which she desired was fortune in another guise, a new birth for +her daughter with wealth and the florescence of life amid the victors and +powerful ones of to-morrow. + +From that moment the mother did not cease her stubborn efforts to ensure +her daughter’s happiness despite herself. She told her of her tears, +entreated her not to renew her own deplorable career. Yet she would have +failed, such was the calm determination of the girl who had for ever +given her heart, if certain circumstances had not brought her into +connection with such a son-in-law as she dreamt of. At that very Villa +Montefiori where Benedetta and Dario had plighted their troth, she met +Count 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, whilst +the old warrior, his sire, created a senator, lived scantily on a petty +income, the last remnant of a fortune spent in his country’s service. The +fine war-like madness of the former comrade of Garibaldi had, however, in +the son turned into a fierce appetite for booty, so that the young man +became one of the real conquerors of Rome, one of those birds of prey +that dismembered and devoured the city. Engaged in vast speculations on +land, already wealthy according to popular report, he had--at the time of +meeting Ernesta--just become intimate with Prince Onofrio, whose head he +had turned by suggesting to him the idea of selling the far-spreading +grounds of the Villa Montefiori for the erection of a new suburban +district on the site. Others averred that he was the lover of the +princess, the beautiful Flavia, who, although nine years his senior, was +still superb. And, truth to tell, he was certainly a man of violent +desires, with an eagerness to rush on the spoils of conquest which +rendered him utterly unscrupulous with regard either to the wealth or to +the wives of others. + +From the first day that he beheld Benedetta he desired her. But she, at +any rate, could only become his by marriage. And he did not for a moment +hesitate, but broke off all connection with Flavia, eager as he was for +the pure virgin beauty, the patrician youth of the other. When he +realised that Ernesta, the mother, favoured him, he asked her daughter’s +hand, feeling certain of success. And the surprise was great, for he was +some fifteen years older than the girl. However, he was a count, he bore +a name which was already historical, he was piling up millions, he was +regarded with favour at the Quirinal, and none could tell to what heights +he might not attain. All Rome became impassioned. + +Never afterwards was Benedetta able to explain to herself how it happened +that she had eventually consented. Six months sooner, six months later, +such a marriage would certainly have been impossible, given the fearful +scandal which it raised in the black world. A Boccanera, the last maiden +of that antique papal race, given to a Prada, to one of the despoilers of +the Church! Was it credible? In order that the wild project might prove +successful it had been necessary that it should be formed at a particular +brief moment--a moment when a supreme effort was being made to conciliate +the Vatican and the Quirinal. A report circulated that an agreement was +on the point of being arrived at, that the King consented to recognise +the Pope’s absolute sovereignty over the Leonine City,* and a narrow band +of territory extending to the sea. And if such were the case would not +the marriage of Benedetta and Prada become, so to say, a symbol of union, +of national reconciliation? That lovely girl, the pure lily of the black +world, was she not the acquiescent sacrifice, the pledge granted to the +whites? + + * 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 the +question, allowed their emotion rein, indulged in all sorts of hopes. The +girl, for her part, did not enter into the political reasons, but simply +listened to her heart, which she could not bestow since it was hers no +more. From morn till night, however, she had to encounter her mother’s +prayers entreating her not to refuse the fortune, the life which offered. +And she was particularly exercised by the counsels of her confessor, good +Abbé Pisoni, whose patriotic zeal now burst forth. He weighed upon her +with all his faith in the Christian destinies of Italy, and returned +heartfelt thanks to Providence for having chosen one of his penitents as +the instrument for hastening the reconciliation which would work God’s +triumph throughout the world. And her confessor’s influence was certainly +one of the decisive factors in shaping Benedetta’s decision, for she was +very pious, very devout, especially with regard to a certain Madonna +whose image she went to adore every Sunday at the little church on the +Piazza Farnese. One circumstance in particular struck her: Abbé Pisoni +related that the flame of the lamp before the image in question whitened +each time that he himself knelt there to beg the Virgin to incline his +penitent to the all-redeeming marriage. And thus superior forces +intervened; and she yielded in obedience to her mother, whom the Cardinal +and Donna Serafina had at first opposed, but whom they left free to act +when the religious question arose. + +Benedetta had grown up in such absolute purity and ignorance, knowing +nothing of herself, so shut off from existence, that marriage with +another than Dario was to her simply the rupture of a long-kept promise +of life in common. It was not the violent wrenching of heart and flesh +that it would have been in the case of a woman who knew the facts of +life. She wept a good deal, and then in a day of self-surrender she +married Prada, lacking the strength to continue resisting everybody, and +yielding 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 it +that Prada, the Piedmontese, the Italian of the North, the man of +conquest, displayed towards his bride the same brutality that he had +shown towards the city he had sacked? Or was it that the revelation of +married life filled Benedetta with repulsion since nothing in her own +heart responded to the passion of this man? On that point she never +clearly explained herself; but with violence she shut the door of her +room, locked it and bolted it, and refused to admit her husband. For a +month Prada was maddened by her scorn. He felt outraged; both his pride +and his passion bled; and he swore to master her, even as one masters a +colt, with the whip. But all his virile fury was impotent against the +indomitable determination which had sprung up one evening behind +Benedetta’s small and lovely brow. The spirit of the Boccaneras had awoke +within her; nothing in the world, not even the fear of death, would have +induced her to become her husband’s wife.* And then, love being at last +revealed to her, there came a return of her heart to Dario, a conviction +that she must reserve herself for him alone, since it was to him that she +had 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, the +young man had been travelling in France. She did not hide the truth from +him, but wrote to him, again vowing that she would never be another’s. +And meantime her piety increased, her resolve to reserve herself for the +lover she had chosen mingled in her mind with constancy of religious +faith. The ardent heart of a great _amorosa_ had ignited within her, she +was ready for martyrdom for faith’s sake. And when her despairing mother +with clasped hands entreated her to resign herself to her conjugal +duties, she replied that she owed no duties, since she had known nothing +when she married. Moreover, the times were changing; the attempts to +reconcile 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 that +triumphal marriage, to which every one had contributed as to a pledge of +peace, crumbled amid the general smash-up, became but a ruin the more +added to so many others. + +Ernesta died of it. She had made a mistake. Her spoilt life--the life of +a joyless wife--had culminated in this supreme maternal error. And the +worst was that she alone had to bear all the responsibility of the +disaster, for both her brother, the Cardinal, and her sister, Donna +Serafina, overwhelmed her with reproaches. For consolation she had but +the despair of Abbé Pisoni, whose patriotic hopes had been destroyed, and +who was consumed with grief at having contributed to such a catastrophe. +And one morning Ernesta was found, icy white and cold, in her bed. Folks +talked of the rupture of a blood-vessel, but grief had been sufficient, +for she had suffered frightfully, secretly, without a plaint, as indeed +she had suffered all her life long. + +At this time Benedetta had been married about a twelvemonth: still strong +in her resistance to her husband, but remaining under the conjugal roof +in order to spare her mother the terrible blow of a public scandal. +However, her aunt Serafina had brought influence to bear on her, by +opening to her the hope of a possible nullification of her marriage, +should she throw herself at the feet of the Holy Father and entreat his +intervention. And Serafina ended by persuading her of this, when, +deferring to certain advice, she removed her from the spiritual control +of Abbé Pisoni, and gave her the same confessor as herself. This was a +Jesuit father named Lorenza, a man scarce five and thirty, with bright +eyes, grave and amiable manners, and great persuasive powers. However, it +was only on the morrow of her mother’s death that Benedetta made up her +mind, and returned to the Palazzo Boccanera, to occupy the apartments +where she had been born, and where her mother had just passed away. + +Immediately afterwards proceedings for annulling the marriage were +instituted, in the first instance, for inquiry, before the Cardinal Vicar +charged with the diocese of Rome. It was related that the Contessina had +only taken this step after a secret audience with his Holiness, who had +shown her the most encouraging sympathy. Count Prada at first spoke of +applying to the law courts to compel his wife to return to the conjugal +domicile; but, yielding to the entreaties of his old father Orlando, whom +the affair greatly grieved, he eventually consented to accept the +ecclesiastical jurisdiction. He was infuriated, however, to find that the +nullification of the marriage was solicited on the ground of its +non-consummation through _impotentia mariti_; this being one of the most +valid and decisive pleas on which the Church of Rome consents to part +those whom she has joined. And far more unhappy marriages than might be +imagined are severed on these grounds, though the world only gives +attention to those cases in which people of title or renown are +concerned, as it did, for instance, with the famous Martinez Campos suit. + +In Benedetta’s case, her counsel, Consistorial-Advocate Morano, one of +the leading authorities of the Roman bar, simply neglected to mention, in +his memoir, that if she was still merely a wife in name, this was +entirely due to herself. In addition to the evidence of friends and +servants, showing on what terms the husband and wife had lived since +their marriage, the advocate produced a certificate of a medical +character, showing that the non-consummation of the union was certain. +And the Cardinal Vicar, acting as Bishop of Rome, had thereupon remitted +the case to the Congregation of the Council. This was a first success for +Benedetta, and matters remained in this position. She was waiting for the +Congregation to deliver its final pronouncement, hoping that the +ecclesiastical dissolution of the marriage would prove an irresistible +argument in favour of the divorce which she meant to solicit of the civil +courts. And meantime, in the icy rooms where her mother Ernesta, +submissive and desolate, had lately died, the Contessina resumed her +girlish life, showing herself calm, yet very firm in her passion, having +vowed that she would belong to none but Dario, and that she would not +belong to him until the day when a priest should have joined them +together in God’s holy name. + +As it happened, some six months previously, Dario also had taken up his +abode at the Boccanera palace in consequence of the death of his father +and the catastrophe which had ruined him. Prince Onofrio, after adopting +Prada’s advice and selling the Villa Montefiori to a financial company +for ten million _lire_,* had, instead of prudently keeping his money in +his pockets, succumbed to the fever of speculation which was consuming +Rome. He began to gamble, buying back his own land, and ending by losing +everything in the formidable _krach_ which was swallowing up the wealth +of the entire city. Totally ruined, somewhat deeply in debt even, the +Prince nevertheless continued to promenade the Corso, like the handsome, +smiling, popular man he was, when he accidentally met his death through +falling from his horse; and four months later his widow, the ever +beautiful Flavia--who had managed to save a modern villa and a personal +income of forty thousand _lire_* from the disaster--was remarried to a +man of magnificent presence, her junior by some ten years. This was a +Swiss named Jules Laporte, originally a sergeant in the Papal Swiss +Guard, then a traveller for a shady business in “relics,” and finally +Marchese Montefiore, having secured that title in securing his wife, +thanks to a special brief of the Holy Father. Thus the Princess Boccanera +had again become the Marchioness Montefiori. + + * 400,000 pounds. + ** 1,800 pounds. + +It was then that Cardinal Boccanera, feeling greatly hurt, insisted on +his nephew Dario coming to live with him, in a small apartment on the +first floor of the palazzo. In the heart of that holy man, who seemed +dead to the world, there still lingered pride of name and lineage, with a +feeling of affection for his young, slightly built nephew, the last of +the race, the only one by whom the old stock might blossom anew. +Moreover, he was not opposed to Dario’s marriage with Benedetta, whom he +also loved with a paternal affection; and so proud was he of the family +honour, and so convinced of the young people’s pious rectitude that, in +taking them to live with him, he absolutely scorned the abominable +rumours which Count Prada’s friends in the white world had begun to +circulate ever since the two cousins had resided under the same roof. +Donna Serafina guarded Benedetta, as he, the Cardinal, guarded Dario, and +in the silence and the gloom of the vast deserted mansion, ensanguined of +olden time by so many tragic deeds of violence, there now only remained +these four with their restrained, stilled passions, last survivors of a +crumbling world upon the threshold of a new one. + +When Abbé Pierre Froment all at once awoke from sleep, his head heavy +with painful dreams, he was worried to find that the daylight was already +waning. 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 nearly +seven hours, overcome beyond power of resistance. And even on awaking he +remained on the bed, helpless, as though he were conquered before he had +fought. Why, he wondered, did he experience this prostration, this +unreasonable discouragement, this quiver of doubt which had come he knew +not whence during his sleep, and which was annihilating his youthful +enthusiasm of the morning? Had the Boccaneras any connection with this +sudden weakening of his powers? He had espied dim disquieting figures in +the black night of his dreams; and the anguish which they had brought him +continued, and he again evoked them, scared as he was at thus awaking in +a strange room, full of uneasiness in presence of the unknown. Things no +longer seemed natural to him. He could not understand why Benedetta +should have written to Viscount Philibert de la Choue to tell him that +his, 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 defend +himself; and with what object had she carried her amiability so far as to +desire that he should take up his quarters in the mansion? Pierre’s +stupefaction indeed arose from his being there, on that bed in that +strange room, in that palace whose deep, death-like silence encompassed +him. As he lay there, his limbs still overpowered and his brain seemingly +empty, a flash of light suddenly came to him, and he realised that there +must be certain circumstances that he knew nothing of that, simple though +things appeared, they must really hide some complicated intrigue. +However, it was only a fugitive gleam of enlightenment; his suspicions +faded; and he rose up shaking himself and accusing the gloomy twilight of +being the sole cause of the shivering and the despondency of which he +felt ashamed. + +In order to bestir himself, Pierre began to examine the two rooms. They +were furnished simply, almost meagrely, in mahogany, there being scarcely +any two articles alike, though all dated from the beginning of the +century. Neither the bed nor the windows nor the doors had any hangings. +On the floor of bare tiles, coloured red and polished, there were merely +some little foot-mats in front of the various seats. And at sight of this +middle-class bareness and coldness Pierre ended by remembering a room +where he had slept in childhood--a room at Versailles, at the abode of +his grandmother, who had kept a little grocer’s shop there in the days of +Louis Philippe. However, he became interested in an old painting which +hung in the bed-room, on the wall facing the bed, amidst some childish +and 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 have +been driven forth. The folding doors of bronze had for ever closed behind +her, yet she remained there in a mere drapery of white linen; whilst +scattered articles of clothing, thrown forth chance-wise with a violent +hand, lay upon the massive granite steps. Her feet were bare, her arms +were bare, and her hands, distorted by bitter agony, were pressed to her +face--a face which one saw not, veiled as it was by the tawny gold of her +rippling, streaming hair. What nameless grief, what fearful shame, what +hateful abandonment was thus being hidden by that rejected one, that +lingering victim of love, of whose unknown story one might for ever dream +with tortured heart? It could be divined that she was adorably young and +beautiful in her wretchedness, in the shred of linen draped about her +shoulders; but a mystery enveloped everything else--her passion, possibly +her misfortune, perhaps even her transgression--unless, indeed, she were +there merely as a symbol of all that shivers and that weeps visageless +before the ever closed portals of the unknown. For a long time Pierre +looked at her, and so intently that he at last imagined he could +distinguish her profile, divine in its purity and expression of +suffering. But this was only an illusion; the painting had greatly +suffered, blackened by time and neglect; and he asked himself whose work +it might be that it should move him so intensely. On the adjoining wall a +picture 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-room +window, Pierre leant out. On the other bank of the Tiber facing him arose +the Janiculum, the height whence he had gazed upon Rome that morning. But +at this dim hour Rome was no longer the city of youth and dreamland +soaring into the early sunshine. The night was raining down, grey and +ashen; the horizon was becoming blurred, vague, and mournful. Yonder, to +the left, beyond the sea of roofs, Pierre could still divine the presence +of the Palatine; and yonder, to the right, there still arose the Dome of +St. Peter’s, now grey like slate against the leaden sky; whilst behind +him the Quirinal, which he could not see, must also be fading away into +the misty night. A few minutes went by, and everything became yet more +blurred; he realised that Rome was fading, departing in its immensity of +which he knew nothing. Then his causeless doubt and disquietude again +came on him so painfully that he could no longer remain at the window. He +closed it and sat down, letting the darkness submerge him with its flood +of infinite sadness. And his despairing reverie only ceased when the door +gently opened and the glow of a lamp enlivened the room. + +It was Victorine who came in quietly, bringing the light. “Ah! so you are +up, Monsieur l’Abbé,” said she; “I came in at about four o’clock but I +let you sleep on. You have done quite right to take all the rest you +required.” + +Then, as he complained of pains and shivering, she became anxious. “Don’t +go catching their nasty fevers,” she said. “It isn’t at all healthy near +their river, you know. Don Vigilio, his Eminence’s secretary, is always +having the fever, and I assure you that it isn’t pleasant.” + +She accordingly advised him to remain upstairs and lie down again. She +would excuse his absence to the Princess and the Contessina. And he ended +by letting her do as she desired, for he was in no state to have any will +of his own. By her advice he dined, partaking of some soup, a wing of a +chicken, and some preserves, which Giaccomo, the big lackey, brought up +to him. And the food did him a great deal of good; he felt so restored +that he refused to go to bed, desiring, said he, to thank the ladies that +very evening for their kindly hospitality. As Donna Serafina received on +Mondays he would present himself before her. + +“Very good,” said Victorine approvingly. “As you are all right again it +can do you no harm, it will even enliven you. The best thing will be for +Don Vigilio to come for you at nine o’clock and accompany you. Wait for +him here.” + +Pierre had just washed and put on the new cassock he had brought with +him, when, at nine o’clock precisely, he heard a discreet knock at his +door. A little priest came in, a man scarcely thirty years of age, but +thin and debile of build, with a long, seared, saffron-coloured face. For +two years past attacks of fever, coming on every day at the same hour, +had been consuming him. Nevertheless, whenever he forgot to control the +black eyes which lighted his yellow face, they shone out ardently with +the glow of his fiery soul. He bowed, and then in fluent French +introduced himself in this simple fashion: “Don Vigilio, Monsieur l’Abbé, +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. Having +descended the small staircase, they found themselves on the second floor, +on the spacious landing of the grand staircase. And Pierre was surprised +and saddened by the scanty illumination, which, as in some dingy +lodging-house, was limited to a few gas-jets, placed far apart, their +yellow 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 those +occupied by her niece, nothing indicated that a reception was being held +that 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 not +even ring, but, after a fresh bow, discreetly turned the door-handle. + +A single petroleum lamp, placed on a table, lighted the ante-room, a +large apartment with bare fresco-painted walls, simulating hangings of +red and gold, draped regularly all around in the antique fashion. A few +men’s overcoats and two ladies’ mantles lay on the chairs, whilst a pier +table was littered with hats, and a servant sat there dozing, with his +back to the wall. + +However, as Don Vigilio stepped aside to allow Pierre to enter a first +reception-room, hung with red _brocatelle_, a room but dimly lighted and +which he imagined to be empty, the young priest found himself face to +face with an apparition in black, a woman whose features he could not at +first distinguish. Fortunately he heard his companion say, with a low +bow, “Contessina, I have the honour to present to you Monsieur l’Abbé +Pierre 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 apartment +whose doorway, with folding doors thrown wide open, described a +parallelogram of brighter light. + +The young woman at once showed herself very affable, with perfect +simplicity of manner: “Ah! I am happy to see you, Monsieur l’Abbé. I was +afraid that your indisposition might be serious. You are quite recovered +now, are you not?” + +Pierre listened to her, fascinated by her slow and rather thick voice, in +which 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 so +white, the whiteness of ivory. She had a round face, with somewhat full +lips, a small refined nose, features as delicate as a child’s. But it was +especially her eyes that lived, immense eyes, whose infinite depths none +could fathom. Was she slumbering? Was she dreaming? Did her motionless +face conceal the ardent tension of a great saint and a great _amorosa_? +So white, so young, and so calm, her every movement was harmonious, her +appearance at once very staid, very noble, and very rhythmical. In her +ears she wore two large pearls of matchless purity, pearls which had come +from 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 gratitude +for your great kindness.” + +He had hesitated to call her madame, remembering the plea brought forward +in the suit for the dissolution of her marriage. But plainly enough +everybody must call her madame. Moreover, her face had retained its calm +and kindly expression. + +“Consider yourself at home here, Monsieur l’Abbé,” she responded, wishing +to put him at his ease. “It is sufficient that our relative, Monsieur de +la 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, for +she realised that she ought to speak of the book, the one reason of +Pierre’s journey and her proffered hospitality. “Yes,” she added, “the +Viscount sent me your book. I read it and found it very beautiful. It +disturbed me. But I am only an ignoramus, and certainly failed to +understand everything in it. We must talk it over together; you will +explain your ideas to me, won’t you, Monsieur l’Abbé?” + +In her large clear eyes, which did not know how to lie, Pierre then read +the surprise and emotion of a child’s soul when confronted by disquieting +and undreamt-of problems. So it was not she who had become impassioned +and had desired to have him near her that she might sustain him and +assist his victory. Once again, and this time very keenly, he suspected a +secret influence, a hidden hand which was directing everything towards +some unknown goal. However, he was charmed by so much simplicity and +frankness in so beautiful, young, and noble a creature; and he gave +himself to her after the exchange of those few words, and was about to +tell her that she might absolutely dispose of him, when he was +interrupted by the advent of another woman, whose tall, slight figure, +also clad in black, stood out strongly against the luminous background of +the 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’Abbé is here,” was the reply of Benedetta, +hastening to introduce the young priest. “Monsieur l’Abbé Pierre +Froment--The Princess Boccanera.” + +Ceremonious salutations were exchanged. The Princess must have been +nearly sixty, but she laced herself so tightly that from behind one might +have taken her for a young woman. This tight lacing, however, was her +last coquetry. Her hair, though still plentiful, was quite white, her +eyebrows alone remaining black in her long, wrinkled face, from which +projected the large obstinate nose of the family. She had never been +beautiful, and had remained a spinster, wounded to the heart by the +selection of Count Brandini, who had preferred her younger sister, +Ernesta. From that moment she had resolved to seek consolation and +satisfaction in family pride alone, the hereditary pride of the great +name which she bore. The Boccaneras had already supplied two Popes to the +Church, and she hoped that before she died her brother would become the +third. She had transformed herself into his housekeeper, as it were, +remaining with him, watching over him, and advising him, managing all the +household affairs herself, and accomplishing miracles in order to conceal +the slow ruin which was bringing the ceilings about their heads. If every +Monday for thirty years past she had continued receiving a few intimates, +all of them folks of the Vatican, it was from high political +considerations, so that her drawing-room might remain a meeting-place of +the 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 again +surprised him, again brought the puzzling question to the fore: Why had +he been invited, what was expected of him in this society from which the +humble were usually excluded? Knowing the Princess to be austerely +devout, he at last fancied that she received him solely out of regard for +her kinsman, the Viscount, for in her turn she only found these words of +welcome: “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 young +priest into the adjoining reception-room. It was a spacious square +apartment, hung with old yellow _brocatelle_ of a flowery Louis XIV +pattern. The lofty ceiling was adorned with a very fine panelling, carved +and coloured, with gilded roses in each compartment. The furniture, +however, was of all sorts. There were some high mirrors, a couple of +superb gilded pier tables, and a few handsome seventeenth-century +arm-chairs; but all the rest was wretched. A heavy round table of +first-empire style, which had come nobody knew whence, caught the eye +with a medley of anomalous articles picked up at some bazaar, and a +quantity of cheap photographs littered the costly marble tops of the pier +tables. No interesting article of _virtu_ was to be seen. The old +paintings on the walls were with two exceptions feebly executed. There +was a delightful example of an unknown primitive master, a +fourteenth-century Visitation, in which the Virgin had the stature and +pure delicacy of a child of ten, whilst the Archangel, huge and superb, +inundated her with a stream of dazzling, superhuman love; and in front of +this hung an antique family portrait, depicting a very beautiful young +girl in a turban, who was thought to be Cassia Boccanera, the _amorosa_ +and avengeress who had flung herself into the Tiber with her brother +Ercole and the corpse of her lover, Flavio Corradini. Four lamps threw a +broad, peaceful glow over the faded room, and, like a melancholy sunset, +tinged it with yellow. It looked grave and bare, with not even a flower +in 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 felt +that every eye was fixed upon him as upon a promised and expected +curiosity. There were altogether some ten persons present, among them +being Dario, who stood talking with little Princess Celia Buongiovanni, +whilst the elderly relative who had brought the latter sat whispering to +a prelate, Monsignor Nani, in a dim corner. Pierre, however, had been +particularly struck by the name of Consistorial-Advocate Morano, of whose +position in the house Viscount de la Choue had thought proper to inform +him in order to avert any unpleasant blunder. For thirty years past +Morano had been Donna Serafina’s _amico_. Their connection, formerly a +guilty one, for the advocate had wife and children of his own, had in +course of time, since he had been left a widower, become one of those +_liaisons_ which tolerant people excuse and except. Both parties were +extremely devout and had certainly assured themselves of all needful +“indulgences.” And thus Morano was there in the seat which he had always +taken 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 Donna +Serafina had discharged her duties as mistress of the house, she returned +to 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, silent +and discreet, had already taken a chair, Dario resumed in a louder voice +the 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 and +carefully tended, and had the long face and pronounced nose of the +Boccaneras, but the impoverishment of the family blood over a course of +centuries had attenuated, softened as it were, any sharpness or undue +prominence 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 hanging +above her head, began to laugh. “Oh! Dario’s speaking of a poor girl, a +work-girl whom he met to-day,” she explained. + +Thereupon Dario had to begin his narrative again. It appeared that while +passing along a narrow street near the Piazza Navona, he had perceived a +tall, shapely girl of twenty, who was weeping and sobbing violently, +prone upon a flight of steps. Touched particularly by her beauty, he had +approached her and learnt that she had been working in the house outside +which she was, a manufactory of wax beads, but that, slack times having +come, the workshops had closed and she did not dare to return home, so +fearful was the misery there. Amidst the downpour of her tears she raised +such beautiful eyes to his that he ended by drawing some money from his +pocket. But at this, crimson with confusion, she sprang to her feet, +hiding her hands in the folds of her skirt, and refusing to take +anything. She added, however, that he might follow her if it so pleased +him, and give the money to her mother. And then she hurried off towards +the Ponte St’. Angelo.* + + * Bridge of St. Angelo. + +“Yes, she was a beauty, a perfect beauty,” repeated Dario with an air of +ecstasy. “Taller than I, and slim though sturdy, with the bosom of a +goddess. In fact, a real antique, a Venus of twenty, her chin rather +bold, her mouth and nose of perfect form, and her eyes wonderfully pure +and large! And she was bare-headed too, with nothing but a crown of heavy +black hair, and a dazzling face, gilded, so to say, by the sun.” + +They had all begun to listen to him, enraptured, full of that passionate +admiration for beauty which, in spite of every change, Rome still retains +in her heart. + +“Those beautiful girls of the people are becoming very rare,” remarked +Morano. “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 and +enraptured 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 of +discomfort and fear, like the face of a child on suddenly encountering +some ugly creature amidst its play. + +“Oh! don’t talk of it,” said he. “I felt very sorry afterwards. I saw +such misery--enough to make one ill.” + +Yielding to his curiosity, it seemed, he had followed the girl across the +Ponte St’. Angelo into the new district which was being built over the +former castle meadows*; and there, on the first floor of an abandoned +house which was already falling into ruins, though the plaster was +scarcely dry, he had come upon a frightful spectacle which still stirred +his heart: a whole family, father and mother, children, and an infirm old +uncle, dying of hunger and rotting in filth! He selected the most +dignified words he could think of to describe the scene, waving his hand +the while with a gesture of fright, as if to ward off some horrible +vision. + + * 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’t +go back again.” + +A general wagging of heads ensued in the cold, irksome silence which fell +upon the room. Then Morano summed up the matter in a few bitter words, in +which he accused the despoilers, the men of the Quirinal, of being the +sole cause of all the frightful misery of Rome. Were not people even +talking of the approaching nomination of Deputy Sacco as Minister of +Finances--Sacco, that intriguer who had engaged in all sorts of underhand +practices? His appointment would be the climax of impudence; bankruptcy +would speedily and infallibly ensue. + +Meantime Benedetta, who had fixed her eyes on Pierre, with his book in +her mind, alone murmured: “Poor people, how very sad! But why not go back +to 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. His +thoughts reverted to his apostolate amidst the misery of Paris, and his +heart was touched with compassion at being confronted by the story of +such fearful sufferings on the very day of his arrival in Rome. +Unwittingly, impulsively, he raised his voice, and said aloud: “Oh! we +will go to see them together, madame; you will take me. These questions +impassion 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 anxious +about his first impressions, his opinion of their city and of themselves. +He must not judge Rome by mere outward appearances, they said. What +effect had the city produced on him? How had he found it, and what did he +think of it? Thereupon he politely apologised for his inability to answer +them. He had not yet gone out, said he, and had seen nothing. But this +answer was of no avail; they pressed him all the more keenly, and he +fully understood that their object was to gain him over to admiration and +love. They advised him, adjured him not to yield to any fatal +disillusion, but to persist and wait until Rome should have revealed to +him her soul. + +“How long do you expect to remain among us, Monsieur l’Abbé?” suddenly +inquired a courteous voice, with a clear but gentle ring. + +It was Monsignor Nani, who, seated in the gloom, thus raised his voice +for the first time. On several occasions it had seemed to Pierre that the +prelate’s keen blue eyes were steadily fixed upon him, though all the +while he pretended to be attentively listening to the drawling chatter of +Celia’s aunt. And before replying Pierre glanced at him. In his +crimson-edged cassock, with a violet silk sash drawn tightly around his +waist, Nani still looked young, although he was over fifty. His hair had +remained blond, he had a straight refined nose, a mouth very firm yet +very 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 to +know Rome in three weeks! Why, six weeks, twelve months, ten years were +required! The first impression was always a disastrous one, and a long +sojourn was needed for a visitor to recover from it. + +“Three weeks!” repeated Donna Serafina with her disdainful air. “Is it +possible for people to study one another and get fond of one another in +three weeks? Those who come back to us are those who have learned to know +us.” + +Instead of launching into exclamations like the others, Nani had at first +contented himself with smiling, and gently waving his shapely hand, which +bespoke his aristocratic origin. Then, as Pierre modestly explained +himself, saying that he had come to Rome to attend to certain matters and +would 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’Abbé will stay with us for more than three weeks; we shall +have the happiness of his presence here for a long time, I hope.” + +These words, though spoken with quiet cordiality, strangely disturbed the +young priest. What was known, what was meant? He leant towards Don +Vigilio, who had remained near him, still and ever silent, and in a +whisper inquired: “Who is Monsignor Nani?” + +The secretary, however, did not at once reply. His feverish face became +yet more livid. Then his ardent eyes glanced round to make sure that +nobody was watching him, and in a breath he responded: “He is the +Assessor of the Holy Office.”* + + * Otherwise the Inquisition. + +This information sufficed, for Pierre was not ignorant of the fact that +the assessor, who was present in silence at the meetings of the Holy +Office, waited upon his Holiness every Wednesday evening after the +sitting, to render him an account of the matters dealt with in the +afternoon. This weekly audience, this hour spent with the Pope in a +privacy which allowed of every subject being broached, gave the assessor +an exceptional position, one of considerable power. Moreover the office +led to the cardinalate; the only “rise” that could be given to the +assessor was his promotion to the Sacred College. + +Monsignor Nani, who seemed so perfectly frank and amiable, continued to +look at the young priest with such an encouraging air that the latter +felt obliged to go and occupy the seat beside him, which Celia’s old aunt +at 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 would +perhaps open every door to him? He therefore felt very touched when +Monsignor Nani, immediately after the first words, inquired in a tone of +deep interest, “And so, my dear child, you have published a book?” + +After this, gradually mastered by his enthusiasm and forgetting where he +was, Pierre unbosomed himself, and recounted the birth and progress of +his burning love amidst the sick and the humble, gave voice to his dream +of a return to the olden Christian community, and triumphed with the +rejuvenescence of Catholicism, developing into the one religion of the +universal democracy. Little by little he again raised his voice, and +silence fell around him in the stern, antique reception-room, every one +lending ear to his words with increasing surprise, with a growing +coldness 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, my +dear child,” he said, “it is very beautiful, oh! very beautiful, well +worthy of the pure and noble imagination of a Christian. But what do you +count on doing now?” + +“I shall go straight to the Holy Father to defend myself,” answered +Pierre. + +A light, restrained laugh went round, and Donna Serafina expressed the +general opinion by exclaiming: “The Holy Father isn’t seen as easily as +that.” + +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 not +defended his policy? Can he let my book be condemned when I believe that +I have taken inspiration from all that is best in him?” + +“No doubt, no doubt,” Nani again hastily replied, as if he feared that +the others might be too brusque with the young enthusiast. “The Holy +Father has such a lofty mind. And of course it would be necessary to see +him. Only, my dear child, you must not excite yourself so much; reflect a +little; take your time.” And, turning to Benedetta, he added, “Of course +his Eminence has not seen Abbé Froment yet. It would be well, however, +that he should receive him to-morrow morning to guide him with his wise +counsel.” + +Cardinal Boccanera never attended his sister’s Monday-evening receptions. +Still, he was always there in the spirit, like some absent sovereign +master. + +“To tell the truth,” replied the Contessina, hesitating, “I fear that my +uncle does not share Monsieur l’Abbé’s views.” + +Nani again smiled. “Exactly; he will tell him things which it is good he +should hear.” + +Thereupon it was at once settled with Don Vigilio that the latter would +put down the young priest’s name for an audience on the following morning +at ten o’clock. + +However, at that moment a cardinal came in, clad in town costume--his +sash and his stockings red, but his simar black, with a red edging and +red buttons. It was Cardinal Sarno, a very old intimate of the +Boccaneras; and whilst he apologised for arriving so late, through press +of work, the company became silent and deferentially clustered round him. +This was the first cardinal Pierre had seen, and he felt greatly +disappointed, for the newcomer had none of the majesty, none of the fine +port and presence to which he had looked forward. On the contrary, he was +short and somewhat deformed, with the left shoulder higher than the +right, and a worn, ashen face with lifeless eyes. To Pierre he looked +like some old clerk of seventy, half stupefied by fifty years of office +work, dulled and bent by incessantly leaning over his writing desk ever +since his youth. And indeed that was Sarno’s story. The puny child of a +petty middle-class family, he had been educated at the Seminario Romano. +Then later he had for ten years professed Canon Law at that same +seminary, afterwards becoming one of the secretaries of the Congregation +for the Propagation of the Faith. Finally, five and twenty years ago, he +had been created a cardinal, and the jubilee of his cardinalate had +recently been celebrated. Born in Rome, he had always lived there; he was +the perfect type of the prelate who, through growing up in the shade of +the Vatican, has become one of the masters of the world. Although he had +never occupied any diplomatic post, he had rendered such important +services to the Propaganda, by his methodical habits of work, that he had +become president of one of the two commissions which furthered the +interests of the Church in those vast countries of the west which are not +yet 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 but +terrible man whose hand was everywhere, even in the most distant corners +of the earth, although he had never left his office. As Nani knew, +despite his apparent nullity, Sarno, with his slow, methodical, ably +organised work of conquest, possessed sufficient power to set empires in +confusion. + +“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 not +even introduced to the Cardinal. And yet he had to remain in the room for +nearly another hour, looking around and observing. That antiquated world +then seemed to him puerile, as though it had lapsed into a mournful +second childhood. Under all the apparent haughtiness and proud reserve he +could divine real timidity, unacknowledged distrust, born of great +ignorance. If the conversation did not become general, it was because +nobody dared to speak out frankly; and what he heard in the corners was +simply so much childish chatter, the petty gossip of the week, the +trivial echoes of sacristies and drawing-rooms. People saw but little of +one another, and the slightest incidents assumed huge proportions. At +last 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 the +French provinces. No refreshments were served. Celia’s old aunt secured +possession of Cardinal Sarno; but, instead of replying to her, he simply +wagged his head from time to time. Don Vigilio had not opened his mouth +the whole evening. However, a conversation in a very low tone was started +by Nani and Morano, to whom Donna Serafina listened, leaning forward and +expressing her approval by slowly nodding her head. They were doubtless +speaking of the dissolution of Benedetta’s marriage, for they glanced at +the young woman gravely from time to time. And in the centre of the +spacious room, in the sleepy glow of the lamps, there was only the young +people, 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 Benedetta +and the portrait of Cassia hanging on the wall. Each displayed the same +delicate youth, the same passionate mouth, the same large, unfathomable +eyes, set in the same round, sensible, healthy-looking face. In each +there was certainly the same upright soul, the same heart of flame. Then +a recollection came to Pierre, that of a painting by Guido Reni, the +adorable, candid head of Beatrice Cenci, which, at that moment and to his +thinking, the portrait of Cassia closely resembled. This resemblance +stirred him and he glanced at Benedetta with anxious sympathy, as if all +the fierce fatality of race and country were about to fall on her. But +no, 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 other +than signs of gay fraternal tenderness between her and Dario, especially +on her side, for her face ever retained the bright serenity of a love +which may be openly confessed. At one moment, it is true, Dario in a +joking way had caught hold of her hands and pressed them; but while he +began to laugh rather nervously, with a brighter gleam darting from his +eyes, she on her side, all composure, slowly freed her hands, as though +theirs 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 his +watch, had slipped off to join some friends who were playing cards at a +lady’s house, Benedetta and Celia sat down together on a sofa near +Pierre; and the latter, without wishing to listen, overheard a few words +of their confidential chat. The little Princess was the eldest daughter +of Prince Matteo Buongiovanni, who was already the father of five +children by an English wife, a Mortimer, to whom he was indebted for a +dowry of two hundred thousand pounds. Indeed, the Buongiovannis were +known 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 not +prevented Prince Matteo from lending support to the Quirinal without +quarrelling with the Vatican. Son of an American woman, no longer having +the pure Roman blood in his veins, he was a more supple politician than +other aristocrats, and was also, folks said, extremely grasping, +struggling to be one of the last to retain the wealth and power of olden +times, which he realised were condemned to death. Yet it was in his +family, renowned for its superb pride and its continued magnificence, +that a love romance had lately taken birth, a romance which was the +subject of endless gossip: Celia had suddenly fallen in love with a young +lieutenant to whom she had never spoken; her love was reciprocated, and +the passionate attachment of the officer and the girl only found vent in +the glances they exchanged on meeting each day during the usual drive +through the Corso. Nevertheless Celia displayed a tenacious will, and +after declaring to her father that she would never take any other +husband, she was waiting, firm and resolute, in the certainty that she +would ultimately secure the man of her choice. The worst of the affair +was that the lieutenant, Attilio Sacco, happened to be the son of Deputy +Sacco, a parvenu whom the black world looked down upon, as upon one sold +to the Quirinal and ready to undertake the very dirtiest job. + +“It was for me that Morano spoke just now,” Celia murmured in Benedetta’s +ear. “Yes, yes, when he spoke so harshly of Attilio’s father and that +ministerial appointment which people are talking about. He wanted to give +me a lesson.” + +The two girls had sworn eternal affection in their school-days, and +Benedetta, the elder by five years, showed herself maternal. “And so,” + she said, “you’ve not become a whit more reasonable. You still think of +that young man?” + +“What! are you going to grieve me too, dear?” replied Celia. “I love +Attilio and mean to have him. Yes, him and not another! I want him and +I’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 was +like a candid, budding lily. A brow and a nose of blossom-like purity; a +mouth all innocence with its lips closing over pearly teeth, and eyes +like spring water, clear and fathomless. And not a quiver passed over her +cheeks of satiny freshness, no sign, however faint, of anxiety or +inquisitiveness appeared in her candid glance. Did she think? Did she +know? Who could have answered? She was virginity personified with all its +redoubtable 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 I +love Attilio. Life lies in that: one must love.” + +These words, spoken so naturally by that ignorant child, disturbed Pierre +to such a point that he felt tears rising to his eyes. Love! yes, therein +lay the solution of every quarrel, the alliance between the nations, the +reign of peace and joy throughout the world! However, Donna Serafina had +now risen, shrewdly suspecting the nature of the conversation which was +impassioning the two girls. And she gave Don Vigilio a glance, which the +latter understood, for he came to tell Pierre in an undertone that it was +time to retire. Eleven o’clock was striking, and Celia went off with her +aunt. Advocate Morano, however, doubtless desired to retain Cardinal +Sarno and Nani for a few moments in order that they might privately +discuss some difficulty which had arisen in the divorce proceedings. On +reaching the outer reception-room, Benedetta, after kissing Celia on both +cheeks, took leave of Pierre with much good grace. + +“In answering the Viscount to-morrow morning,” said she, “I shall tell +him 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, each +carrying a candlestick which the servant had handed to them, were about +to part for the night, when the former could not refrain from asking the +secretary a question which had been worrying him for hours: “Is Monsignor +Nani 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, and +in 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 of +you in such precise terms that he seemed to be acquainted with the +slightest 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 calm +active air. + +“Ah! Monsieur l’Abbé, I wanted to make sure that you had everything you +were likely to want. There are candles, water, sugar, and matches. And +what do you take in the morning, please? Coffee? No, a cup of milk with a +roll. Very good; at eight o’clock, eh? And now rest and sleep well. I was +awfully afraid of ghosts during the first nights I spent in this old +palace! But I never saw a trace of one. The fact is, when people are +dead, 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 be +able to shake off the strain imposed on him, to free himself from the +discomfort which he had felt in that reception-room, among those people +who in his mind still mingled and vanished like shadows in the sleepy +glow of the lamps. Ghosts, thought he, are the old dead ones of long ago +whose distressed spirits return to love and suffer in the breasts of the +living of to-day. And, despite his long afternoon rest, he had never felt +so weary, so desirous of slumber, confused and foggy as was his mind, +full of the fear that he had hitherto not understood things aright. When +he began to undress, his astonishment at being in that room returned to +him with such intensity that he almost fancied himself another person. +What did all those people think of his book? Why had he been brought to +this cold dwelling whose hostility he could divine? Was it for the +purpose of helping him or conquering him? And again in the yellow +glimmer, the dismal sunset of the drawing-room, he perceived Donna +Serafina and Advocate Morano on either side of the chimney-piece, whilst +behind the calm yet passionate visage of Benedetta appeared the smiling +face of Monsignor Nani, with cunning eyes and lips bespeaking indomitable +energy. + +He went to bed, but soon got up again, stifling, feeling such a need of +fresh, free air that he opened the window wide in order to lean out. But +the night was black as ink, the darkness had submerged the horizon. A +mist must have hidden the stars in the firmament; the vault above seemed +opaque and heavy like lead; and yonder in front the houses of the +Trastevere had long since been asleep. Not one of all their windows +glittered; there was but a single gaslight shining, all alone and far +away, like a lost spark. In vain did Pierre seek the Janiculum. In the +depths of that ocean of nihility all sunk and vanished, Rome’s four and +twenty centuries, the ancient Palatine and the modern Quirinal, even the +giant dome of St. Peter’s, blotted out from the sky by the flood of +gloom. 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 to +the first floor of the mansion for his audience with Cardinal Boccanera. +He had awoke free of all fatigue and again full of courage and candid +enthusiasm; nothing remaining of his strange despondency of the previous +night, the doubts and suspicions which had then come over him. The +morning was so fine, the sky so pure and so bright, that his heart once +more palpitated with hope. + +On the landing he found the folding doors of the first ante-room wide +open. While closing the gala saloons which overlooked the street, and +which were rotting with old age and neglect, the Cardinal still used the +reception-rooms of one of his grand-uncles, who in the eighteenth century +had risen to the same ecclesiastical dignity as himself. There was a +suite of four immense rooms, each sixteen feet high, with windows facing +the lane which sloped down towards the Tiber; and the sun never entered +them, shut off as it was by the black houses across the lane. Thus the +installation, in point of space, was in keeping with the display and pomp +of the old-time princely dignitaries of the Church. But no repairs were +ever made, no care was taken of anything, the hangings were frayed and +ragged, and dust preyed on the furniture, amidst an unconcern which +seemed to betoken some proud resolve to stay the course of time. + +Pierre experienced a slight shock as he entered the first room, the +servants’ ante-chamber. Formerly two pontifical _gente d’armi_ in full +uniform had always stood there amidst a stream of lackeys; and the single +servant now on duty seemed by his phantom-like appearance to increase the +melancholiness of the vast and gloomy hall. One was particularly struck +by an altar facing the windows, an altar with red drapery surmounted by a +_baldacchino_ with red hangings, on which appeared the escutcheon of the +Boccaneras, the winged dragon spitting flames with the device, _Bocca +nera, Alma rossa_. And the grand-uncle’s red hat, the old huge ceremonial +hat, was also there, with the two cushions of red silk, and the two +antique parasols which were taken in the coach each time his Eminence +went out. And in the deep silence it seemed as if one could almost hear +the faint noise of the moths preying for a century past upon all this +dead splendour, which would have fallen into dust at the slightest touch +of a feather broom. + +The second ante-room, that was formerly occupied by the secretary, was +also empty, and it was only in the third one, the _anticamera nobile_, +that Pierre found Don Vigilio. With his retinue reduced to what was +strictly necessary, the Cardinal had preferred to have his secretary near +him--at the door, so to say, of the old throne-room, where he gave +audience. And Don Vigilio, so thin and yellow, and quivering with fever, +sat there like one lost, at a small, common, black table covered with +papers. Raising his head from among a batch of documents, he recognised +Pierre, 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 at +conversation. + +Not daring to sit down, Pierre examined the apartment. It looked perhaps +yet more dilapidated than the others, with its hangings of green damask +worn by age and resembling the faded moss on ancient trees. The ceiling, +however, had remained superb. Within a frieze of gilded and coloured +ornaments was a fresco representing the Triumph of Amphitrite, the work +of one of Raffaelle’s pupils. And, according to antique usage, it was +here that the _berretta_, the red cap, was placed, on a credence, below a +large crucifix of ivory and ebony. + +As Pierre grew used to the half-light, however, his attention was more +particularly attracted by a recently painted full-length portrait of the +Cardinal in ceremonial costume--cassock of red moire, rochet of lace, and +_cappa_ thrown like a royal mantle over his shoulders. In these vestments +of the Church the tall old man of seventy retained the proud bearing of a +prince, clean shaven, but still boasting an abundance of white hair which +streamed in curls over his shoulders. He had the commanding visage of the +Boccaneras, a large nose and a large thin-lipped mouth in a long face +intersected by broad lines; and the eyes which lighted his pale +countenance were indeed the eyes of his race, very dark, yet sparkling +with ardent life under bushy brows which had remained quite black. With +laurels about his head he would have resembled a Roman emperor, very +handsome and master of the world, as though indeed the blood of Augustus +pulsated in his veins. + +Pierre knew his story which this portrait recalled. Educated at the +College of the Nobles, Pio Boccanera had but once absented himself from +Rome, and that when very young, hardly a deacon, but nevertheless +appointed ablegate to convey a _berretta_ to Paris. On his return his +ecclesiastical career had continued in sovereign fashion. Honours had +fallen on him naturally, as by right of birth. Ordained by Pius IX +himself, afterwards becoming a Canon of the Vatican Basilica, and +_Cameriere segreto_, he had risen to the post of Majordomo about the time +of the Italian occupation, and in 1874 had been created a Cardinal. For +the last four years, moreover, he had been Papal Chamberlain +(_Camerlingo_), and folks whispered that Leo XIII had appointed him to +that post, even as he himself had been appointed to it by Pius IX, in +order to lessen his chance of succeeding to the pontifical throne; for +although the conclave in choosing Leo had set aside the old tradition +that the Camerlingo was ineligible for the papacy, it was not probable +that it would again dare to infringe that rule. Moreover, people asserted +that, even as had been the case in the reign of Pius, there was a secret +warfare between the Pope and his Camerlingo, the latter remaining on one +side, condemning the policy of the Holy See, holding radically different +opinions on all things, and silently waiting for the death of Leo, which +would place power in his hands with the duty of summoning the conclave, +and provisionally watching over the affairs and interests of the Church +until a new Pope should be elected. Behind Cardinal Pio’s broad, stern +brow, however, in the glow of his dark eyes, might there not also be the +ambition of actually rising to the papacy, of repeating the career of +Gioachino Pecci, Camerlingo and then Pope, all tradition notwithstanding? +With the pride of a Roman prince Pio knew but Rome; he almost gloried in +being totally ignorant of the modern world; and verily he showed himself +very pious, austerely religious, with a full firm faith into which the +faintest doubt could never enter. + +But a whisper drew Pierre from his reflections. Don Vigilio, in his +prudent 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 fine +writing, while Pierre seated himself on one of the stools ranged +alongside the wall in front of the portrait. And again the young man fell +into a reverie, picturing in his mind a renewal of all the princely pomp +of the old-time cardinals in that antique room. To begin with, as soon as +nominated, a cardinal gave public festivities, which were sometimes very +splendid. During three days the reception-rooms remained wide open, all +could enter, and from room to room ushers repeated the names of those who +came--patricians, people of the middle class, poor folks, all Rome +indeed, whom the new cardinal received with sovereign kindliness, as a +king might receive his subjects. Then there was quite a princely retinue; +some cardinals carried five hundred people about with them, had no fewer +than sixteen distinct offices in their households, lived, in fact, amidst +a perfect court. Even when life subsequently became simplified, a +cardinal, if he were a prince, still had a right to a gala train of four +coaches drawn by black horses. Four servants preceded him in liveries, +emblazoned with his arms, and carried his hat, cushion, and parasols. He +was also attended by a secretary in a mantle of violet silk, a +train-bearer in a gown of violet woollen stuff, and a gentleman in +waiting, wearing an Elizabethan style of costume, and bearing the +_berretta_ with gloved hands. Although the household had then become +smaller, it still comprised an _auditore_ specially charged with the +congregational work, a secretary employed exclusively for correspondence, +a chief usher who introduced visitors, a gentleman in attendance for the +carrying 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 vast +mansions with bustle. And with these attendants Pierre mentally sought to +fill the three spacious ante-rooms now so deserted; the stream of lackeys +in blue liveries broidered with emblazonry, the world of abbés and +prelates in silk mantles appeared before him, again setting magnificent +and passionate life under the lofty ceilings, illumining all the +semi-gloom with resuscitated splendour. + +But nowadays--particularly since the Italian occupation of Rome--nearly +all the great fortunes of the Roman princes have been exhausted, and the +pomp of the great dignitaries of the Church has disappeared. The ruined +patricians have kept aloof from badly remunerated ecclesiastical offices +to which little renown attaches, and have left them to the ambition of +the petty _bourgeoisie_. Cardinal Boccanera, the last prince of ancient +nobility 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 sums +derived from other functions. And he would never have made both ends meet +had not Donna Serafina helped him with the remnants of the former family +fortune which he had long previously surrendered to his sisters and his +brother. Donna Serafina and Benedetta lived apart, in their own rooms, +having their own table, servants, and personal expenses. The Cardinal +only had his nephew Dario with him, and he never gave a dinner or held a +public reception. His greatest source of expense was his carriage, the +heavy 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 keeping +a groom by insisting on taking entire charge of the carriage and the two +black horses, which, like himself, had grown old in the service of the +Boccaneras. There were two footmen, father and son, the latter born in +the house. And the cook’s wife assisted in the kitchen. However, yet +greater reductions had been made in the ante-rooms, where the staff, once +so brilliant and numerous, was now simply composed of two petty priests, +Don Vigilio, who was at once secretary, auditore, and majordomo, and Abbé +Paparelli, 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 two +little black cassocks gliding noiselessly along, two unobtrusive shadows +flitting 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 ancestral +mansion, to which he was powerless to restore the glorious life of former +times! Built for that shining life, for the sovereign display of a +sixteenth-century prince, it was now deserted and empty, crumbling about +the head of its last master, who had no servants left him to fill it, and +would not have known how to pay for the materials which repairs would +have necessitated. And so, since the modern world was hostile, since +religion was no longer sovereign, since men had changed, and one was +drifting into the unknown, amidst the hatred and indifference of new +generations, 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 faith +until their final gasp, beholding, with pain-fraught bravery and infinite +sadness, the slow last agony of their divinity. And the Cardinal’s tall +figure, his pale, proud face, so full of sovereign despair and courage, +expressed that stubborn determination to perish beneath the ruins of the +old social edifice rather than change a single one of its stones. + +Pierre was roused by a rustling of furtive steps, a little mouse-like +trot, which made him raise his head. A door in the wall had just opened, +and to his surprise there stood before him an abbé of some forty years, +fat and short, looking like an old maid in a black skirt, a very old maid +in fact, so numerous were the wrinkles on his flabby face. It was Abbé +Paparelli, the train-bearer and usher, and on seeing Pierre he was about +to question him, when Don Vigilio explained matters. + +“Ah! very good, very good, Monsieur l’Abbé Froment. His Eminence will +condescend 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, whitened +by celibacy, and ravaged by stern observance of the rites; and so, as Don +Vigilio--his head weary and his hands burning with fever--had not resumed +his work, the young man ventured to question him. Oh! Abbé Paparelli, he +was a man of the liveliest faith, who from simple humility remained in a +modest post in his Eminence’s service. On the other hand, his Eminence +was pleased to reward him for his devotion by occasionally condescending +to listen to his advice. + +As Don Vigilio spoke, a faint gleam of irony, a kind of veiled anger +appeared in his ardent eyes. However, he continued to examine Pierre, and +gradually seemed reassured, appreciating the evident frankness of this +foreigner who could hardly belong to any clique. And so he ended by +departing somewhat from his continual sickly distrust, and even engaged +in a brief chat. + +“Yes, yes,” he said, “there is a deal of work sometimes, and rather hard +work too. His Eminence belongs to several Congregations, the +Consistorial, the Holy Office, the Index, the Rites. And all the +documents 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 to +say. Besides which all the correspondence is carried on through me. +Fortunately his Eminence is a holy man, and intrigues neither for himself +nor for others, and this enables us to taste a little peace.” + +Pierre took a keen interest in these particulars of the life led by a +prince 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 room +which simply contained an altar of painted wood, and which nobody but +himself ever entered. His private apartments were limited to three +rooms--a bed-room, dining-room, and study--all very modest and small, +contrived indeed by partitioning off portions of one large hall. And he +led a very retired life, exempt from all luxury, like one who is frugal +and poor. At eight in the morning he drank a cup of cold milk for his +breakfast. Then, when there were sittings of the Congregations to which +he belonged, he attended them; otherwise he remained at home and gave +audience. Dinner was served at one o’clock, and afterwards came the +siesta, lasting until five in summer and until four at other seasons--a +sacred moment when a servant would not have dared even to knock at the +door. On awaking, if it were fine, his Eminence drove out towards the +ancient Appian Way, returning at sunset when the _Ave Maria_ began to +ring. And finally, after again giving audience between seven and nine, he +supped and retired into his room, where he worked all alone or went to +bed. The cardinals wait upon the Pope on fixed days, two or three times +each month, for purposes connected with their functions. For nearly a +year, however, the Camerlingo had not been received in private audience +by his Holiness, and this was a sign of disgrace, a proof of secret +warfare, of which the entire black world spoke in prudent whispers. + +“His Eminence is sometimes a little rough,” continued Don Vigilio in a +soft 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 good +reception, you know, you will owe it to the Contessina.” + +At this moment the secretary was interrupted. A sound of voices came from +the second ante-room, and forthwith he rose to his feet, and bent very +low at sight of a stout man in a black cassock, red sash, and black hat, +with twisted cord of red and gold, whom Abbé Paparelli was ushering in +with a great display of deferential genuflections. Pierre also had risen +at a sign from Don Vigilio, who found time to whisper to him, “Cardinal +Sanguinetti, Prefect of the Congregation of the Index.” + +Meantime Abbé Paparelli was lavishing attentions on the prelate, +repeating with an expression of blissful satisfaction: “Your most +reverend Eminence was expected. I have orders to admit your most reverend +Eminence at once. His Eminence the Grand Penitentiary is already here.” + +Sanguinetti, loud of voice and sonorous of tread, spoke out with sudden +familiarity, “Yes, yes, I know. A number of importunate people detained +me! 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 coloured +face distinguished by a huge nose, thick lips, and bright eyes which were +always on the move. But he more particularly struck one by his active, +almost turbulent, youthful vivacity, scarcely a white hair as yet showing +among his brown and carefully tended locks, which fell in curls about his +temples. Born at Viterbo, he had studied at the seminary there before +completing his education at the Universita Gregoriana in Rome. His +ecclesiastical appointments showed how rapidly he had made his way, how +supple was his mind: first of all secretary to the nunciature at Lisbon; +then created titular Bishop of Thebes, and entrusted with a delicate +mission in Brazil; on his return appointed nuncio first at Brussels and +next at Vienna; and finally raised to the cardinalate, to say nothing of +the fact that he had lately secured the suburban episcopal see of +Frascati.* Trained to business, having dealt with every nation in Europe, +he had nothing against him but his ambition, of which he made too open a +display, and his spirit of intrigue, which was ever restless. It was said +that he was now one of the irreconcilables who demanded that Italy should +surrender Rome, though formerly he had made advances to the Quirinal. In +his wild passion to become the next Pope he rushed from one opinion to +the other, giving himself no end of trouble to gain people from whom he +afterwards parted. He had twice already fallen out with Leo XIII, but had +deemed it politic to make his submission. In point of fact, given that he +was an almost openly declared candidate to the papacy, he was wearing +himself out by his perpetual efforts, dabbling in too many things, and +setting 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 of +the Index; and the one idea which struck him was that this man would +decide the fate of his book. And so, when the Cardinal had disappeared +and Abbé Paparelli had returned to the second ante-room, he could not +refrain from asking Don Vigilio, “Are their Eminences Cardinal +Sanguinetti and Cardinal Boccanera very intimate, then?” + +An irrepressible smile contracted the secretary’s lips, while his eyes +gleamed with an irony which he could no longer subdue: “Very +intimate--oh! no, no--they see one another when they can’t do otherwise.” + +Then he explained that considerable deference was shown to Cardinal +Boccanera’s high birth, and that his colleagues often met at his +residence, when, as happened to be the case that morning, any grave +affair presented itself, requiring an interview apart from the usual +official meetings. Cardinal Sanguinetti, he added, was the son of a petty +medical man of Viterbo. “No, no,” he concluded, “their Eminences are not +at all intimate. It is difficult for men to agree when they have neither +the same ideas nor the same character, especially too when they are in +each other’s way.” + +Don Vigilio spoke these last words in a lower tone, as if talking to +himself and still retaining his sharp smile. But Pierre scarcely +listened, absorbed as he was in his own worries. “Perhaps they have met +to discuss some affair connected with the Index?” said he. + +Don Vigilio must have known the object of the meeting. However, he merely +replied that, if the Index had been in question, the meeting would have +taken place at the residence of the Prefect of that Congregation. +Thereupon Pierre, yielding to his impatience, was obliged to put a +straight question. “You know of my affair--the affair of my book,” he +said. “Well, as his Eminence is a member of the Congregation, and all the +documents pass through your hands, you might be able to give me some +useful 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 has +yet reached us,” he added; “I assure you I know nothing.” + +Then, as the other persisted, he signed to him to keep quiet, and again +turned to his writing, glancing furtively towards the second ante-room as +if he believed that Abbé Paparelli was listening. He had certainly said +too much, he thought, and he made himself very small, crouching over the +table, and melting, fading away in his dim corner. + +Pierre again fell into a reverie, a prey to all the mystery which +enveloped him--the sleepy, antique sadness of his surroundings. Long +minutes went by; it was nearly eleven when the sound of a door opening +and a buzz of voices roused him. Then he bowed respectfully to Cardinal +Sanguinetti, who went off accompanied by another cardinal, a very thin +and 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 was +still writing, but his pen made no noise as it travelled over the stiff +yellow paper. However, the faint tinkle of a cracked bell was suddenly +heard, and Abbé Paparelli, after hastening into the throne-room for a +moment, returned to summon Pierre, whom he announced in a restrained +voice: “Monsieur l’Abbé 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 red +wall-hangings of _brocatelle_, with a large palm pattern, were falling +into tatters. A few holes had been patched, but long wear had streaked +the dark purple of the silk--once of dazzling magnificence--with pale +hues. The curiosity of the room was its old throne, an arm-chair +upholstered in red silk, on which the Holy Father had sat when visiting +Cardinal 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 show +that none might sit on it. The other furniture of the apartment was made +up of sofas, arm-chairs, and chairs, with a marvellous Louis Quatorze +table of gilded wood, having a top of mosaic-work representing the rape +of Europa. + +But at first Pierre only saw Cardinal Boccanera standing by the table +which he used for writing. In his simple black cassock, with red edging +and red buttons, the Cardinal seemed to him yet taller and prouder than +in the portrait which showed him in ceremonial costume. There was the +same curly white hair, the same long, strongly marked face, with large +nose and thin lips, and the same ardent eyes, illumining the pale +countenance from under bushy brows which had remained black. But the +portrait did not express the lofty tranquil faith which shone in this +handsome face, a complete certainty of what truth was, and an absolute +determination to abide by it for ever. + +Boccanera had not stirred, but with black, fixed glance remained watching +his visitor’s approach; and the young priest, acquainted with the usual +ceremonial, knelt and kissed the large ruby which the prelate wore on his +hand. However, the Cardinal immediately raised him. + +“You are welcome here, my dear son. My niece spoke to me about you with +so much sympathy that I am happy to receive you.” With these words Pio +seated himself near the table, as yet not telling Pierre to take a chair, +but still examining him whilst speaking slowly and with studied +politeness: “You arrived yesterday morning, did you not, and were very +tired?” + +“Your Eminence is too kind--yes, I was worn out, as much through emotion +as fatigue. This journey is one of such gravity for me.” + +The Cardinal seemed indisposed to speak of serious matters so soon. “No +doubt; it is a long way from Paris to Rome,” he replied. “Nowadays the +journey may be accomplished with fair rapidity, but formerly how +interminable it was!” Then speaking yet more slowly: “I went to Paris +once--oh! a long time ago, nearly fifty years ago--and then for barely a +week. A large and handsome city; yes, yes, a great many people in the +streets, extremely well-bred people, a nation which has accomplished +great and admirable things. Even in these sad times one cannot forget +that France was the eldest daughter of the Church. But since that one +journey I have not left Rome--” + +Then he made a gesture of quiet disdain, expressive of all he left +unsaid. What was the use of journeying to a land of doubt and rebellion? +Did not Rome suffice--Rome, which governed the world--the Eternal City +which, when the times should be accomplished, would become the capital of +the world once more? + +Silently glancing at the Cardinal’s lofty stature, the stature of one of +the violent war-like princes of long ago, now reduced to wearing that +simple cassock, Pierre deemed him superb with his proud conviction that +Rome sufficed unto herself. But that stubborn resolve to remain in +ignorance, that determination to take no account of other nations +excepting to treat them as vassals, disquieted him when he reflected on +the motives that had brought him there. And as silence had again fallen +he thought it politic to approach the subject he had at heart by words of +homage. + +“Before taking any other steps,” said he, “I desired to express my +profound respect for your Eminence; for in your Eminence I place my only +hope; 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 a +chair in front of him. “I certainly do not refuse you my counsel, my dear +son,” he replied. “I owe my counsel to every Christian who desires to do +well. 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 for +anything. However, this will not prevent us from chatting.” Then, +approaching the question in all frankness, without the slightest +artifice, like one of brave and absolute mind who fears no responsibility +however great, he continued: “You have written a book, have you +not?--‘New Rome,’ I believe--and you have come to defend this book which +has been denounced to the Congregation of the Index. For my own part I +have 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 have +belonged to since last year; and, besides, I often content myself with +the reports which my secretary draws up for me. However, my niece +Benedetta has read your book, and has told me that it is not lacking in +interest. It first astonished her somewhat, and then greatly moved her. +So I promise you that I will go through it and study the incriminated +passages with the greatest care.” + +Pierre profited by the opportunity to begin pleading his cause. And it +occurred to him that it would be best to give his references at once. +“Your Eminence will realise how stupefied I was when I learnt that +proceedings were being taken against my book,” he said. “Monsieur le +Vicomte Philibert de la Choue, who is good enough to show me some +friendship, does not cease repeating that such a book is worth the best +of armies to the Holy See.” + +“Oh! De la Choue, De la Choue!” repeated the Cardinal with a pout of +good-natured disdain. “I know that De la Choue considers himself a good +Catholic. He is in a slight degree our relative, as you know. And when he +comes to Rome and stays here, I willingly see him, on condition however +that no mention is made of certain subjects on which it would be +impossible for us to agree. To tell the truth, the Catholicism preached +by De la Choue--worthy, clever man though he is--his Catholicism, I say, +with his corporations, his working-class clubs, his cleansed democracy +and his vague socialism, is after all merely so much literature!” + +This pronouncement struck Pierre, for he realised all the disdainful +irony contained in it--an irony which touched himself. And so he hastened +to name his other reference, whose authority he imagined to be above +discussion: “His Eminence Cardinal Bergerot has been kind enough to +signify his full approval of my book.” + +At this Boccanera’s face suddenly changed. It no longer wore an +expression of derisive blame, tinged with the pity that is prompted by a +child’s ill-considered action fated to certain failure. A flash of anger +now lighted up the Cardinal’s dark eyes, and a pugnacious impulse +hardened his entire countenance. “In France,” he slowly resumed, +“Cardinal Bergerot no doubt has a reputation for great piety. We know +little of him in Rome. Personally, I have only seen him once, when he +came to receive his hat. And I would not therefore allow myself to judge +him if his writings and actions had not recently saddened my believing +soul. Unhappily, I am not the only one; you will find nobody here, of the +Sacred College, who approves of his doings.” Boccanera paused, then in a +firm voice concluded: “Cardinal Bergerot is a Revolutionary!” + +This time Pierre’s surprise for a moment forced him to silence. A +Revolutionary--good heavens! a Revolutionary--that gentle pastor of +souls, whose charity was inexhaustible, whose one dream was that Jesus +might 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 what +religion had he now tumbled that the faith of the poor and the humble +should be looked upon as a mere insurrectional, condemnable passion? As +yet unable to understand things aright, Pierre nevertheless realised that +discussion would be both discourteous and futile, and his only remaining +desire was to give an account of his book, explain and vindicate it. But +at his first words the Cardinal interposed. + +“No, no, my dear son. It would take us too long and I wish to read the +passages. Besides, there is an absolute rule. All books which meddle with +the faith are condemnable and pernicious. Does your book show perfect +respect for dogma?” + +“I believe so, and I assure your Eminence that I have had no intention of +writing 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 Index +compels you to do so. Whosoever has given birth to scandal must stifle it +and expiate it, even if he have to cut into his own flesh. The only +duties of a priest are humility and obedience, the complete annihilation +of self before the sovereign will of the Church. And, besides, why write +at all? For there is already rebellion in expressing an opinion of one’s +own. It is always the temptation of the devil which puts a pen in an +author’s hand. Why, then, incur the risk of being for ever damned by +yielding to the pride of intelligence and domination? Your book again, my +dear son--your book is literature, literature!” + +This expression again repeated was instinct with so much contempt that +Pierre realised all the wretchedness that would fall upon the poor pages +of his apostolate on meeting the eyes of this prince who had become a +saintly man. With increasing fear and admiration he listened to him, and +beheld him growing greater and greater. + +“Ah! faith, my dear son, everything is in faith--perfect, disinterested +faith--which believes for the sole happiness of believing! How restful it +is to bow down before the mysteries without seeking to penetrate them, +full of the tranquil conviction that, in accepting them, one possesses +both the certain and the final! Is not the highest intellectual +satisfaction that which is derived from the victory of the divine over +the mind, which it disciplines, and contents so completely that it knows +desire no more? And apart from that perfect equilibrium, that explanation +of the unknown by the divine, no durable peace is possible for man. If +one desires that truth and justice should reign upon earth, it is in God +that 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 up +in front of him. At Lourdes he had only seen suffering humanity rushing +thither for health of the body and consolation of the soul; but here was +the intellectual believer, the mind that needs certainty, finding +satisfaction, tasting the supreme enjoyment of doubting no more. He had +never previously heard such a cry of joy at living in obedience without +anxiety as to the morrow of death. He knew that Boccanera’s youth had +been somewhat stormy, traversed by acute attacks of sensuality, a flaring +of the red blood of his ancestors; and he marvelled at the calm majesty +which faith had at last implanted in this descendant of so violent a +race, who had no passion remaining in him but that of pride. + +“And yet,” Pierre at last ventured to say in a timid, gentle voice, “if +faith remains essential and immutable, forms change. From hour to hour +evolution 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 the +most abominable courses, and it continually has to be brought back into +the right path. That is the truth. In order that the promises of Christ +may be fulfilled, is it not necessary that the world should return to its +starting point, its original innocence? Is not the end of time fixed for +the 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 must +cling if one would avoid the pitfalls which evil imaginations create. All +those fine novelties, those mirages of that famous so-called progress, +are simply traps and snares of the eternal tempter, causes of perdition +and death. Why seek any further, why constantly incur the risk of error, +when for eighteen hundred years the truth has been known? Truth! why it +is in Apostolic and Roman Catholicism as created by a long succession of +generations! What madness to desire to change it when so many lofty +minds, so many pious souls have made of it the most admirable of +monuments, the one instrument of order in this world, and of salvation in +the next!” + +Pierre, whose heart had contracted, refrained from further protest, for +he could no longer doubt that he had before him an implacable adversary +of his most cherished ideas. Chilled by a covert fear, as though he felt +a faint breath, as of a distant wind from a land of ruins, pass over his +face, bringing with it the mortal cold of a sepulchre, he bowed +respectfully whilst the Cardinal, rising to his full height, continued in +his obstinate voice, resonant with proud courage: “And if Catholicism, as +its enemies pretend, be really stricken unto death, it must die standing +and in all its glorious integrality. You hear me, Monsieur l’Abbé--not +one concession, not one surrender, not a single act of cowardice! +Catholicism is such as it is, and cannot be otherwise. No modification of +the divine certainty, the entire truth, is possible. The removal of the +smallest stone from the edifice could only prove a cause of instability. +Is this not evident? You cannot save old houses by attacking them with +the pickaxe under pretence of decorating them. You only enlarge the +fissures. Even if it were true that Rome were on the eve of falling into +dust, the only result of all the repairing and patching would be to +hasten the catastrophe. And instead of a noble death, met unflinchingly, +we should then behold the basest of agonies, the death throes of a coward +who struggles and begs for mercy! For my part I wait. I am convinced that +all that people say is but so much horrible falsehood, that Catholicism +has never been firmer, that it imbibes eternity from the one and only +source of life. But should the heavens indeed fall, on that day I should +be here, amidst these old and crumbling walls, under these old ceilings +whose beams are being devoured by the worms, and it is here, erect, among +the ruins, that I should meet my end, repeating my _credo_ for the last +time.” + +His final words fell more slowly, full of haughty sadness, whilst with a +sweeping gesture he waved his arms towards the old, silent, deserted +palace around him, whence life was withdrawing day by day. Had an +involuntary presentiment come to him, did the faint cold breath from the +ruins also fan his own cheeks? All the neglect into which the vast rooms +had fallen was explained by his words; and a superb, despondent grandeur +enveloped this prince and cardinal, this uncompromising Catholic who, +withdrawing into the dim half-light of the past, braved with a soldier’s +heart the inevitable downfall of the olden world. + +Deeply impressed, Pierre was about to take his leave when, to his +surprise, a little door opened in the hangings. “What is it? Can’t I be +left in peace for a moment?” exclaimed Boccanera with sudden impatience. + +Nevertheless, Abbé Paparelli, fat and sleek, glided into the room without +the faintest sign of emotion. And he whispered a few words in the ear of +the Cardinal, who, on seeing him, had become calm again. “What curate?” + asked Boccanera. “Oh! yes, Santobono, the curate of Frascati. I +know--tell him I cannot see him just now.” + +Paparelli, however, again began whispering in his soft voice, though not +in 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 had +only a word or two to say. And then, without awaiting consent, the +train-bearer ushered in the visitor, a _protégé_ of his, whom he had left +just outside the little door. And for his own part he withdrew with the +tranquillity of a retainer who, whatever the modesty of his office, knows +himself to be all powerful. + +Pierre, who was momentarily forgotten, looked at the visitor--a big +fellow of a priest, the son of a peasant evidently, and still near to the +soil. He had an ungainly, bony figure, huge feet and knotted hands, with +a seamy tanned face lighted by extremely keen black eyes. Five and forty +and still robust, his chin and cheeks bristling, and his cassock, +overlarge, hanging loosely about his big projecting bones, he suggested a +bandit in disguise. Still there was nothing base about him; the +expression of his face was proud. And in one hand he carried a small +wicker basket carefully covered over with fig-leaves. + +Santobono at once bent his knees and kissed the Cardinal’s ring, but with +hasty unconcern, as though only some ordinary piece of civility were in +question. Then, with that commingling of respect and familiarity which +the little ones of the world often evince towards the great, he said, “I +beg your most reverend Eminence’s forgiveness for having insisted. But +there were people waiting, and I should not have been received if my old +friend Paparelli had not brought me by way of that door. Oh! I have a +very 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 little +present?” + +The Cardinal listened with a grave expression. He had been well +acquainted with Santobono in the years when he had spent the summer at +Frascati, at a princely residence which the Boccaneras had possessed +there--a villa rebuilt in the seventeenth century, surrounded by a +wonderful park, whose famous terrace overlooked the Campagna, stretching +far and bare like the sea. This villa, however, had since been sold, and +on some vineyards, which had fallen to Benedetta’s share, Count Prada, +prior to the divorce proceedings, had begun to erect quite a district of +little pleasure houses. In former times, when walking out, the Cardinal +had condescended to enter and rest in the dwelling of Santobono, who +officiated at an antique chapel dedicated to St. Mary of the Fields, +without the town. The priest had his home in a half-ruined building +adjoining this chapel, and the charm of the place was a walled garden +which he cultivated himself with the passion of a true peasant. + +“As is my rule every year,” said he, placing his basket on the table, “I +wished that your Eminence might taste my figs. They are the first of the +season. I gathered them expressly this morning. You used to be so fond of +them, your Eminence, when you condescended to gather them from the tree +itself. You were good enough to tell me that there wasn’t another tree in +the world that produced such fine figs.” + +The Cardinal could not help smiling. He was indeed very fond of figs, and +Santobono spoke truly: his fig-tree was renowned throughout the district. +“Thank you, my dear Abbé,” said Boccanera, “you remember my little +failings. Well, and what can I do for you?” + +Again he became grave, for, in former times, there had been unpleasant +discussions between him and the curate, a lack of agreement which had +angered him. Born at Nemi, in the core of a fierce district, Santobono +belonged to a violent family, and his eldest brother had died of a stab. +He himself had always professed ardently patriotic opinions. It was said +that he had all but taken up arms for Garibaldi; and, on the day when the +Italians had entered Rome, force had been needed to prevent him from +raising the flag of Italian unity above his roof. His passionate dream +was to behold Rome mistress of the world, when the Pope and the King +should have embraced and made cause together. Thus the Cardinal looked on +him as a dangerous revolutionary, a renegade who imperilled Catholicism. + +“Oh! what your Eminence can do for me, what your Eminence can do if only +condescending and willing!” repeated Santobono in an ardent voice, +clasping his big knotty hands. And then, breaking off, he inquired, “Did +not his Eminence Cardinal Sanguinetti explain my affair to your most +reverend Eminence?” + +“No, the Cardinal simply advised me of your visit, saying that you had +something to ask of me.” + +Whilst speaking Boccanera’s face had clouded over, and it was with +increased sternness of manner that he again waited. He was aware that the +priest had become Sanguinetti’s “client” since the latter had been in the +habit of spending weeks together at his suburban see of Frascati. Walking +in the shadow of every cardinal who is a candidate to the papacy, there +are familiars of low degree who stake the ambition of their life on the +possibility of that cardinal’s election. If he becomes Pope some day, if +they themselves help him to the throne, they enter the great pontifical +family in his train. It was related that Sanguinetti had once already +extricated Santobono from a nasty difficulty: the priest having one day +caught a marauding urchin in the act of climbing his wall, had beaten the +little fellow with such severity that he had ultimately died of it. +However, to Santobono’s credit it must be added that his fanatical +devotion to the Cardinal was largely based upon the hope that he would +prove the Pope whom men awaited, the Pope who would make Italy the +sovereign nation of the world. + +“Well, this is my misfortune,” he said. “Your Eminence knows my brother +Agostino, who was gardener at the villa for two years in your Eminence’s +time. He is certainly a very pleasant and gentle young fellow, of whom +nobody has ever complained. And so it is hard to understand how such an +accident can have happened to him, but it seems that he has killed a man +with a knife at Genzano, while walking in the street in the evening. I am +dreadfully distressed about it, and would willingly give two fingers of +my right hand to extricate him from prison. However, it occurred to me +that your Eminence would not refuse me a certificate stating that +Agostino was formerly in your Eminence’s service, and that your Eminence +was always well pleased with his quiet disposition.” + +But the Cardinal flatly protested: “I was not at all pleased with +Agostino. He was wildly violent, and I had to dismiss him precisely +because 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! Still +there is always a way out of a difficulty, is there not? You can still +give me a certificate, first arranging the wording of it. A certificate +from your Eminence would have such a favourable effect upon the law +officers.” + +“No doubt,” replied Boccanera; “I can understand that, but I will give no +certificate.” + +“What! does your most reverend Eminence refuse my prayer?” + +“Absolutely! I know that you are a priest of perfect morality, that you +discharge the duties of your ministry with strict punctuality, and that +you would be deserving of high commendation were it not for your +political fancies. Only your fraternal affection is now leading you +astray. I cannot tell a lie to please you.” + +Santobono gazed at him in real stupefaction, unable to understand that a +prince, an all-powerful cardinal, should be influenced by such petty +scruples, when the entire question was a mere knife thrust, the most +commonplace and frequent of incidents in the yet wild land of the old +Roman castles. + +“A lie! a lie!” he muttered; “but surely it isn’t lying just to say what +is good of a man, leaving out all the rest, especially when a man has +good points as Agostino certainly has. In a certificate, too, everything +depends on the words one uses.” + +He stubbornly clung to that idea; he could not conceive that a person +should refuse to soften the rigour of justice by an ingenious +presentation of the facts. However, on acquiring a certainty that he +would obtain nothing, he made a gesture of despair, his livid face +assuming an expression of violent rancour, whilst his black eyes flamed +with restrained passion. + +“Well, well! each looks on truth in his own way,” he said. “I shall go +back to tell his Eminence Cardinal Sanguinetti. And I beg your Eminence +not to be displeased with me for having disturbed your Eminence to no +purpose. By the way, perhaps the figs are not yet quite ripe; but I will +take the liberty to bring another basketful towards the end of the +season, when they will be quite nice and sweet. A thousand thanks and a +thousand felicities to your most reverend Eminence.” + +Santobono went off backwards, his big bony figure bending double with +repeated genuflections. Pierre, whom the scene had greatly interested, in +him beheld a specimen of the petty clergy of Rome and its environs, of +whom people had told him before his departure from Paris. This was not +the _scagnozzo_, the wretched famished priest whom some nasty affair +brings from the provinces, who seeks his daily bread on the pavements of +Rome; one of the herd of begowned beggars searching for a livelihood +among the crumbs of Church life, voraciously fighting for chance masses, +and mingling with the lowest orders in taverns of the worst repute. Nor +was this the country priest of distant parts, a man of crass ignorance +and superstition, a peasant among the peasants, treated as an equal by +his pious flock, which is careful not to mistake him for the Divinity, +and which, whilst kneeling in all humility before the parish saint, does +not bend before the man who from that saint derives his livelihood. At +Frascati the officiating minister of a little church may receive a +stipend of some nine hundred _lire_ a year,* and he has only bread and +meat to buy if his garden yields him wine and fruit and vegetables. This +one, Santobono, was not without education; he knew a little theology and +a little history, especially the history of the past grandeur of Rome, +which had inflamed his patriotic heart with the mad dream that universal +domination would soon fall to the portion of renascent Rome, the capital +of united Italy. But what an insuperable distance still remained between +this petty Roman clergy, often very worthy and intelligent, and the high +clergy, the high dignitaries of the Vatican! Nobody that was not at least +a 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 attend +all your Eminence’s desires.” + +With these words Santobono finally disappeared, and the Cardinal returned +to Pierre, who also bowed preparatory to taking his leave. + +“To sum up the matter, Monsieur l’Abbé,” said Boccanera, “the affair of +your book presents certain difficulties. As I have told you, I have no +precise information, I have seen no documents. But knowing that my niece +took an interest in you, I said a few words on the subject to Cardinal +Sanguinetti, the Prefect of the Index, who was here just now. And he +knows little more than I do, for nothing has yet left the Secretary’s +hands. Still he told me that the denunciation emanated from personages of +rank and influence, and applied to numerous pages of your work, in which +it was said there were passages of the most deplorable character as +regards both discipline and dogma.” + +Greatly moved by the idea that he had hidden foes, secret adversaries who +pursued him in the dark, the young priest responded: “Oh! denounced, +denounced! If your Eminence only knew how that word pains my heart! And +denounced, too, for offences which were certainly involuntary, since my +one ardent desire was the triumph of the Church! All I can do, then, is +to fling myself at the feet of the Holy Father and entreat him to hear my +defence.” + +Boccanera suddenly became very grave again. A stern look rested on his +lofty brow as he drew his haughty figure to its full height. “His +Holiness,” said he, “can do everything, even receive you, if such be his +good pleasure, and absolve you also. But listen to me. I again advise you +to withdraw your book yourself, to destroy it, simply and courageously, +before embarking in a struggle in which you will reap the shame of being +overwhelmed. Reflect on that.” + +Pierre, however, had no sooner spoken of the Pope than he had regretted +it, for he realised that an appeal to the sovereign authority was +calculated to wound the Cardinal’s feelings. Moreover, there was no +further room for doubt. Boccanera would be against his book, and the +utmost that he could hope for was to gain his neutrality by bringing +pressure to bear on him through those about him. At the same time he had +found the Cardinal very plain spoken, very frank, far removed from all +the secret intriguing in which the affair of his book was involved, as he +now began to realise; and so it was with deep respect and genuine +admiration for the prelate’s strong and lofty character that he took +leave of him. + +“I am infinitely obliged to your Eminence,” he said, “and I promise that +I will carefully reflect upon all that your Eminence has been kind enough +to say to me.” + +On returning to the ante-room, Pierre there found five or six persons who +had arrived during his audience, and were now waiting. There was a +bishop, a domestic prelate, and two old ladies, and as he drew near to +Don Vigilio before retiring, he was surprised to find him conversing with +a tall, fair young fellow, a Frenchman, who, also in astonishment, +exclaimed, “What! are you here in Rome, Monsieur l’Abbé?” + +For a moment Pierre had hesitated. “Ah! I must ask your pardon, Monsieur +Narcisse Habert,” he replied, “I did not at first recognise you! It was +the less excusable as I knew that you had been an _attaché_ at our +embassy here ever since last year.” + +Tall, slim, and elegant of appearance, Narcisse Habert had a clear +complexion, with eyes of a bluish, almost mauvish, hue, a fair frizzy +beard, and long curling fair hair cut short over the forehead in the +Florentine fashion. Of a wealthy family of militant Catholics, chiefly +members of the bar or bench, he had an uncle in the diplomatic +profession, and this had decided his own career. Moreover, a place at +Rome was marked out for him, for he there had powerful connections. He +was a nephew by marriage of Cardinal Sarno, whose sister had married +another of his uncles, a Paris notary; and he was also cousin german of +Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo, a _Cameriere segreto_, and son of one of his +aunts, who had married an Italian colonel. And in some measure for these +reasons he had been attached to the embassy to the Holy See, his +superiors tolerating his somewhat fantastic ways, his everlasting passion +for art which sent him wandering hither and thither through Rome. He was +moreover very amiable and extremely well-bred; and it occasionally +happened, as was the case that morning, that with his weary and somewhat +mysterious air he came to speak to one or another of the cardinals on +some real matter of business in the ambassador’s name. + +So as to converse with Pierre at his ease, he drew him into the deep +embrasure of one of the windows. “Ah! my dear Abbé, how pleased I am to +see you!” said he. “You must remember what pleasant chats we had when we +met at Cardinal Bergerot’s! I told you about some paintings which you +were to see for your book, some miniatures of the fourteenth and +fifteenth 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 and +explored everything. Ah! there are treasures, such treasures! But in +truth there is only one supreme work; one always comes back to one’s +particular passion. The Botticelli in the Sixtine Chapel--ah, the +Botticelli!” + +His voice died away, and he made a faint gesture as if overcome by +admiration. Then Pierre had to promise that he would place himself in his +hands and accompany him to the Sixtine Chapel. “You know why I am here,” + at last said the young priest. “Proceedings have been taken against my +book; it has been denounced to the Congregation of the Index.” + +“Your book! is it possible?” exclaimed Narcisse: “a book like that with +pages recalling the delightful St. Francis of Assisi!” And thereupon he +obligingly placed himself at Pierre’s disposal. “But our ambassador will +be very useful to you,” he said. “He is the best man in the world, of +charming affability, and full of the old French spirit. I will present +you to him this afternoon or to-morrow morning at the latest; and since +you desire an immediate audience with the Pope, he will endeavour to +obtain one for you. His position naturally designates him as your +intermediary. Still, I must confess that things are not always easily +managed. Although the Holy Father is very fond of him, there are times +when his Excellency fails, for the approaches are so extremely +intricate.” + +Pierre had not thought of employing the ambassador’s good offices, for he +had naïvely imagined that an accused priest who came to defend himself +would find every door open. However, he was delighted with Narcisse’s +offer, and thanked him as warmly as if the audience were already +obtained. + +“Besides,” the young man continued, “if we encounter any difficulties I +have relatives at the Vatican, as you know. I don’t mean my uncle the +Cardinal, who would be of no use to us, for he never stirs out of his +office at the Propaganda, and will never apply for anything. But my +cousin, Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo, is very obliging, and he lives in +intimacy with the Pope, his duties requiring his constant attendance on +him. So, if necessary, I will take you to see him, and he will no doubt +find a means of procuring you an interview, though his extreme prudence +keeps him perpetually afraid of compromising himself. However, it’s +understood, you may rely on me in every respect.” + +“Ah! my dear sir,” exclaimed Pierre, relieved and happy, “I heartily +accept 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 are +the first to restore my strength by looking at things in the true French +way.” + +Then, lowering his voice, he told the _attaché_ of his interview with +Cardinal Boccanera, of his conviction that the latter would not help him, +of the unfavourable information which had been given by Cardinal +Sanguinetti, and of the rivalry which he had divined between the two +prelates. Narcisse listened, smiling, and in his turn began to gossip +confidentially. The rivalry which Pierre had mentioned, the premature +contest for the tiara which Sanguinetti and Boccanera were waging, +impelled to it by a furious desire to become the next Pope, had for a +long time been revolutionising the black world. There was incredible +intricacy in the depths of the affair; none could exactly tell who was +pulling the strings, conducting the vast intrigue. As regards +generalities it was simply known that Boccanera represented +absolutism--the Church freed from all compromises with modern society, +and waiting in immobility for the Deity to triumph over Satan, for Rome +to be restored to the Holy Father, and for repentant Italy to perform +penance for its sacrilege; whereas Sanguinetti, extremely politic and +supple, was reported to harbour bold and novel ideas: permission to vote +to be granted to all true Catholics,* a majority to be gained by this +means in the Legislature; then, as a fatal corollary, the downfall of the +House of Savoy, and the proclamation of a kind of republican federation +of all the former petty States of Italy under the august protectorate of +the Pope. On the whole, the struggle was between these two antagonistic +elements--the first bent on upholding the Church by a rigorous +maintenance of the old traditions, and the other predicting the fall of +the Church if it did not follow the bent of the coming century. But all +was steeped in so much mystery that people ended by thinking that, if the +present Pope should live a few years longer, his successor would +certainly 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 know +him? 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 his +amiable pink face. His cassock of fine texture, and his sash of violet +silk shone with discreet soft luxury. And he showed himself very amiable +to Abbé Paparelli, who, accompanying him in all humility, begged him to +be kind enough to wait until his Eminence should be able to receive him. + +“Oh! Monsignor Nani,” muttered Narcisse, becoming serious, “he is a man +whom it is advisable to have for a friend.” + +Then, knowing Nani’s history, he related it in an undertone. Born at +Venice, of a noble but ruined family which had produced heroes, Nani, +after first studying under the Jesuits, had come to Rome to perfect +himself in philosophy and theology at the Collegio Romano, which was then +also under Jesuit management. Ordained when three and twenty, he had at +once followed a nuncio to Bavaria as private secretary; and then had gone +as _auditore_ to the nunciatures of Brussels and Paris, in which latter +city he had lived for five years. Everything seemed to predestine him to +diplomacy, his brilliant beginnings and his keen and encyclopaedical +intelligence; but all at once he had been recalled to Rome, where he was +soon afterwards appointed Assessor to the Holy Office. It was asserted at +the time that this was done by the Pope himself, who, being well +acquainted with Nani, and desirous of having a person he could depend +upon at the Holy Office, had given instructions for his recall, saying +that he could render far more services at Rome than abroad. Already a +domestic prelate, Nani had also lately become a Canon of St. Peter’s and +an apostolic prothonotary, with the prospect of obtaining a cardinal’s +hat whenever the Pope should find some other favourite who would please +him better as assessor. + +“Oh, Monsignor Nani!” continued Narcisse. “He’s a superior man, +thoroughly well acquainted with modern Europe, and at the same time a +very saintly priest, a sincere believer, absolutely devoted to the +Church, with the substantial faith of an intelligent politician--a belief +different, it is true, from the narrow gloomy theological faith which we +know so well in France. And this is one of the reasons why you will +hardly understand things here at first. The Roman prelates leave the +Deity in the sanctuary and reign in His name, convinced that Catholicism +is the human expression of the government of God, the only perfect and +eternal government, beyond the pales of which nothing but falsehood and +social danger can be found. While we in our country lag behind, furiously +arguing whether there be a God or not, they do not admit that God’s +existence can be doubted, since they themselves are his delegated +ministers; and they entirely devote themselves to playing their parts as +ministers whom none can dispossess, exercising their power for the +greatest good of humanity, and devoting all their intelligence, all their +energy to maintaining themselves as the accepted masters of the nations. +As for Monsignor Nani, after being mixed up in the politics of the whole +world, he has for ten years been discharging the most delicate functions +in Rome, taking part in the most varied and most important affairs. He +sees all the foreigners who come to Rome, knows everything, has a hand in +everything. Add to this that he is extremely discreet and amiable, with a +modesty which seems perfect, though none can tell whether, with his light +silent footstep, he is not really marching towards the highest ambition, +the purple of sovereignty.” + +“Another candidate for the tiara,” thought Pierre, who had listened +passionately; for this man Nani interested him, caused him an instinctive +disquietude, as though behind his pink and smiling face he could divine +an infinity of obscure things. At the same time, however, the young +priest but ill understood his friend, for he again felt bewildered by all +this strange Roman world, so different from what he had expected. + +Nani had perceived the two young men and came towards them with his hand +cordially outstretched “Ah! Monsieur l’Abbé Froment, I am happy to meet +you again. I won’t ask you if you have slept well, for people always +sleep well at Rome. Good-day, Monsieur Habert; your health has kept good +I hope, since I met you in front of Bernini’s Santa Teresa, which you +admire so much.* I see that you know one another. That is very nice. I +must tell you, Monsieur l’Abbé, that Monsieur Habert is a passionate +lover 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 information +respecting Pierre’s interview with the Cardinal. He listened attentively +to the young man’s narrative, nodding his head at certain passages, and +occasionally restraining his sharp smile. The Cardinal’s severity and +Pierre’s conviction that he would accord him no support did not at all +astonish Nani. It seemed as if he had expected that result. However, on +hearing that Cardinal Sanguinetti had been there that morning, and had +pronounced the affair of the book to be very serious, he appeared to lose +his 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 Cardinal +Sanguinetti to tell him that the result would be an immense advertisement +for your book. Was it sensible? What was the use of it? We know that you +are inclined to be carried away by your ideas, that you are an +enthusiast, and are prompt to do battle. So what advantage should we gain +by embarrassing ourselves with the revolt of a young priest who might +wage war against us with a book of which some thousands of copies have +been sold already? For my part I desired that nothing should be done. And +I must say that the Cardinal, who is a man of sense, was of the same +mind. He raised his arms to heaven, went into a passion, and exclaimed +that he was never consulted, that the blunder was already committed +beyond recall, and that it was impossible to prevent process from taking +its course since the matter had already been brought before the +Congregation, in consequence of denunciations from authoritative sources, +based on the gravest motives. Briefly, as he said, the blunder was +committed, and I had to think of something else.” + +All at once Nani paused. He had just noticed that Pierre’s ardent eyes +were fixed upon his own, striving to penetrate his meaning. A faint flush +then heightened the pinkiness of his complexion, whilst in an easy way he +continued, unwilling to reveal how annoyed he was at having said too +much: “Yes, I thought of helping you with all the little influence I +possess, in order to extricate you from the worries in which this affair +will certainly land you.” + +An impulse of revolt was stirring Pierre, who vaguely felt that he was +perhaps being made game of. Why should he not be free to declare his +faith, which was so pure, so free from personal considerations, so full +of glowing Christian charity? “Never,” said he, “will I withdraw; never +will I myself suppress my book, as I am advised to do. It would be an act +of cowardice and falsehood, for I regret nothing, I disown nothing. If I +believe that my book brings a little truth to light I cannot destroy it +without 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 of +the Holy Father that I desire to make that declaration. He will +understand me, he will approve me.” + +Nani no longer smiled; henceforth his face remained as it were closed. He +seemed to be studying the sudden violence of the young priest with +curiosity; then sought to calm him with his own tranquil kindliness. “No +doubt, no doubt,” said he. “There is certainly great sweetness in +obedience and humility. Still I can understand that, before anything +else, you should desire to speak to his Holiness. And afterwards you will +see--is that not so?--you will see--” + +Then he evinced a lively interest in the suggested application for an +audience. He expressed keen regret that Pierre had not forwarded that +application from Paris, before even coming to Rome: in that course would +have rested the best chance of a favourable reply. Bother of any kind was +not liked at the Vatican, and if the news of the young priest’s presence +in Rome should only spread abroad, and the motives of his journey be +discussed, all would be lost. Then, on learning that Narcisse had offered +to present Pierre to the French ambassador, Nani seemed full of anxiety, +and deprecated any such proceeding: “No, no! don’t do that--it would be +most imprudent. In the first place you would run the risk of embarrassing +the ambassador, whose position is always delicate in affairs of this +kind. And then, too, if he failed--and my fear is that he might +fail--yes, if he failed it would be all over; you would no longer have +the slightest chance of obtaining an audience by any other means. For the +Vatican would not like to hurt the ambassador’s feelings by yielding to +other influence after resisting his.” + +Pierre anxiously glanced at Narcisse, who wagged his head, embarrassed +and hesitating. “The fact is,” the _attaché_ at last murmured, “we lately +solicited an audience for a high French personage and it was refused, +which was very unpleasant for us. Monsignor is right. We must keep our +ambassador in reserve, and only utilise him when we have exhausted all +other means.” Then, noticing Pierre’s disappointment, he added +obligingly: “Our first visit therefore shall be for my cousin at the +Vatican.” + +Nani, his attention again roused, looked at the young man in +astonishment. “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 of +Gamba to bring influence to bear on his Holiness? That’s an idea, no +doubt; one must see--one must see.” + +He repeated these words again and again as if to secure time to see into +the matter himself, to weigh the pros and cons of the suggestion. +Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo was a worthy man who played no part at the +Papal Court, whose nullity indeed had become a byword at the Vatican. His +childish stories, however, amused the Pope, whom he greatly flattered, +and who was fond of leaning on his arm while walking in the gardens. It +was during these strolls that Gamba easily secured all sorts of little +favours. However, he was a remarkable poltroon, and had such an intense +fear of losing his influence that he never risked a request without +having convinced himself by long meditation that no possible harm could +come 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. I +will see him myself and explain the matter.” + +At the same time Nani did not cease advising extreme caution. He even +ventured 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 had +such a blind faith in the goodness of others, that he had not always +chosen his familiars with the critical care which he ought to have +displayed. 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 to +be understood that on no account ought any direct application to be made +to his Eminence the Secretary of State, for even his Eminence was not a +free agent, but found himself encompassed by intrigues of such intricacy +that his best intentions were paralysed. And as Nani went on discoursing +in this fashion, in a very gentle, extremely unctuous manner, the Vatican +appeared like some enchanted castle, guarded by jealous and treacherous +dragons--a castle where one must not take a step, pass through a doorway, +risk a limb, without having carefully assured oneself that one would not +leave one’s whole body there to be devoured. + +Pierre continued listening, feeling colder and colder at heart, and again +sinking into uncertainty. “_Mon Dieu_!” he exclaimed, “I shall never know +how to act. You discourage me, Monsignor.” + +At this Nani’s cordial smile reappeared. “I, my dear child? I should be +sorry to do so. I only want to repeat to you that you must wait and do +nothing. Avoid all feverishness especially. There is no hurry, I assure +you, for it was only yesterday that a _consultore_ was chosen to report +upon your book, so you have a good full month before you. Avoid +everybody, live in such a way that people shall be virtually ignorant of +your existence, visit Rome in peace and quietness--that is the best +course you can adopt to forward your interests.” Then, taking one of the +priest’s hands between both his own, so aristocratic, soft, and plump, he +added: “You will understand that I have my reasons for speaking to you +like this. I should have offered my own services; I should have made it a +point of honour to take you straight to his Holiness, had I thought it +advisable. But I do not wish to mix myself up in the matter at this +stage; I realise only too well that at the present moment we should +simply make sad work of it. Later on--you hear me--later on, in the event +of nobody else succeeding, I myself will obtain you an audience; I +formally promise it. But meanwhile, I entreat you, refrain from using +those words ‘a new religion,’ which, unfortunately, occur in your book, +and which I heard you repeat again only last night. There can be no new +religion, my dear child; there is but one eternal religion, which is +beyond all surrender and compromise--the Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman +religion. And at the same time leave your Paris friends to themselves. +Don’t rely too much on Cardinal Bergerot, whose lofty piety is not +sufficiently appreciated in Rome. I assure you that I am speaking to you +as a friend.” + +Then, seeing how disabled Pierre appeared to be, half overcome already, +no longer knowing in what direction to begin his campaign, he again +strove to comfort him: “Come, come, things will right themselves; +everything will end for the best, both for the welfare of the Church and +your own. And now you must excuse me, I must leave you; I shall not be +able to see his Eminence to-day, for it is impossible for me to wait any +longer.” + +Abbé Paparelli, whom Pierre had noticed prowling around with his ears +cocked, now hastened forward and declared to Monsignor Nani that there +were only two persons to be received before him. But the prelate very +graciously replied that he would come back again at another time, for the +affair which he wished to lay before his Eminence was in no wise +pressing. 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, “So +it 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 soon +I hope.” + +It was now past twelve o’clock, and the only remaining visitor was one of +the two old ladies who seemed to have fallen asleep. At his little +secretarial table Don Vigilio still sat covering huge sheets of yellow +paper with fine handwriting, from which he only lifted his eyes at +intervals to glance about him distrustfully, and make sure that nothing +threatened him. + +In the mournful silence which fell around, Pierre lingered for yet +another moment in the deep embrasure of the window. Ah! what anxiety +consumed his poor, tender, enthusiastic heart! On leaving Paris things +had seemed so simple, so natural to him! He was unjustly accused, and he +started off to defend himself, arrived and flung himself at the feet of +the Holy Father, who listened to him indulgently. Did not the Pope +personify living religion, intelligence to understand, justice based upon +truth? And was he not, before aught else, the Father, the delegate of +divine forgiveness and mercy, with arms outstretched towards all the +children of the Church, even the guilty ones? Was it not meet, then, that +he should leave his door wide open so that the humblest of his sons might +freely enter to relate their troubles, confess their transgressions, +explain their conduct, imbibe comfort from the source of eternal loving +kindness? And yet on the very first day of his, Pierre’s, arrival, the +doors closed upon him with a bang; he felt himself sinking into a hostile +sphere, full of traps and pitfalls. One and all cried out to him +“Beware!” as if he were incurring the greatest dangers in setting one +foot before the other. His desire to see the Pope became an extraordinary +pretension, so difficult of achievement that it set the interests and +passions and influences of the whole Vatican agog. And there was endless +conflicting advice, long-discussed manoeuvring, all the strategy of +generals leading an army to victory, and fresh complications ever arising +in the midst of a dim stealthy swarming of intrigues. Ah! good Lord! how +different all this was from the charitable reception that Pierre had +anticipated: the pastor’s house standing open beside the high road for +the admission of all the sheep of the flock, both those that were docile +and those that had gone astray. + +That which began to frighten Pierre, however, was the evil, the +wickedness, which he could divine vaguely stirring in the gloom: Cardinal +Bergerot suspected, dubbed a Revolutionary, deemed so compromising that +he, Pierre, was advised not to mention his name again! The young priest +once more saw Cardinal Boccanera’s pout of disdain while speaking of his +colleague. And then Monsignor Nani had warned him not to repeat those +words “a new religion,” as if it were not clear to everybody that they +simply signified the return of Catholicism to the primitive purity of +Christianity! Was that one of the crimes denounced to the Congregation of +the Index? He had begun to suspect who his accusers were, and felt +alarmed, for he was now conscious of secret subterranean plotting, a +great stealthy effort to strike him down and suppress his work. All that +surrounded him became suspicious. If he listened to advice and +temporised, it was solely to follow the same politic course as his +adversaries, to learn to know them before acting. He would spend a few +days in meditation, in surveying and studying that black world of Rome +which to him had proved so unexpected. But, at the same time, in the +revolt 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 his +book, but maintain it in its integrity in the broad daylight as the +unshakable testimony of his belief. Even were the book condemned by the +Index, he would not tender submission, withdraw aught of it. And should +it become necessary he would quit the Church, he would go even as far as +schism, 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 Pierre +that the latter at last stepped up to him politely in order to take +leave. And then the secretary, yielding, despite his fears, to a desire +to 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; Pierre +understood. “Really, do you think so?” he asked. + +“Oh! there is no doubt of it. And if you take my advice you will do what +he desires with a good grace, for it is absolutely certain that you will +do it later on.” + +These words brought Pierre’s disquietude and exasperation to a climax. He +went off with a gesture of defiance. They would see if he would ever +yield. + +The three ante-rooms which he again crossed appeared to him blacker, +emptier, more lifeless than ever. In the second one Abbé Paparelli +saluted him with a little silent bow; in the first the sleepy lackey did +not even seem to see him. A spider was weaving its web between the +tassels of the great red hat under the _baldacchino_. Would not the +better course have been to set the pick at work amongst all that rotting +past, now crumbling into dust, so that the sunlight might stream in +freely 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, at +once thought of beginning his peregrinations through Rome by a visit on +which he had set his heart. Almost immediately after the publication of +“New Rome” he had been deeply moved and interested by a letter addressed +to him from the Eternal City by old Count Orlando Prada, the hero of +Italian independence and reunion, who, although unacquainted with him, +had written spontaneously after a first hasty perusal of his book. And +the letter had been a flaming protest, a cry of the patriotic faith still +young in the heart of that aged man, who accused him of having forgotten +Italy and claimed Rome, the new Rome, for the country which was at last +free and united. Correspondence had ensued, and the priest, while +clinging to his dream of Neo-Catholicism saving the world, had from afar +grown attached to the man who wrote to him with such glowing love of +country and freedom. He had eventually informed him of his journey, and +promised to call upon him. But the hospitality which he had accepted at +the Boccanera mansion now seemed to him somewhat of an impediment; for +after Benedetta’s kindly, almost affectionate, greeting, he felt that he +could not, on the very first day and with out warning her, sally forth to +visit the father of the man from whom she had fled and from whom she now +asked the Church to part her for ever. Moreover, old Orlando was actually +living with his son in a little palazzo which the latter had erected at +the farther end of the Via Venti Settembre. + +Before venturing on any step Pierre resolved to confide in the Contessina +herself; and this seemed the easier as Viscount Philibert de la Choue had +told him that the young woman still retained a filial feeling, mingled +with admiration, for the old hero. And indeed, at the very first words +which he uttered after lunch, Benedetta promptly retorted: “But go, +Monsieur l’Abbé, go at once! Old Orlando, you know, is one of our +national glories--you must not be surprised to hear me call him by his +Christian name. All Italy does so, from pure affection and gratitude. For +my 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, for +he is certainly the most just and gentle man in the world.” + +She had begun to smile, but timid tears were moistening her eyes at the +recollection, no doubt, of the year of suffering she had spent in her +husband’s house, where her only peaceful hours had been those passed with +the old man. And in a lower and somewhat tremulous voice she added: “As +you 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 Via +Venti Settembre, he recalled to mind the heroic story of old Orlando’s +life which had been told him in Paris. It was like an epic poem, full of +faith, bravery, and the disinterestedness of another age. + +Born of a noble house of Milan, Count Orlando Prada had learnt to hate +the foreigner at such an early age that, when scarcely fifteen, he +already formed part of a secret society, one of the ramifications of the +antique Carbonarism. This hatred of Austrian domination had been +transmitted from father to son through long years, from the olden days of +revolt against servitude, when the conspirators met by stealth in +abandoned huts, deep in the recesses of the forests; and it was rendered +the keener by the eternal dream of Italy delivered, restored to herself, +transformed once more into a great sovereign nation, the worthy daughter +of those who had conquered and ruled the world. Ah! that land of whilom +glory, that unhappy, dismembered, parcelled Italy, the prey of a crowd of +petty tyrants, constantly invaded and appropriated by neighbouring +nations--how superb and ardent was that dream to free her from such long +opprobrium! To defeat the foreigner, drive out the despots, awaken the +people from the base misery of slavery, to proclaim Italy free and Italy +united--such was the passion which then inflamed the young with +inextinguishable ardour, which made the youthful Orlando’s heart leap +with enthusiasm. He spent his early years consumed by holy indignation, +proudly and impatiently longing for an opportunity to give his blood for +his country, and to die for her if he could not deliver her. + +Quivering under the yoke, wasting his time in sterile conspiracies, he +was living in retirement in the old family residence at Milan, when, +shortly after his marriage and his twenty-fifth birthday, tidings came to +him of the flight of Pius IX and the Revolution of Rome.* And at once he +quitted everything, wife and hearth, and hastened to Rome as if summoned +thither by the call of destiny. This was the first time that he set out +scouring the roads for the attainment of independence; and how +frequently, yet again and again, was he to start upon fresh campaigns, +never wearying, never disheartened! And now it was that he became +acquainted with Mazzini, and for a moment was inflamed with enthusiasm +for that mystical unitarian Republican. He himself indulged in an ardent +dream of a Universal Republic, adopted the Mazzinian device, “_Dio e +popolo_” (God and the people), and followed the procession which wended +its way with great pomp through insurrectionary Rome. The time was one of +vast hopes, one when people already felt a need of renovated religion, +and looked to the coming of a humanitarian Christ who would redeem the +world yet once again. But before long a man, a captain of the ancient +days, Giuseppe Garibaldi, whose epic glory was dawning, made Orlando +entirely his own, transformed him into a soldier whose sole cause was +freedom and union. Orlando loved Garibaldi as though the latter were a +demi-god, fought beside him in defence of Republican Rome, took part in +the victory of Rieti over the Neapolitans, and followed the stubborn +patriot in his retreat when he sought to succour Venice, compelled as he +was to relinquish the Eternal City to the French army of General Oudinot, +who came thither to reinstate Pius IX. And what an extraordinary and +madly heroic adventure was that of Garibaldi and Venice! Venice, which +Manin, another great patriot, a martyr, had again transformed into a +republican city, and which for long months had been resisting the +Austrians! And Garibaldi starts with a handful of men to deliver the +city, charters thirteen fishing barks, loses eight in a naval engagement, +is compelled to return to the Roman shores, and there in all wretchedness +is bereft of his wife, Anita, whose eyes he closes before returning to +America, 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 the +internal fire of patriotism, where men of faith and courage arose in +every city, where riots and insurrections burst forth on all sides like +eruptions--it continued, in spite of every check, its invincible march to +freedom! + + * 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 lived +there, almost in concealment, devoured by impatience for the glorious +morrow which was so long in coming. Amidst his fever a gleam of happiness +softened his heart; a son, Luigi, was born to him, but the birth killed +the mother, and joy was turned into mourning. Then, unable to remain any +longer at Milan, where he was spied upon, tracked by the police, +suffering also too grievously from the foreign occupation, Orlando +decided to realise the little fortune remaining to him, and to withdraw +to Turin, where an aunt of his wife took charge of the child. Count di +Cavour, like a great statesman, was then already seeking to bring about +independence, preparing Piedmont for the decisive _rôle_ which it was +destined to play. It was the time when King Victor Emmanuel evinced +flattering cordiality towards all the refugees who came to him from every +part of Italy, even those whom he knew to be Republicans, compromised and +flying the consequences of popular insurrection. The rough, shrewd House +of Savoy had long been dreaming of bringing about Italian unity to the +profit of the Piedmontese monarchy, and Orlando well knew under what +master he was taking service; but in him the Republican already went +behind the patriot, and indeed he had begun to question the possibility +of a united Republican Italy, placed under the protectorate of a liberal +Pope, as Mazzini had at one time dreamed. Was that not indeed a chimera +beyond realisation which would devour generation after generation if one +obstinately continued to pursue it? For his part, he did not wish to die +without having slept in Rome as one of the conquerors. Even if liberty +was to be lost, he desired to see his country united and erect, returning +once more to life in the full sunlight. And so it was with feverish +happiness that he enlisted at the outset of the war of 1859; and his +heart palpitated with such force as almost to rend his breast, when, +after Magenta, he entered Milan with the French army--Milan which he had +quitted eight years previously, like an exile, in despair. The treaty of +Villafranca which followed Solferino proved a bitter deception: Venetia +was not secured, Venice remained enthralled. Nevertheless the Milanese +was conquered from the foe, and then Tuscany and the duchies of Parma and +Modena voted for annexation. So, at all events, the nucleus of the +Italian star was formed; the country had begun to build itself up afresh +around victorious Piedmont. + +Then, in the following year, Orlando plunged into epopœia once more. +Garibaldi had returned from his two sojourns in America, with the halo of +a legend round him--paladin-like feats in the pampas of Uruguay, an +extraordinary passage from Canton to Lima--and he had returned to take +part in the war of 1859, forestalling the French army, overthrowing an +Austrian marshal, and entering Como, Bergamo, and Brescia. And now, all +at once, folks heard that he had landed at Marsala with only a thousand +men--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, he +helped him to organise a government, then crossed the straits with him, +and was beside him on the triumphal entry into Naples, whose king had +fled. There was mad audacity and valour at that time, an explosion of the +inevitable; and all sorts of supernatural stories were current--Garibaldi +invulnerable, protected better by his red shirt than by the strongest +armour, Garibaldi routing opposing armies like an archangel, by merely +brandishing his flaming sword! The Piedmontese on their side had defeated +General Lamoriciere at Castelfidardo, and were invading the States of the +Church. And Orlando was there when the dictator, abdicating power, signed +the decree which annexed the Two Sicilies to the Crown of Italy; even as +subsequently he took part in that forlorn attempt on Rome, when the +rageful cry was “Rome or Death!”--an attempt which came to a tragic issue +at Aspromonte, when the little army was dispersed by the Italian troops, +and Garibaldi, wounded, was taken prisoner, and sent back to the solitude +of his island of Caprera, where he became but a fisherman and a tiller of +the 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 had +acclaimed Victor Emmanuel, King of Italy; and Italy was indeed almost +built, it lacked only Rome and Venice. But the great battles seemed all +over, the epic era was closed; Venice was to be won by defeat. Orlando +took part in the unlucky battle of Custozza, where he received two +wounds, full of furious grief at the thought that Austria should be +triumphant. But at that same moment the latter, defeated at Sadowa, +relinquished Venetia, and five months later Orlando satisfied his desire +to be in Venice participating in the joy of triumph, when Victor Emmanuel +made his entry amidst the frantic acclamations of the people. Rome alone +remained 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 a +check. Then, for the third time, Garibaldi dreamt of renewing the feats +of the old-world legends, and threw himself upon Rome like a soldier of +fortune illumined by patriotism and free from every tie. And for the +third time Orlando shared in that fine heroic madness destined to be +vanquished at Mentana by the Pontifical Zouaves supported by a small +French corps. Again wounded, he came back to Turin in almost a dying +condition. But, though his spirit quivered, he had to resign himself; the +situation seemed to have no outlet; only an upheaval of the nations could +give 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, and +Orlando, having returned to service in the regular army, was with the +troops who took up position in the Campagna to ensure the safety of the +Holy See, as was said in the letter which Victor Emmanuel wrote to Pius +IX. There was, however, but the shadow of an engagement: General +Kanzler’s Pontifical Zouaves were compelled to fall back, and Orlando was +one 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 greatest +happiness of his life--a day of delirium, of complete triumph, which +realised the dream of so many years of terrible contest, the dream for +which 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 has +placed one’s entire hope. From her he awaited so much national vigour, +such a marvellous resurrection of strength and glory for the endowment of +the 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 call +upon the King and sit in parliament? Mazzini alone, rejecting all +compromises, was unwilling to rest content with a united and independent +Italy that was not Republican. Moreover, another consideration influenced +Orlando, the future of his son Luigi, who had attained his eighteenth +birthday shortly after the occupation of Rome. Though he, Orlando, could +manage with the crumbs which remained of the fortune he had expended in +his country’s service, he dreamt of a splendid destiny for the child of +his heart. Realising that the heroic age was over, he desired to make a +great politician of him, a great administrator, a man who should be +useful to the mighty nation of the morrow; and it was on this account +that 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 in +organisation, even as he had assisted in conquest? Struck by his son’s +quick intelligence in business matters, perhaps also instinctively +divining that the battle would now continue on financial and economic +grounds, he obtained him employment at the Ministry of Finances. And +again he himself lived on, dreaming, still enthusiastically believing in +a splendid future, overflowing with boundless hope, seeing Rome double +her population, grow and spread with a wild vegetation of new districts, +and once more, in his loving enraptured eyes, become the queen of the +world. + +But all at once came a thunderbolt. One morning, as he was going +downstairs, Orlando was stricken with paralysis. Both his legs suddenly +became lifeless, as heavy as lead. It was necessary to carry him up +again, and never since had he set foot on the street pavement. At that +time he had just completed his fifty-sixth year, and for fourteen years +since he had remained in his arm-chair, as motionless as stone, he who +had so impetuously trod every battlefield of Italy. It was a pitiful +business, the collapse of a hero. And worst of all, from that room where +he was for ever imprisoned, the old soldier beheld the slow crumbling of +all his hopes, and fell into dismal melancholy, full of unacknowledged +fear for the future. Now that the intoxication of action no longer dimmed +his eyes, now that he spent his long and empty days in thought, his +vision became clear. Italy, which he had desired to see so powerful, so +triumphant in her unity, was acting madly, rushing to ruin, possibly to +bankruptcy. Rome, which to him had ever been the one necessary capital, +the city of unparalleled glory, requisite for the sovereign people of +to-morrow, seemed unwilling to take upon herself the part of a great +modern metropolis; heavy as a corpse she weighed with all her centuries +on the bosom of the young nation. Moreover, his son Luigi distressed him. +Rebellious to all guidance, the young man had become one of the devouring +offsprings of conquest, eager to despoil that Italy, that Rome, which his +father seemed to have desired solely in order that he might pillage them +and batten on them. Orlando had vainly opposed Luigi’s departure from the +ministry, his participation in the frantic speculations on land and house +property 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 most +risky financial ventures, such as the transformation of the Villa +Montefiori into a perfect town--a colossal enterprise in which many of +great wealth had been ruined, but whence he himself had emerged with +millions. And it was in part for this reason that Orlando, sad and +silent, had obstinately restricted himself to one small room on the third +floor of the little palazzo erected by Luigi in the Via Venti +Settembre--a room where he lived cloistered with a single servant, +subsisting on his own scanty income, and accepting nothing but that +modest hospitality from his son. + +As Pierre reached that new Via Venti Settembre* which climbs the side and +summit of the Viminal hill, he was struck by the heavy sumptuousness of +the new “palaces,” which betokened among the moderns the same taste for +the huge that marked the ancient Romans. In the warm afternoon glow, +blent of purple and old gold, the broad, triumphant thoroughfare, with +its endless rows of white house-fronts, bore witness to new Rome’s proud +hope of futurity and sovereign power. And Pierre fairly gasped when he +beheld the Palazzo delle Finanze, or Treasury, a gigantic erection, a +cyclopean cube with a profusion of columns, balconies, pediments, and +sculptured work, to which the building mania had given birth in a day of +immoderate pride. And on the other side of the street, a little higher +up, before reaching the Villa Bonaparte, stood Count Prada’s little +palazzo. + + * 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 somewhat +embarrassed. The door was open, and he entered the vestibule; but, as at +the 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 with +their marble balustrades seemed to be copied, on a smaller scale, from +those of the Palazzo Boccanera. And there was much the same cold +bareness, tempered, however, by a carpet and red door-hangings, which +contrasted vividly with the white stucco of the walls. The +reception-rooms, sixteen feet high, were on the first floor, and as a +door chanced to be ajar he caught a glimpse of two _salons_, one +following the other, and both displaying quite modern richness, with a +profusion of silk and velvet hangings, gilt furniture, and lofty mirrors +reflecting a pompous assemblage of stands and tables. And still there was +nobody, not a soul, in that seemingly forsaken abode, which exhaled +nought of woman’s presence. Indeed Pierre was on the point of going down +again to ring, when a footman at last presented himself. + +“Count Prada, if you please.” + +The servant silently surveyed the little priest, and seemed to +understand. “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 little +door on the right-hand side of the landing. Knock loudly if you wish to +be admitted.” + +Pierre indeed had to knock twice, and then a little withered old man of +military appearance, a former soldier who had remained in the Count’s +service, opened the door and apologised for the delay by saying that he +had been attending to his master’s legs. Immediately afterwards he +announced the visitor, and the latter, after passing through a dim and +narrow ante-room, was lost in amazement on finding himself in a +relatively small chamber, extremely bare and bright, with wall-paper of a +light hue studded with tiny blue flowers. Behind a screen was an iron +bedstead, the soldier’s pallet, and there was no other furniture than the +arm-chair in which the cripple spent his days, with a table of black wood +placed near him, and covered with books and papers, and two old +straw-seated chairs which served for the accommodation of the infrequent +visitors. A few planks, fixed to one of the walls, did duty as +book-shelves. However, the broad, clear, curtainless window overlooked +the most admirable panorama of Rome that could be desired. + +Then the room disappeared from before Pierre’s eyes, and with a sudden +shock of deep emotion he only beheld old Orlando, the old blanched lion, +still superb, broad, and tall. A forest of white hair crowned his +powerful head, with its thick mouth, fleshy broken nose, and large, +sparkling, black eyes. A long white beard streamed down with the vigour +of youth, curling like that of an ancient god. By that leonine muzzle one +divined what great passions had growled within; but all, carnal and +intellectual alike, had erupted in patriotism, in wild bravery, and +riotous love of independence. And the old stricken hero, his torso still +erect, was fixed there on his straw-seated arm-chair, with lifeless legs +buried beneath a black wrapper. Alone did his arms and hands live, and +his face beam with strength and intelligence. + +Orlando turned towards his servant, and gently said to him: “You can go +away, Batista. Come back in a couple of hours.” Then, looking Pierre full +in the face, he exclaimed in a voice which was still sonorous despite his +seventy years: “So it’s you at last, my dear Monsieur Froment, and we +shall be able to chat at our ease. There, take that chair, and sit down +in front of me.” + +He had noticed the glance of surprise which the young priest had cast +upon the bareness of the room, and he gaily added: “You will excuse me +for receiving you in my cell. Yes, I live here like a monk, like an old +invalided soldier, henceforth withdrawn from active life. My son long +begged me to take one of the fine rooms downstairs. But what would have +been the use of it? I have no needs, and I scarcely care for feather +beds, for my old bones are accustomed to the hard ground. And then too I +have such a fine view up here, all Rome presenting herself to me, now +that I can no longer go to her.” + +With a wave of the hand towards the window he sought to hide the +embarrassment, the slight flush which came to him each time that he thus +excused his son; unwilling as he was to tell the true reason, the scruple +of probity which had made him obstinately cling to his bare pauper’s +lodging. + +“But it is very nice, the view is superb!” declared Pierre, in order to +please him. “I am for my own part very glad to see you, very glad to be +able to grasp your valiant hands, which accomplished so many great +things.” + +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 dear +Monsieur Froment, you who are young and represent the present; and +especially about your book, which represents the future! Ah! if you only +knew 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, you +cannot 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 the +Pope and for the Pope, to triumph thanks to the Pope, to be given to the +Pope, 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 in +order to make Rome a great capital? Ah! only a Frenchman, and a Frenchman +of Paris, could have written such a book! But let me tell you, my dear +sir, if you are ignorant of it, that Rome has become the capital of the +kingdom 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 keep +Rome--glorious, resuscitated Rome--for itself!” + +This juvenile ardour made Pierre laugh in turn. “Yes, yes,” said he, “you +wrote me that. Only what does it matter from my point of view? Italy is +but one nation, a part of humanity, and I desire concord and fraternity +among all the nations, mankind reconciled, believing, and happy. Of what +consequence, then, is any particular form of government, monarchy or +republic, of what consequence is any question of a united and independent +country, if all mankind forms but one free people subsisting on truth and +justice?” + +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. In +my youth I ardently desired one. I fought for one; I conspired with +Mazzini, a saintly man, a believer, who was shattered by collision with +the absolute. And then, too, one had to bow to practical necessities; the +most obstinate ended by submitting. And nowadays would a republic save +us? In any case it would differ but little from our parliamentary +monarchy. Just think of what goes on in France! And so why risk a +revolution which would place power in the hands of the extreme +revolutionists, the anarchists? We fear all that, and this explains our +resignation. I know very well that a few think they can detect salvation +in a republican federation, a reconstitution of all the former little +states in so many republics, over which Rome would preside. The Vatican +would gain largely by any such transformation; still one cannot say that +it endeavours to bring it about; it simply regards the eventuality +without disfavour. But it is a dream, a dream!” + +At this Orlando’s gaiety came back to him, with even a little gentle +irony: “You don’t know, I suppose, what it was that took my fancy in your +book--for, in spite of all my protests, I have read it twice. Well, what +pleased me was that Mazzini himself might almost have written it at one +time. Yes! I found all my youth again in your pages, all the wild hope of +my twenty-fifth year, the new religion of a humanitarian Christ, the +pacification of the world effected by the Gospel! Are you aware that, +long before your time, Mazzini desired the renovation of Christianity? He +set dogma and discipline on one side and only retained morals. And it was +new Rome, the Rome of the people, which he would have given as see to the +universal Church, in which all the churches of the past were to be +fused--Rome, the eternal and predestined city, the mother and queen, +whose domination was to arise anew to ensure the definitive happiness of +mankind! Is it not curious that all the present-day Neo-Catholicism, the +vague, spiritualistic awakening, the evolution towards communion and +Christian charity, with which some are making so much stir, should be +simply a return of the mystical and humanitarian ideas of 1848? Alas! I +saw all that, I believed and burned, and I know in what a fine mess those +flights into the azure of mystery landed us! So it cannot be helped, I +lack 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 how +absolutely necessary it was that we should take Rome and make her the +capital of Italy. Without Rome new Italy could not have existed; Rome +represented the glory of ancient time; in her dust lay the sovereign +power which we wished to re-establish; she brought strength, beauty, +eternity to those who possessed her. Standing in the middle of our +country, she was its heart, and must assuredly become its life as soon as +she should be awakened from the long sleep of ruin. Ah! how we desired +her, amidst victory and amidst defeat, through years and years of +frightful impatience! For my part I loved her, and longed for her, far +more than for any woman, with my blood burning, and in despair that I +should be growing old. And when we possessed her, our folly was a desire +to behold her huge, magnificent, and commanding all at once, the equal of +the other great capitals of Europe--Berlin, Paris, and London. Look at +her! she is still my only love, my only consolation now that I am +virtually dead, with nothing alive in me but my eyes.” + +With the same gesture as before, he directed Pierre’s attention to the +window. 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 a +limpid 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. Then +came the low town, the old ruddy city, baked as it were by centuries of +burning summers, soft to the eye and beautiful with the deep life of the +past, an unbounded chaos of roofs, gables, towers, _campanili_, and +cupolas. But, in the foreground under the window, there was the new +city--that which had been building for the last five and twenty +years--huge blocks of masonry piled up side by side, still white with +plaster, neither the sun nor history having as yet robed them in purple. +And in particular the roofs of the colossal Palazzo delle Finanze had a +disastrous effect, spreading out like far, bare steppes of cruel +hideousness. And it was upon the desolation and abomination of all the +newly erected piles that the eyes of the old soldier of conquest at last +rested. + +Silence ensued. Pierre felt the faint chill of hidden, unacknowledged +sadness pass by, and courteously waited. + +“I must beg your pardon for having interrupted you just now,” resumed +Orlando; “but it seems to me that we cannot talk about your book to any +good purpose until you have seen and studied Rome closely. You only +arrived yesterday, did you not? Well, stroll about the city, look at +things, question people, and I think that many of your ideas will change. +I shall particularly like to know your impression of the Vatican since +you have come here solely to see the Pope and defend your book against +the Index. Why should we discuss things to-day, if facts themselves are +calculated to bring you to other views, far more readily than the finest +speeches which I might make? It is understood, you will come to see me +again, 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 to +express my gratitude to you for having read my book so attentively, and +to 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, by +secret disquietude, he resumed in a low voice as though making an +involuntary confession: “We have gone too fast, no doubt. There were +expenses of undeniable utility--the roads, ports, and railways. And it +was necessary to arm the country also; I did not at first disapprove of +the heavy military burden. But since then how crushing has been the war +budget--a war which has never come, and the long wait for which has +ruined us. Ah! I have always been the friend of France. I only reproach +her with one thing, that she has failed to understand the position in +which we were placed, the vital reasons which compelled us to ally +ourselves with Germany. And then there are the thousand millions of +_lire_* swallowed up in Rome! That was the real madness; pride and +enthusiasm led us astray. Old and solitary as I’ve been for many years +now, given to deep reflection, I was one of the first to divine the +pitfall, the frightful financial crisis, the deficit which would bring +about the collapse of the nation. I shouted it from the housetops, to my +son, 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 but +for gambling booms and bubbles. But you’ll see, you’ll see. And the worst +is that we are not situated as you are; we haven’t a reserve of men and +money in a dense peasant population, whose thrifty savings are always at +hand to fill up the gaps caused by big catastrophes. There is no social +rise among our people as yet; fresh men don’t spring up out of the lower +classes to reinvigorate the national blood, as they constantly do in your +country. And, besides, the people are poor; they have no stockings to +empty. The misery is frightful, I must admit it. Those who have any money +prefer to spend it in the towns in a petty way rather than to risk it in +agricultural or manufacturing enterprise. Factories are but slowly built, +and the land is almost everywhere tilled in the same primitive manner as +it was two thousand years ago. And then, too, take Rome--Rome, which +didn’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 its +historical splendour, has only given us its degenerate papal population, +swollen with ignorance and pride! Ah! I loved Rome too well, and I still +love 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 cost +us, 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 Palazzo +delle Finanze, that vast and desolate steppe, as though he could see the +harvest of glory all stripped off and bankruptcy appear with its fearful, +threatening bareness. Restrained tears were dimming his eyes, and he +looked superbly pitiful with his expression of baffled hope and grievous +disquietude, with his huge white head, the muzzle of an old blanched lion +henceforth powerless and caged in that bare, bright room, whose +poverty-stricken aspect was instinct with so much pride that it seemed, +as it were, a protest against the monumental splendour of the whole +surrounding district! So those were the purposes to which the conquest +had been put! And to think that he was impotent, henceforth unable to +give 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, heart +and brain, one’s whole life indeed, so long as it was a question of +making the country one and independent. But, now that the country is +ours, just try to stir up enthusiasm for the reorganisation of its +finances! There’s no ideality in that! And this explains why, whilst the +old ones are dying off, not a new man comes to the front among the young +ones--” + +All at once he stopped, looking somewhat embarrassed, yet smiling at his +feverishness. “Excuse me,” he said, “I’m off again, I’m incorrigible. But +it’s understood, we’ll leave that subject alone, and you’ll come back +here, and we’ll chat together when you’ve seen everything.” + +From that moment he showed himself extremely pleasant, and it was +apparent to Pierre that he regretted having said so much, by the +seductive affability and growing affection which he now displayed. He +begged the young priest to prolong his sojourn, to abstain from all hasty +judgments on Rome, and to rest convinced that, at bottom, Italy still +loved France. And he was also very desirous that France should love +Italy, and displayed genuine anxiety at the thought that perhaps she +loved her no more. As at the Boccanera mansion, on the previous evening, +Pierre realised that an attempt was being made to persuade him to +admiration and affection. Like a susceptible woman with secret misgivings +respecting the attractive power of her beauty, Italy was all anxiety with +regard to the opinion of her visitors, and strove to win and retain their +love. + +However, Orlando again became impassioned when he learnt that Pierre was +staying at the Boccanera mansion, and he made a gesture of extreme +annoyance 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, and +still attractive with her small features and pretty smile swamped in fat. +She was a blonde, with green, limpid eyes; and, fairly well dressed in a +sober, 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 getting +on.” + +The visitor was the Signora Sacco, niece of Prada and a Neapolitan by +birth, her mother having quitted Milan to marry a certain Pagani, a +Neapolitan banker, who had afterwards failed. Subsequent to that disaster +Stefana had married Sacco, then merely a petty post-office clerk. He, +later on, wishing to revive his father-in-law’s business, had launched +into all sorts of terrible, complicated, suspicious affairs, which by +unforeseen luck had ended in his election as a deputy. Since he had +arrived in Rome, to conquer the city in his turn, his wife had been +compelled to assist his devouring ambition by dressing well and opening a +_salon_; and, although she was still a little awkward, she rendered him +many real services, being very economical and prudent, a thorough good +housewife, with all the sterling, substantial qualities of Northern Italy +which she had inherited from her mother, and which showed conspicuously +beside the turbulence and carelessness of her husband, in whom flared +Southern Italy with its perpetual, rageful appetite. + +Despite his contempt for Sacco, old Orlando had retained some affection +for his niece, in whose veins flowed blood similar to his own. He thanked +her for her kind inquiries, and then at once spoke of an announcement +which he had read in the morning papers, for he suspected that the deputy +had 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 at +the newspapers strewn over the table. “Oh! nothing is settled yet,” she +at last responded; “the newspapers spoke out too soon. The Prime Minister +sent for Sacco, and they had a talk together. But Sacco hesitates a good +deal; 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 have +come 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 mix +myself up in such matters!” + +To him the rapid success of that adventurer Sacco, that schemer and +gambler who had always fished in troubled waters, was an abomination, the +beginning of the end. His son Luigi certainly distressed him; but it was +even worse to think that--whilst Luigi, with his great intelligence and +many remaining fine qualities, was nothing at all--Sacco, on the other +hand, Sacco, blunderhead and ever-famished battener that he was, had not +merely slipped into parliament, but was now, it seemed, on the point of +securing 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 his +voice--a voice which at will became admirably powerful or gentle! And +withal an insinuating man, profiting by every opportunity, wheedling and +commanding by turn. + +“You hear, Stefana,” said Orlando; “tell your husband that the only +advice I have to give him is to return to his clerkship at the +post-office, where perhaps he may be of use.” + +What particularly filled the old soldier with indignation and despair was +that such a man, a Sacco, should have fallen like a bandit on Rome--on +that Rome whose conquest had cost so many noble efforts. And in his turn +Sacco was conquering the city, was carrying it off from those who had won +it by such hard toil, and was simply using it to satisfy his wild passion +for power and its attendant enjoyments. Beneath his wheedling air there +was the determination to devour everything. After the victory, while the +spoil lay there, still warm, the wolves had come. It was the North that +had made Italy, whereas the South, eager for the quarry, simply rushed +upon the country, preyed upon it. And beneath the anger of the old +stricken hero of Italian unity there was indeed all the growing +antagonism of the North towards the South--the North industrious, +economical, shrewd in politics, enlightened, full of all the great modern +ideas, and the South ignorant and idle, bent on enjoying life +immediately, amidst childish disorder in action, and an empty show of +fine sonorous words. + +Stefana had begun to smile in a placid way while glancing at Pierre, who +had approached the window. “Oh, you say that, uncle,” she responded; “but +you love us well all the same, and more than once you have given me +myself some good advice, for which I’m very thankful to you. For +instance, there’s that affair of Attilio’s--” + +She was alluding to her son, the lieutenant, and his love affair with +Celia, 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 both +of the same blood as myself, and it’s wonderful how I see myself again in +that 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 all +that the parents had to do was to let the lovers settle their affairs +between them. Still, we don’t want everybody to repeat that we are urging +our son to get the little princess to elope with him, so that he may +afterwards marry her money and title.” + +At this Orlando indulged in a frank outburst of gaiety: “That’s a fine +scruple! 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, I +believe myself to be as honest as he is, and I can only repeat that, if I +had a son like yours, so straightforward and good, and candidly loving, I +should let him marry whomsoever he pleased in his own way. The +Buongiovannis--good heavens! the Buongiovannis--why, despite all their +rank and lineage and the money they still possess, it will be a great +honour for them to have a handsome young man with a noble heart as their +son-in-law!” + +Again did Stefana assume an expression of placid satisfaction. She had +certainly 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. And +as for that ministry--well, perhaps nothing will be done, Sacco will +decide according to circumstances.” + +She rose and took her leave, kissing the old soldier very affectionately +as on her arrival. And she complimented him on his good looks, declaring +that she found him as handsome as ever, and making him smile by speaking +of a lady who was still madly in love with him. Then, after acknowledging +the young priest’s silent salutation by a slight bow, she went off, once +more wearing her modest and sensible air. + +For a moment Orlando, with his eyes turned towards the door, remained +silent, again sad, reflecting no doubt on all the difficult, equivocal +present, so different from the glorious past. But all at once he turned +to Pierre, who was still waiting. “And so, my friend,” said he, “you are +staying at the Palazzo Boccanera? Ah! what a grievous misfortune there +has 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 his +goodness to her, no matter whatever happened, he appeared moved and his +voice trembled: “Yes, she has a good heart, she has no spite. But what +would 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 keen +had been his delight on the eve of the marriage at the thought that so +lovely a creature would become his daughter, and set some youth and charm +around his invalid’s arm-chair. He had always worshipped beauty, and +would have had no other love than woman, if his country had not seized +upon the best part of him. And Benedetta on her side loved him, revered +him, constantly coming up to spend long hours with him, sharing his poor +little room, which at those times became resplendent with all the divine +grace that she brought with her. With her fresh breath near him, the pure +scent she diffused, the caressing womanly tenderness with which she +surrounded him, he lived anew. But, immediately afterwards, what a +frightful drama and how his heart had bled at his inability to reconcile +the husband and the wife! He could not possibly say that his son was in +the wrong in desiring to be the loved and accepted spouse. At first +indeed 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 love +for Dario, and her horror of belonging to another, he realised that she +would never yield. And a whole year had then gone by; he had lived for a +whole year imprisoned in his arm-chair, with that poignant drama +progressing beneath him in those luxurious rooms whence no sound even +reached his ears. How many times had he not listened, striving to hear, +fearing atrocious quarrels, in despair at his inability to prove still +useful by creating happiness. He knew nothing by his son, who kept his +own counsel; he only learnt a few particulars from Benedetta at intervals +when emotion left her defenceless; and that marriage in which he had for +a moment espied the much-needed alliance between old and new Rome, that +unconsummated marriage filled him with despair, as if it were indeed the +defeat of every hope, the final collapse of the dream which had filled +his life. And he himself had ended by desiring the divorce, so unbearable +had become the suffering caused by such a situation. + +“Ah! my friend!” he said to Pierre; “never before did I so well +understand the fatality of certain antagonism, the possibility of working +one’s own misfortune and that of others, even when one has the most +loving heart and upright mind!” + +But at that moment the door again opened, and this time, without +knocking, Count Luigi Prada came in. And after rapidly bowing to the +visitor, who had risen, he gently took hold of his father’s hands and +felt 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; “for +the interruption of all that building gives me a lot of worry. And I’m +told 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 up +here without any comfort? All this isn’t suited to your age. I should be +so pleased if you would accept a more comfortable room where you might +sleep better.” + +“No, no--I know that you love me well, my dear Luigi. But let me do as my +old head tells me. That’s the only way to make me happy.” + +Pierre was much struck by the ardent affection which sparkled in the eyes +of the two men as they gazed at one another, face to face. This seemed to +him very touching and beautiful, knowing as he did how many contrary +ideas and actions, how many moral divergencies separated them. And he +next took an interest in comparing them physically. Count Luigi Prada, +shorter, more thick-set than his father, had, however, much the same +strong energetic head, crowned with coarse black hair, and the same frank +but somewhat stern eyes set in a face of clear complexion, barred by +thick moustaches. But his mouth differed--a sensual, voracious mouth it +was, with wolfish teeth--a mouth of prey made for nights of rapine, when +the only question is to bite, and tear, and devour others. And for this +reason, when some praised the frankness in his eyes, another would +retort: “Yes, but I don’t like his mouth.” His feet were large, his hands +plump and over-broad, but admirably cared for. + +And Pierre marvelled at finding him such as he had anticipated. He knew +enough 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 and +become transformed into vices in the son--the most noble qualities being +perverted, heroic and disinterested energy lapsing into a ferocious +appetite for possession, the man of battle leading to the man of booty, +since the great gusts of enthusiasm no longer swept by, since men no +longer fought, since they remained there resting, pillaging, and +devouring amidst the heaped-up spoils. And the pity of it was that the +old hero, the paralytic, motionless father beheld it all--beheld the +degeneration of his son, the speculator and company promoter gorged with +millions! + +However, Orlando introduced Pierre. “This is Monsieur l’Abbé Pierre +Froment, whom I spoke to you about,” he said, “the author of the book +which I gave you to read.” + +Luigi Prada showed himself very amiable, at once talking of home with an +intelligent passion like one who wished to make the city a great modern +capital. He had seen Paris transformed by the Second Empire; he had seen +Berlin enlarged and embellished after the German victories; and, +according to him, if Rome did not follow the movement, if it did not +become the inhabitable capital of a great people, it was threatened with +prompt death: either a crumbling museum or a renovated, resuscitated +city--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 this +clever man, charmed with his firm, clear mind. He knew how skilfully +Prada had manœuvred in the affair of the Villa Montefiori, enriching +himself when every one else was ruined, having doubtless foreseen the +fatal catastrophe even while the gambling passion was maddening the +entire nation. However, the young priest could already detect marks of +weariness, precocious wrinkles and a fall of the lips, on that +determined, energetic face, as though its possessor were growing tired of +the continual struggle that he had to carry on amidst surrounding +downfalls, the shock of which threatened to bring the most firmly +established fortunes to the ground. It was said that Prada had recently +had grave cause for anxiety; and indeed there was no longer any solidity +to be found; everything might be swept away by the financial crisis which +day 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 had +set in, a slow rot, caused by the softening, perversive influence of +Rome. He had there rushed upon the satisfaction of every appetite, and +prolonged enjoyment was exhausting him. This, indeed, was one of the +causes of the deep silent sadness of Orlando, who was compelled to +witness the swift deterioration of his conquering race, whilst Sacco, the +Italian of the South--served as it were by the climate, accustomed to the +voluptuous atmosphere, the life of those sun-baked cities compounded of +the dust of antiquity--bloomed there like the natural vegetation of a +soil saturated with the crimes of history, and gradually grasped +everything, both wealth and power. + +As Orlando spoke of Stefana’s visit to his son, Sacco’s name was +mentioned. Then, without another word, the two men exchanged a smile. A +rumour was current that the Minister of Agriculture, lately deceased, +would perhaps not be replaced immediately, and that another minister +would take charge of the department pending the next session of the +Chamber. + +Next the Palazzo Boccanera was mentioned, and Pierre, his interest +awakened, became more attentive. “Ah!” exclaimed Count Luigi, turning to +him, “so you are staying in the Via Giulia? All the Rome of olden time +sleeps there in the silence of forgetfulness.” + +With perfect ease he went on to speak of the Cardinal and even of +Benedetta--“the Countess,” as he called her. But, although he was careful +to let no sign of anger escape him, the young priest could divine that he +was secretly quivering, full of suffering and spite. In him the +enthusiastic 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 own +at any cost, determined to marry her, to struggle with her and overcome +her, although he knew that she loved him not, and that he would almost +certainly wreck his entire life. Rather than relinquish her, however, he +would have set Rome on fire. And thus his hopeless suffering was now +great indeed: this woman was but his wife in name, and so torturing was +the thought of her disdain, that at times, however calm his outward +demeanour, he was consumed by a jealous vindictive sensual madness that +did not even recoil from the idea of crime. + +“Monsieur l’Abbé is acquainted with the situation,” sadly murmured old +Orlando. + +His son responded by a wave of the hand, as though to say that everybody +was acquainted with it. “Ah! father,” he added, “but for you I should +never have consented to take part in those proceedings for annulling the +marriage! The Countess would have found herself compelled to return here, +and would not nowadays be deriding us with her lover, that cousin of +hers, 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 here +if 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 he +everywhere levelled against his wife, of publicly carrying on a shameless +_liaison_. In reality, however, he did not believe a word of it, being +too well acquainted with Benedetta’s firm rectitude, and her +determination to belong to none but the man she loved, and to him only in +marriage. However, in Prada’s eyes such accusations were not only fair +play but also very efficacious. + +And now, although he turned pale with covert exasperation, and laughed a +hard, vindictive, cruel laugh, he went on to speak in a bantering tone of +the proceedings for annulling the marriage, and in particular of the plea +put forward by Benedetta’s advocate Morano. And at last his language +became so free that Orlando, with a glance towards the priest, gently +interposed: “Luigi! Luigi!” + +“Yes, you are right, father, I’ll say no more,” thereupon added the young +Count. “But it’s really abominable and ridiculous. Lisbeth, you know, is +highly amused at it.” + +Orlando again looked displeased, for when visitors were present he did +not like his son to refer to the person whom he had just named. Lisbeth +Kauffmann, very blonde and pink and merry, was barely thirty years of +age, and belonged to the Roman foreign colony. For two years past she had +been a widow, her husband having died at Rome whither he had come to +nurse a complaint of the lungs. Thenceforward free, and sufficiently well +off, she had remained in the city by taste, having a marked predilection +for art, and painting a little, herself. In the Via Principe Amadeo, in +the new Viminal district, she had purchased a little palazzo, and +transformed a large apartment on its second floor into a studio hung with +old stuffs, and balmy in every season with the scent of flowers. The +place was well known to tolerant and intellectual society. Lisbeth was +there found in perpetual jubilation, clad in a long blouse, somewhat of a +_gamine_ in her ways, trenchant too and often bold of speech, but +nevertheless capital company, and as yet compromised with nobody but +Prada. Their _liaison_ had begun some four months after his wife had left +him, and now Lisbeth was near the time of becoming a mother. This she in +no wise concealed, but displayed such candid tranquillity and happiness +that her numerous acquaintances continued to visit her as if there were +nothing in question, so facile and free indeed is the life of the great +cosmopolitan continental cities. Under the circumstances which his wife’s +suit had created, Prada himself was not displeased at the turn which +events had taken with regard to Lisbeth, but none the less his incurable +wound 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 wreaking +on her a tragic punishment. + +Pierre, knowing nothing of Lisbeth, failed to understand the allusions of +Orlando and his son. But realising that there was some embarrassment +between them, he sought to take countenance by picking from off the +littered table a thick book which, to his surprise, he found to be a +French educational work, one of those manuals for the _baccalaureat_,* +containing a digest of the knowledge which the official programmes +require. It was but a humble, practical, elementary work, yet it +necessarily dealt with all the mathematical, physical, chemical, and +natural sciences, thus broadly outlining the intellectual conquests of +the 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 are +looking at the book of my old friend Théophile Morin. He was one of the +thousand of Marsala, you know, and helped us to conquer Sicily and +Naples. A hero! But for more than thirty years now he has been living in +France again, absorbed in the duties of his petty professorship, which +hasn’t made him at all rich. And so he lately published that book, which +sells very well in France it seems; and it occurred to him that he might +increase his modest profits on it by issuing translations, an Italian one +among others. He and I have remained brothers, and thinking that my +influence would prove decisive, he wishes to utilise it. But he is +mistaken; I fear, alas! that I shall be unable to get anybody to take up +his 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 his +generation which desired to maintain things in their actual state so as +to 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 many +books! We still and ever require fresh ones! It’s by literature, not by +the sword, that mankind will overcome falsehood and injustice and attain +to the final peace of fraternity among the nations--Oh! you may smile; I +know that you call these ideas my fancies of ‘48, the fancies of a +greybeard, as people say in France. But it is none the less true that +Italy is doomed, if the problem be not attacked from down below, if the +people be not properly fashioned. And there is only one way to make a +nation, to create men, and that is to educate them, to develop by +educational means the immense lost force which now stagnates in ignorance +and 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 forward +into 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 the +white brightness of his beard and hair, old Orlando looked superb. And in +that simple, candid chamber, so touching with its intentional poverty, he +raised his cry of hope with such intensity of feverish faith, that before +the young priest’s eyes there arose another figure--that of Cardinal +Boccanera, erect and black save for his snow-white hair, and likewise +glowing with heroic beauty in his crumbling palace whose gilded ceilings +threatened to fall about his head! Ah! the magnificent stubborn men of +the past, the believers, the old men who still show themselves more +virile, more ardent than the young! Those two represented the opposite +poles of belief; they had not an idea, an affection in common, and in +that ancient city of Rome, where all was being blown away in dust, they +alone seemed to protest, indestructible, face to face like two parted +brothers, standing motionless on either horizon. And to have seen them +thus, one after the other, so great and grand, so lonely, so detached +from 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 an +affectionate filial clasp. “Yes, yes, you are right, father, always +right, and I’m a fool to contradict you. Now, pray don’t move about like +that, for you are uncovering yourself, and your legs will get cold +again.” + +So saying, he knelt down and very carefully arranged the wrapper; and +then remaining on the floor like a child, albeit he was two and forty, he +raised his moist eyes, full of mute, entreating worship towards the old +man who, calmed and deeply moved, caressed his hair with a trembling +touch. + +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 again +he 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 predetermined +programme, through Rome at that delightful hour when the sun sinks in the +refreshed and far blue atmosphere. Almost immediately, however, he found +himself in the Via Nazionale, along which he had driven on arriving the +previous day. And he recognised the huge livid Banca d’Italia, the green +gardens climbing to the Quirinal, and the heaven-soaring pines of the +Villa Aldobrandini. Then, at the turn of the street, as he stopped short +in order that he might again contemplate the column of Trajan which now +rose up darkly from its low piazza, already full of twilight, he was +surprised to see a victoria suddenly pull up, and a young man courteously +beckon to him. + +“Monsieur l’Abbé Froment! Monsieur l’Abbé Froment!” + +It was young Prince Dario Boccanera, on his way to his daily drive along +the Corso. He now virtually subsisted on the liberality of his uncle the +Cardinal, and was almost always short of money. But, like all the Romans, +he would, if necessary, have rather lived on bread and water than have +forgone his carriage, horse, and coachman. An equipage, indeed, is the +one indispensable luxury of Rome. + +“If you will come with me, Monsieur l’Abbé Froment,” said the young +Prince, “I will show you the most interesting part of our city.” + +He doubtless desired to please Benedetta, by behaving amiably towards her +protégé. Idle as he was, too, it seemed to him a pleasant occupation to +initiate that young priest, who was said to be so intelligent, into what +he deemed the inimitable side, the true florescence of Roman life. + +Pierre was compelled to accept, although he would have preferred a +solitary stroll. Yet he was interested in this young man, the last born +of an exhausted race, who, while seemingly incapable of either thought or +action, was none the less very seductive with his high-born pride and +indolence. Far more a Roman than a patriot, Dario had never had the +faintest inclination to rally to the new order of things, being well +content to live apart and do nothing; and passionate though he was, he +indulged in no follies, being very practical and sensible at heart, as +are all his fellow-citizens, despite their apparent impetuosity. As soon +as his carriage, after crossing the Piazza di Venezia, entered the Corso, +he gave rein to his childish vanity, his desire to shine, his passion for +gay, happy life in the open under the lovely sky. All this, indeed, was +clearly expressed in the simple gesture which he made whilst exclaiming: +“The Corso!” + +As on the previous day, Pierre was filled with astonishment. The long +narrow street again stretched before him as far as the white dazzling +Piazza del Popolo, the only difference being that the right-hand houses +were now steeped in sunshine, whilst those on the left were black with +shadow. What! was that the Corso then, that semi-obscure trench, close +pressed by high and heavy house-fronts, that mean roadway where three +vehicles could scarcely pass abreast, and which serried shops lined with +gaudy displays? There was neither space, nor far horizon, nor refreshing +greenery such as the fashionable drives of Paris could boast! Nothing but +jostling, crowding, and stifling on the little footways under the narrow +strip of sky. And although Dario named the pompous and historical +palaces, Bonaparte, Doria, Odescalchi, Sciarra, and Chigi; although he +pointed out the column of Marcus Aurelius on the Piazza Colonna, the most +lively square of the whole city with its everlasting throng of lounging, +gazing, chattering people; although, all the way to the Piazza del +Popolo, he never ceased calling attention to churches, houses, and +side-streets, notably the Via dei Condotti, at the far end of which the +Trinity de’ Monti, all golden in the glory of the sinking sun, appeared +above that famous flight of steps, the triumphal Scala di Spagna--Pierre +still and ever retained the impression of disillusion which the narrow, +airless thoroughfare had conveyed to him: the “palaces” looked to him +like mournful hospitals or barracks, the Piazza Colonna suffered terribly +from a lack of trees, and the Trinity de’ Monti alone took his fancy by +its distant radiance of fairyland. + +But it was necessary to come back from the Piazza del Popolo to the +Piazza di Venezia, then return to the former square, and come back yet +again, following the entire Corso three and four times without wearying. +The delighted Dario showed himself and looked about him, exchanging +salutations. On either footway was a compact crowd of promenaders whose +eyes roamed over the equipages and whose hands could have shaken those of +the carriage folks. So great at last became the number of vehicles that +both lines were absolutely unbroken, crowded to such a point that the +coachmen could do no more than walk their horses. Perpetually going up +and coming down the Corso, people scrutinised and jostled one another. It +was open-air promiscuity, all Rome gathered together in the smallest +possible space, the folks who knew one another and who met here as in a +friendly drawing-room, and the folks belonging to adverse parties who did +not speak together but who elbowed each other, and whose glances +penetrated to each other’s soul. Then a revelation came to Pierre, and he +suddenly understood the Corso, the ancient custom, the passion and glory +of the city. Its pleasure lay precisely in the very narrowness of the +street, in that forced elbowing which facilitated not only desired +meetings but the satisfaction of curiosity, the display of vanity, and +the garnering of endless tittle-tattle. All Roman society met here each +day, displayed itself, spied on itself, offering itself in spectacle to +its own eyes, with such an indispensable need of thus beholding itself +that the man of birth who missed the Corso was like one out of his +element, destitute of newspapers, living like a savage. And withal the +atmosphere was delightfully balmy, and the narrow strip of sky between +the heavy, rusty mansions displayed an infinite azure purity. + +Dario never ceased smiling, and slightly inclining his head while he +repeated to Pierre the names of princes and princesses, dukes and +duchesses--high-sounding names whose flourish had filled history, whose +sonorous syllables conjured up the shock of armour on the battlefield and +the splendour of papal pomp with robes of purple, tiaras of gold, and +sacred vestments sparkling with precious stones. And as Pierre listened +and looked he was pained to see merely some corpulent ladies or +undersized gentlemen, bloated or shrunken beings, whose ill-looks seemed +to be increased by their modern attire. However, a few pretty women went +by, particularly some young, silent girls with large, clear eyes. And +just as Dario had pointed out the Palazzo Buongiovanni, a huge +seventeenth-century façade, with windows encompassed by foliaged +ornamentation deplorably heavy in style, he added gaily: + +“Ah! look--that’s Attilio there on the footway. Young Lieutenant +Sacco--you know, don’t you?” + +Pierre signed that he understood. Standing there in uniform, Attilio, so +young, so energetic and brave of appearance, with a frank countenance +softly illumined by blue eyes like his mother’s, at once pleased the +priest. He seemed indeed the very personification of youth and love, with +all their enthusiastic, disinterested hope in the future. + +“You’ll see by and by, when we pass the palace again,” said Dario. “He’ll +still 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 Sacred +Heart, quitting it for the most part so ignorant and then completing +their education beside their mothers, never going out but to accompany +the latter on the obligatory drive to the Corso, and living through +endless days, cloistered, imprisoned in the depths of sombre mansions. +Nevertheless what tempests raged in those mute souls to which none had +ever penetrated! what stealthy growth of will suddenly appeared from +under passive obedience, apparent unconsciousness of surroundings! How +many there were who stubbornly set their minds on carving out their lives +for themselves, on choosing the man who might please them, and securing +him despite the opposition of the entire world! And the lover was chosen +there from among the stream of young men promenading the Corso, the lover +hooked with a glance during the daily drive, those candid eyes speaking +aloud and sufficing for confession and the gift of all, whilst not a +breath was wafted from the lips so chastely closed. And afterwards there +came love letters, furtively exchanged in church, and the winning-over of +maids to facilitate stolen meetings, at first so innocent. In the end, a +marriage often resulted. + +Celia, for her part, had determined to win Attilio on the very first day +when their eyes had met. And it was from a window of the Palazzo +Buongiovanni that she had perceived him one afternoon of mortal +weariness. He had just raised his head, and she had taken him for ever +and given herself to him with those large, pure eyes of hers as they +rested on his own. She was but an _amorosa_--nothing more; he pleased +her; she had set her heart on him--him and none other. She would have +waited twenty years for him, but she relied on winning him at once by +quiet stubbornness of will. People declared that the terrible fury of the +Prince, her father, had proved impotent against her respectful, obstinate +silence. He, man of mixed blood as he was, son of an American woman, and +husband of an English woman, laboured but to retain his own name and +fortune intact amidst the downfall of others; and it was rumoured that as +the result of a quarrel which he had picked with his wife, whom he +accused of not sufficiently watching over their daughter, the Princess +had revolted, full not only of the pride of a foreigner who had brought a +huge dowry in marriage, but also of such plain, frank egotism that she +had declared she no longer found time enough to attend to herself, let +alone another. Had she not already done enough in bearing him five +children? She thought so; and now she spent her time in worshipping +herself, letting Celia do as she listed, and taking no further interest +in 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 drawn +aside and Celia’s gentle face appear. Closed, candid lily, she did not +smile, she did not move. Nothing could be read on those pure lips, or in +those clear but fathomless eyes of hers. Yet she was taking Attilio to +herself, and giving herself to him without reserve. And soon the curtain +fell once more. + +“Ah, the little mask!” muttered Dario. “Can one ever tell what there is +behind 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, and +widely opened eyes. And the young priest was deeply touched, for this was +love, absolute love in its sudden omnipotence, true love, eternal and +juvenescent, in which ambition and calculation played no part. + +Then Dario ordered the coachman to drive up to the Pincio; for, before or +after the Corso, the round of the Pincio is obligatory on fine, clear +afternoons. First came the Piazza del Popolo, the most airy and regular +square of Rome, with its conjunction of thoroughfares, its churches and +fountains, its central obelisk, and its two clumps of trees facing one +another at either end of the small white paving-stones, betwixt the +severe and sun-gilt buildings. Then, turning to the right, the carriage +began to climb the inclined way to the Pincio--a magnificent winding +ascent, decorated with bas-reliefs, statues, and fountains--a kind of +apotheosis of marble, a commemoration of ancient Rome, rising amidst +greenery. Up above, however, Pierre found the garden small, little better +than a large square, with just the four necessary roadways to enable the +carriages to drive round and round as long as they pleased. An +uninterrupted line of busts of the great men of ancient and modern Italy +fringed these roadways. But what Pierre most admired was the trees--trees +of the most rare and varied kinds, chosen and tended with infinite care, +and nearly always evergreens, so that in winter and summer alike the spot +was adorned with lovely foliage of every imaginable shade of verdure. And +beside these trees, along the fine, breezy roadways, Dario’s victoria +began to turn, following the continuous, unwearying stream of the other +carriages. + +Pierre remarked one young woman of modest demeanour and attractive +simplicity who sat alone in a dark-blue victoria, drawn by a +well-groomed, elegantly harnessed horse. She was very pretty, short, with +chestnut hair, a creamy complexion, and large gentle eyes. Quietly robed +in dead-leaf silk, she wore a large hat, which alone looked somewhat +extravagant. And seeing that Dario was staring at her, the priest +inquired 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 freeness +and frankness which his race displays in such matters, Dario added some +particulars. La Tonietta’s origin was obscure; some said that she was the +daughter of an innkeeper of Tivoli, and others that of a Neapolitan +banker. At all events, she was very intelligent, had educated herself, +and knew thoroughly well how to receive and entertain people at the +little palazzo in the Via dei Mille, which had been given to her by old +Marquis Manfredi now deceased. She made no scandalous show, had but one +protector at a time, and the princesses and duchesses who paid attention +to her at the Corso every afternoon, considered her nice-looking. One +peculiarity had made her somewhat notorious. There was some one whom she +loved and from whom she never accepted aught but a bouquet of white +roses; and folks would smile indulgently when at times for weeks together +she was seen driving round the Pincio with those pure, white bridal +flowers on the carriage seat. + +Dario, however, suddenly paused in his explanations to address a +ceremonious bow to a lady who, accompanied by a gentleman, drove by in a +large 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 young +girl, 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 man +was, a certain Jules Laporte, an ex-sergeant of the papal Swiss Guard, an +ex-traveller in relics, compromised in an extraordinary “false relic” + fraud; and he was further aware that Laporte’s wife had made a +fine-looking Marquis Montefiori of him, the last of the fortunate +adventurers of romance, triumphing as in the legendary lands where +shepherds are wedded to queens. + +At the next turn, as the large landau again went by, Pierre looked at the +couple. The Marchioness was really wonderful, blooming with all the +classical Roman beauty, tall, opulent, and very dark, with the head of a +goddess and regular if somewhat massive features, nothing as yet +betraying her age except the down upon her upper lip. And the Marquis, +the Romanised Swiss of Geneva, really had a proud bearing, with his solid +soldierly figure and long wavy moustaches. People said that he was in no +wise a fool but, on the contrary, very gay and very supple, just the man +to please women. His wife so gloried in him that she dragged him about +and displayed him everywhere, having begun life afresh with him as if she +were still but twenty, spending on him the little fortune which she had +saved from the Villa Montefiori disaster, and so completely forgetting +her son that she only saw the latter now and again at the promenade and +acknowledged his bow like that of some chance acquaintance. + +“Let us go to see the sun set behind St. Peter’s,” all at once said +Dario, conscientiously playing his part as a showman of curiosities. + +The victoria thereupon returned to the terrace, where a military band was +now playing with a terrific blare of brass instruments. In order that +their occupants might hear the music, a large number of carriages had +already drawn up, and a growing crowd of loungers on foot had assembled +there. And from that beautiful terrace, so broad and lofty, one of the +most wonderful views of Rome was offered to the gaze. Beyond the Tiber, +beyond the pale chaos of the new district of the castle meadows,* and +between 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, a +rolling sea of edifices as far as the eye could reach. But one’s glances +always came back to St. Peter’s, towering into the azure with pure and +sovereign grandeur. And, seen from the terrace, the slow sunsets in the +depths of the vast sky behind the colossus were sublime. + + * See _ante_ note on castle meadows. + +Sometimes there are topplings of sanguineous clouds, battles of giants +hurling mountains at one another and succumbing beneath the monstrous +ruins of flaming cities. Sometimes only red streaks or fissures appear on +the surface of a sombre lake, as if a net of light has been flung to fish +the submerged orb from amidst the seaweed. Sometimes, too, there is a +rosy mist, a kind of delicate dust which falls, streaked with pearls by a +distant shower, whose curtain is drawn across the mystery of the horizon. +And sometimes there is a triumph, a _cortège_ of gold and purple chariots +of cloud rolling along a highway of fire, galleys floating upon an azure +sea, fantastic and extravagant pomps slowly sinking into the less and +less fathomable abyss of the twilight. + +But that night the sublime spectacle presented itself to Pierre with a +calm, blinding, desperate grandeur. At first, just above the dome of St. +Peter’s, the sun, descending in a spotless, deeply limpid sky, proved yet +so resplendent that one’s eyes could not face its brightness. And in this +resplendency the dome seemed to be incandescent, you would have said a +dome of liquid silver; whilst the surrounding districts, the house-roofs +of the Borgo, were as though changed into a lake of live embers. Then, as +the sun was by degrees inclined, it lost some of its blaze, and one could +look; and soon afterwards sinking with majestic slowness it disappeared +behind the dome, which showed forth darkly blue, while the orb, now +entirely hidden, set an aureola around it, a glory like a crown of +flaming rays. And then began the dream, the dazzling symbol, the singular +illumination of the row of windows beneath the cupola which were +transpierced 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 a +brazier, isolated, in the air, as though raised and upheld by the +violence of the fire. It all lasted barely three minutes. Down below the +jumbled roofs of the Borgo became steeped in violet vapour, sank into +increasing gloom, whilst from the Janiculum to Monte Mario the horizon +showed its firm black line. And it was the sky then which became all +purple and gold, displaying the infinite placidity of a supernatural +radiance above the earth which faded into nihility. Finally the last +window 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 again +saw rising before him the lofty, sad, declining figures of Cardinal +Boccanera and old Orlando. On the evening of that day when he had learnt +to know them, one after the other, both so great in the obstinacy of +their hope, they seemed to be there, erect on the horizon above their +annihilated city, on the fringe of the heavens which death apparently was +about to seize. Was everything then to crumble with them? was everything +to fade away and disappear in the falling night following upon +accomplished Time? + + + + +V. + +ON the following day Narcisse Habert came in great worry to tell Pierre +that Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo complained of being unwell, and asked for +a delay of two or three days before receiving the young priest and +considering the matter of his audience. Pierre was thus reduced to +inaction, for he dared not make any attempt elsewhere in view of seeing +the Pope. He had been so frightened by Nani and others that he feared he +might jeopardise everything by inconsiderate endeavours. And so he began +to visit Rome in order to occupy his leisure. + +His first visit was for the ruins of the Palatine. Going out alone one +clear morning at eight o’clock, he presented himself at the entrance in +the Via San Teodoro, an iron gateway flanked by the lodges of the +keepers. One of the latter at once offered his services, and though +Pierre would have preferred to roam at will, following the bent of his +dream, he somehow did not like to refuse the offer of this man, who spoke +French very distinctly, and smiled in a very good-natured way. He was a +squatly built little man, a former soldier, some sixty years of age, and +his square-cut, ruddy face was barred by thick white moustaches. + +“Then will you please follow me, Monsieur l’Abbé,” said he. “I can see +that you are French, Monsieur l’Abbé. I’m a Piedmontese myself, but I +know the French well enough; I was with them at Solferino. Yes, yes, +whatever people may say, one can’t forget old friendships. Here, this +way, please, to the right.” + +Raising his eyes, Pierre had just perceived the line of cypresses edging +the plateau of the Palatine on the side of the Tiber; and in the delicate +blue atmosphere the intense greenery of these trees showed like a black +fringe. They alone attracted the eye; the slope, of a dusty, dirty grey, +stretched out bare and devastated, dotted by a few bushes, among which +peeped fragments of ancient walls. All was instinct with the ravaged, +leprous sadness of a spot handed over to excavation, and where only men +of 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 an +excavation, a sort of grotto in the hillside, exclaimed: “This is the +Lupercal den where the wolf suckled Romulus and Remus. Just here at the +entry used to stand the Ruminal fig-tree which sheltered the twins.” + +Pierre could not restrain a smile, so convinced was the tone in which the +old soldier gave these explanations, proud as he was of all the ancient +glory, and wont to regard the wildest legends as indisputable facts. +However, when the worthy man pointed out some vestiges of Roma +Quadrata--remnants of walls which really seemed to date from the +foundation of the city--Pierre began to feel interested, and a first +touch of emotion made his heart beat. This emotion was certainly not due +to any beauty of scene, for he merely beheld a few courses of tufa +blocks, placed one upon the other and uncemented. But a past which had +been dead for seven and twenty centuries seemed to rise up before him, +and those crumbling, blackened blocks, the foundation of such a mighty +eclipse of power and splendour, acquired extraordinary majesty. + +Continuing their inspection, they went on, skirting the hillside. The +outbuildings of the palaces must have descended to this point; fragments +of porticoes, fallen beams, columns and friezes set up afresh, edged the +rugged path which wound through wild weeds, suggesting a neglected +cemetery; and the guide repeated the words which he had used day by day +for ten years past, continuing to enunciate suppositions as facts, and +giving a name, a destination, a history, to every one of the fragments. + +“The house of Augustus,” he said at last, pointing towards some masses of +earth 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 the +end of the last century. But it was entered from the other side, from the +Sacred Way. On this side there was a huge balcony which overlooked the +Circus Maximus so that one could view the sports. However, as you can +see, the greater part of the palace is still buried under that big garden +up above, the garden of the Villa Mills. When there’s money for fresh +excavations it will be found again, together with the temple of Apollo +and the shrine of Vesta which accompanied it.” + +Turning to the left, he next entered the Stadium, the arena erected for +foot-racing, which stretched beside the palace of Augustus; and the +priest’s interest was now once more awakened. It was not that he found +himself in presence of well-preserved and monumental remains, for not a +column had remained erect, and only the right-hand walls were still +standing. But the entire plan of the building had been traced, with the +goals at either end, the porticus round the course, and the colossal +imperial tribune which, after being on the left, annexed to the house of +Augustus, had afterwards opened on the right, fitting into the palace of +Septimius Severus. And while Pierre looked on all the scattered remnants, +his guide went on chattering, furnishing the most copious and precise +information, and declaring that the gentlemen who directed the +excavations had mentally reconstructed the Stadium in each and every +particular, and were even preparing a most exact plan of it, showing all +the columns in their proper order and the statues in their niches, and +even specifying the divers sorts of marble which had covered the walls. + +“Oh! the directors are quite at ease,” the old soldier eventually added +with an air of infinite satisfaction. “There will be nothing for the +Germans to pounce on here. They won’t be allowed to set things +topsy-turvy as they did at the Forum, where everybody’s at sea since they +came along with their wonderful science!” + +Pierre--a Frenchman--smiled, and his interest increased when, by broken +steps and wooden bridges thrown over gaps, he followed the guide into the +great ruins of the palace of Severus. Rising on the southern point of the +Palatine, this palace had overlooked the Appian Way and the Campagna as +far as the eye could reach. Nowadays, almost the only remains are the +substructures, the subterranean halls contrived under the arches of the +terraces, by which the plateau of the hill was enlarged; and yet these +dismantled substructures suffice to give some idea of the triumphant +palace which they once upheld, so huge and powerful have they remained in +their indestructible massiveness. Near by arose the famous Septizonium, +the tower with the seven tiers of arcades, which only finally disappeared +in the sixteenth century. One of the palace terraces yet juts out upon +cyclopean arches and from it the view is splendid. But all the rest is a +commingling of massive yet crumbling walls, gaping depths whose ceilings +have 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 bare +and mournful grandeur. However, flashes of living sunlight often gild the +ancient walls, penetrate by their breaches into the black halls, and +animate with their dazzlement the mute melancholy of all this dead +splendour now exhumed from the earth in which it slumbered for centuries. +Over the old ruddy masonry, stripped of its pompous marble covering, is +the purple mantle of the sunlight, draping the whole with imperial glory +once more. + +For more than two hours already Pierre had been walking on, and yet he +still had to visit all the earlier palaces on the north and east of the +plateau. “We must go back,” said the guide, “the gardens of the Villa +Mills and the convent of San Bonaventura stop the way. We shall only be +able to pass on this side when the excavations have made a clearance. Ah! +Monsieur l’Abbé, if you had walked over the Palatine merely some fifty +years ago! I’ve seen some plans of that time. There were only some +vineyards and little gardens with hedges then, a real campagna, where not +a soul was to be met. And to think that all these palaces were sleeping +underneath!” + +Pierre followed him, and after again passing the house of Augustus, they +ascended the slope and reached the vast Flavian palace,* still half +buried by the neighbouring villa, and composed of a great number of halls +large and small, on the nature of which scholars are still arguing. The +aula regia, or throne-room, the basilica, or hall of justice, the +triclinium, or dining-room, and the peristylium seem certainties; but for +all the rest, and especially the small chambers of the private part of +the structure, only more or less fanciful conjectures can be offered. +Moreover, not a wall is entire; merely foundations peep out of the +ground, mutilated bases describing the plan of the edifice. The only ruin +preserved, as if by miracle, is the house on a lower level which some +assert to have been that of Livia,* a house which seems very small beside +all the huge palaces, and where are three halls comparatively intact, +with mural paintings of mythological scenes, flowers, and fruits, still +wonderfully fresh. As for the palace of Tiberius, not one of its stones +can 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 of +Severus--buttresses, lofty arcades, which upheld the palace, vast +basements, so to say, where the praetorians were posted and gorged +themselves with continual junketings. And thus this lofty plateau +dominating the city merely offered some scarcely recognisable vestiges to +the view, stretches of grey, bare soil turned up by the pick, and dotted +with fragments of old walls; and it needed a real effort of scholarly +imagination to conjure up the ancient imperial splendour which once had +triumphed 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 his +explanations, pointing to empty space as though the edifices still rose +before him. “Here,” said he, “we are in the Area Palatina. Yonder, you +see, is the façade of Domitian’s palace, and there you have that of +Caligula’s palace, while on turning round the temple of Jupiter Stator is +in front of you. The Sacred Way came up as far as here, and passed under +the Porta Mugonia, one of the three gates of primitive Rome.” + +He paused and pointed to the northwest portion of the height. “You will +have noticed,” he resumed, “that the Caesars didn’t build yonder. And +that was evidently because they had to respect some very ancient +monuments dating from before the foundation of the city and greatly +venerated by the people. There stood the temple of Victory built by +Evander and his Arcadians, the Lupercal grotto which I showed you, and +the humble hut of Romulus constructed of reeds and clay. Oh! everything +has been found again, Monsieur l’Abbé; and, in spite of all that the +Germans say there isn’t the slightest doubt of it.” + +Then, quite abruptly, like a man suddenly remembering the most +interesting thing of all, he exclaimed: “Ah! to wind up we’ll just go to +see the subterranean gallery where Caligula was murdered.” + +Thereupon they descended into a long crypto-porticus, through the +breaches of which the sun now casts bright rays. Some ornaments of stucco +and fragments of mosaic-work are yet to be seen. Still the spot remains +mournful and desolate, well fitted for tragic horror. The old soldier’s +voice had become graver as he related how Caligula, on returning from the +Palatine games, had been minded to descend all alone into this gallery to +witness certain sacred dances which some youths from Asia were practising +there. And then it was that the gloom gave Cassius Chaereas, the chief of +the conspirators, an opportunity to deal him the first thrust in the +abdomen. Howling with pain, the emperor sought to flee; but the +assassins, his creatures, his dearest friends, rushed upon him, threw him +down, 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 murderers +fled. + +The classical visit to the Palatine was now over, and when Pierre came up +into the light again, he wished to rid himself of his guide and remain +alone in the pleasant, dreamy garden on the summit of the height. For +three hours he had been tramping about with the guide’s voice buzzing in +his ears. The worthy man was now talking of his friendship for France and +relating the battle of Magenta in great detail. He smiled as he took the +piece of silver which Pierre offered him, and then started on the battle +of Solferino. Indeed, it seemed impossible to stop him, when fortunately +a lady came up to ask for some information. And, thereupon, he went off +with her. “Good-evening, Monsieur l’Abbé,” he said; “you can go down by +way of Caligula’s palace.” + +Delightful was Pierre’s relief when he was at last able to rest for a +moment on one of the marble seats in the garden. There were but few +clumps of trees, cypresses, box-trees, palms, and some fine evergreen +oaks; but the latter, sheltering the seat, cast a dark shade of exquisite +freshness around. The charm of the spot was also largely due to its +dreamy solitude, to the low rustle which seemed to come from that ancient +soil saturated with resounding history. Here formerly had been the +pleasure grounds of the Villa Farnese which still exists though greatly +damaged, and the grace of the Renascence seems to linger here, its breath +passing caressingly through the shiny foliage of the old evergreen oaks. +You are, as it were, enveloped by the soul of the past, an ethereal +conglomeration of visions, and overhead is wafted the straying breath of +innumerable generations buried beneath the sod. + +After a time, however, Pierre could no longer remain seated, so powerful +was the attraction of Rome, scattered all around that august summit. So +he rose and approached the balustrade of a terrace; and beneath him +appeared the Forum, and beyond it the Capitoline hill. To the eye the +latter now only presented a commingling of grey buildings, lacking both +grandeur and beauty. On the summit one saw the rear of the Palace of the +Senator, flat, with little windows, and surmounted by a high, square +campanile. The large, bare, rusty-looking walls hid the church of Santa +Maria in Ara Coeli and the spot where the temple of Capitoline Jove had +formerly stood, radiant in all its royalty. On the left, some ugly houses +rose terrace-wise upon the slope of Monte Caprino, where goats were +pastured in the middle ages; while the few fine trees in the grounds of +the Caffarelli palace, the present German embassy, set some greenery +above the ancient Tarpeian rock now scarcely to be found, lost, hidden as +it is, by buttress walls. Yet this was the Mount of the Capitol, the most +glorious of the seven hills, with its citadel and its temple, the temple +to 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 precipice +on that of the Campus Martius--where the thunder of Jupiter fell, where +in the dimmest of the far-off ages the Asylum of Romulus rose with its +sacred oaks, a spot of infinite savage mystery. Here, later, were +preserved the public documents of Roman grandeur inscribed on tablets of +brass; hither climbed the heroes of the triumphs; and here the emperors +became gods, erect in statues of marble. And nowadays the eye inquires +wonderingly how so much history and so much glory can have had for their +scene so small a space, such a rugged, jumbled pile of paltry buildings, +a mole-hill, looking no bigger, no loftier than a hamlet perched between +two valleys. + +Then another surprise for Pierre was the Forum, starting from the Capitol +and stretching out below the Palatine: a narrow square, close pressed by +the neighbouring hills, a hollow where Rome in growing had been compelled +to rear edifice close to edifice till all stifled for lack of breathing +space. It was necessary to dig very deep--some fifty feet--to find the +venerable republican soil, and now all you see is a long, clean, livid +trench, cleared of ivy and bramble, where the fragments of paving, the +bases of columns, and the piles of foundations appear like bits of bone. +Level with the ground the Basilica Julia, entirely mapped out, looks like +an architect’s ground plan. On that side the arch of Septimius Severus +alone rears itself aloft, virtually intact, whilst of the temple of +Vespasian only a few isolated columns remain still standing, as if by +miracle, amidst the general downfall, soaring with a proud elegance, with +sovereign audacity of equilibrium, so slender and so gilded, into the +blue heavens. The column of Phocas is also erect; and you see some +portions of the Rostra fitted together out of fragments discovered near +by. But if the eye seeks a sensation of extraordinary vastness, it must +travel beyond the three columns of the temple of Castor and Pollux, +beyond the vestiges of the house of the Vestals, beyond the temple of +Faustina, in which the Christian Church of San Lorenzo has so composedly +installed itself, and even beyond the round temple of Romulus, to light +upon the Basilica of Constantine with its three colossal, gaping +archways. From the Palatine they look like porches built for a nation of +giants, so massive that a fallen fragment resembles some huge rock hurled +by a whirlwind from a mountain summit. And there, in that illustrious, +narrow, overflowing Forum the history of the greatest of nations held for +centuries, from the legendary time of the Sabine women, reconciling their +relatives and their ravishers, to that of the proclamation of public +liberty, so slowly wrung from the patricians by the plebeians. Was not +the Forum at once the market, the exchange, the tribunal, the open-air +hall of public meeting? The Gracchi there defended the cause of the +humble; Sylla there set up the lists of those whom he proscribed; Cicero +there spoke, and there, against the rostra, his bleeding head was hung. +Then, under the emperors, the old renown was dimmed, the centuries buried +the monuments and temples with such piles of dust that all that the +middle ages could do was to turn the spot into a cattle market! Respect +has come back once more, a respect which violates tombs, which is full of +feverish curiosity and science, which is dissatisfied with mere +hypotheses, which loses itself amidst this historical soil where +generations rise one above the other, and hesitates between the fifteen +or twenty restorations of the Forum that have been planned on paper, each +of them as plausible as the other. But to the mere passer-by, who is not +a professional scholar and has not recently re-perused the history of +Rome, the details have no significance. All he sees on this searched and +scoured 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 indented +by the chariot-wheels, thought of the triumphs, of the ascent of the +triumpher, so sorely shaken as his chariot jolted over that rough +pavement of glory. + +But the horizon expanded towards the southeast, and beyond the arches of +Titus and Constantine he perceived the Colosseum. Ah! that colossus, only +one-half or so of which has been destroyed by time as with the stroke of +a mighty scythe, it rises in its enormity and majesty like a stone +lace-work with hundreds of empty bays agape against the blue of heaven! +There is a world of halls, stairs, landings, and passages, a world where +one loses oneself amidst death-like silence and solitude. The furrowed +tiers of seats, eaten into by the atmosphere, are like shapeless steps +leading down into some old extinct crater, some natural circus excavated +by the force of the elements in indestructible rock. The hot suns of +eighteen hundred years have baked and scorched this ruin, which has +reverted to a state of nature, bare and golden-brown like a +mountain-side, since it has been stripped of its vegetation, the flora +which once made it like a virgin forest. And what an evocation when the +mind sets flesh and blood and life again on all that dead osseous +framework, fills the circus with the 90,000 spectators which it could +hold, marshals the games and the combats of the arena, gathers a whole +civilisation together, from the emperor and the dignitaries to the +surging plebeian sea, all aglow with the agitation and brilliancy of an +impassioned people, assembled under the ruddy reflection of the giant +purple velum. And then, yet further, on the horizon, were other cyclopean +ruins, the baths of Caracalla, standing there like relics of a race of +giants long since vanished from the world: halls extravagantly and +inexplicably spacious and lofty; vestibules large enough for an entire +population; a _frigidarium_ where five hundred people could swim +together; a _tepidarium_ and a _calidarium_* on the same proportions, +born of a wild craving for the huge; and then the terrific massiveness of +the structures, the thickness of the piles of brick-work, such as no +feudal castle ever knew; and, in addition, the general immensity which +makes passing visitors look like lost ants; such an extraordinary riot of +the great and the mighty that one wonders for what men, for what +multitudes, this monstrous edifice was reared. To-day, you would say a +mass of rocks in the rough, thrown from some height for building the +abode of Titans. + + * Tepidarium, warm bath; calidarium, vapour bath.--Trans. + +And as Pierre gazed, he became more and more immersed in the limitless +past which encompassed him. On all sides history rose up like a surging +sea. Those bluey plains on the north and west were ancient Etruria; those +jagged crests on the east were the Sabine Mountains; while southward, the +Alban Mountains and Latium spread out in the streaming gold of the +sunshine. Alba Longa was there, and so was Monte Cavo, with its crown of +old trees, and the convent which has taken the place of the ancient +temple of Jupiter. Then beyond the Forum, beyond the Capitol, the greater +part of Rome stretched out, whilst behind Pierre, on the margin of the +Tiber, 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 past +greatness. He remembered just enough of what he had been taught at school +to realise where he was; he knew just what every one knows of Rome with +no pretension to scholarship, and it was more particularly his artistic +temperament which awoke within him and gathered warmth from the flame of +memory. The present had disappeared, and the ocean of the past was still +rising, buoying him up, carrying him away. + +And then his mind involuntarily pictured a resurrection instinct with +life. The grey, dismal Palatine, razed like some accursed city, suddenly +became animated, peopled, crowned with palaces and temples. There had +been the cradle of the Eternal City, founded by Romulus on that summit +overlooking the Tiber. There assuredly the seven kings of its two and a +half centuries of monarchical rule had dwelt, enclosed within high, +strong walls, which had but three gateways. Then the five centuries of +republican sway spread out, the greatest, the most glorious of all the +centuries, those which brought the Italic peninsula and finally the known +world under Roman dominion. During those victorious years of social and +war-like struggle, Rome grew and peopled the seven hills, and the +Palatine became but a venerable cradle with legendary temples, and was +even gradually invaded by private residences. But at last Caesar, the +incarnation of the power of his race, after Gaul and after Pharsalia +triumphed in the name of the whole Roman people, having completed the +colossal task by which the five following centuries of imperialism were +to profit, with a pompous splendour and a rush of every appetite. And +then Augustus could ascend to power; glory had reached its climax; +millions of gold were waiting to be filched from the depths of the +provinces; and the imperial gala was to begin in the world’s capital, +before the eyes of the dazzled and subjected nations. Augustus had been +born on the Palatine, and after Actium had given him the empire, he set +his pride in reigning from the summit of that sacred mount, venerated by +the people. He bought up private houses and there built his palace with +luxurious splendour: an atrium upheld by four pilasters and eight +columns; a peristylium encompassed by fifty-six Ionic columns; private +apartments all around, and all in marble; a profusion of marble, brought +at great cost from foreign lands, and of the brightest hues, resplendent +like gems. And he lodged himself with the gods, building near his own +abode a large temple of Apollo and a shrine of Vesta in order to ensure +himself divine and eternal sovereignty. And then the seed of the imperial +palaces was sown; they were to spring up, grow and swarm, and cover the +entire 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 his +dreams! He had taken to himself every title, united every magistracy in +his person. Imperator and consul, he commanded the armies and exercised +executive power; pro-consul, he was supreme in the provinces; perpetual +censor and princeps, he reigned over the senate; tribune, he was the +master of the people. And, formerly called Octavius, he had caused +himself to be declared Augustus, sacred, god among men, having his +temples and his priests, worshipped in his lifetime like a divinity +deigning to visit the earth. And finally he had resolved to be supreme +pontiff, annexing religious to civil power, and thus by a stroke of +genius attaining to the most complete dominion to which man can climb. As +the supreme pontiff could not reside in a private house, he declared his +abode to be State property. As the supreme pontiff could not leave the +vicinity of the temple of Vesta, he built a temple to that goddess near +his own dwelling, leaving the guardianship of the ancient altar below the +Palatine to the Vestal virgins. He spared no effort, for he well realised +that human omnipotence, the mastery of mankind and the world, lay in that +reunion of sovereignty, in being both king and priest, emperor and pope. +All the sap of a mighty race, all the victories achieved, and all the +favours of fortune yet to be garnered, blossomed forth in Augustus, in a +unique splendour which was never again to shed such brilliant radiance. +He was really the master of the world, amidst the conquered and pacified +nations, encompassed by immortal glory in literature and in art. In him +would 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, at +last coruscated in the sunlight, in the purple of empire. And the blood +of Augustus, of the divine, triumphant, absolute sovereign of bodies and +souls, of the man in whom seven centuries of national pride had +culminated, was to descend through the ages, through an innumerable +posterity with a heritage of boundless pride and ambition. For it was +fatal: the blood of Augustus was bound to spring into life once more and +pulsate in the veins of all the successive masters of Rome, ever haunting +them with the dream of ruling the whole world. And later on, after the +decline and fall, when power had once more become divided between the +king and the priest, the popes--their hearts burning with the red, +devouring blood of their great forerunner--had no other passion, no other +policy, 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 where +his feet now rested, where the beautiful evergreen oaks sheltered him. He +pictured it with courts, porticoes, and halls, both substantial and +grand, despite the gloomy bent of the emperor who betook himself far from +Rome to live amongst informers and debauchees, with his heart and brain +poisoned 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 the +Forum to the Capitol, in order that the prince might go thither at his +ease to converse with Jove, whose son he claimed to be. And sovereignty +also rendered this one ferocious--a madman with omnipotence to do as he +listed! Then, after Claudius, Nero, not finding the Palatine large +enough, seized upon the delightful gardens climbing the Esquiline in +order to set up his Golden House, a dream of sumptuous immensity which he +could not complete and the ruins of which disappeared in the troubles +following the death of this monster whom pride demented. Next, in +eighteen months, Galba, Otho, and Vitellius fell one upon the other, in +mire and in blood, the purple converting them also into imbeciles and +monsters, gorged like unclean beasts at the trough of imperial enjoyment. +And afterwards came the Flavians, at first a respite, with commonsense +and human kindness: Vespasian; next Titus, who built but little on the +Palatine; but then Domitian, in whom the sombre madness of omnipotence +burst forth anew amidst a _régime_ of fear and spying, idiotic atrocities +and crimes, debauchery contrary to nature, and building enterprises born +of insane vanity instinct with a desire to outvie the temples of the +gods. The palace of Domitian, parted by a lane from that of Tiberius, +arose colossal-like--a palace of fairyland. There was the hall of +audience, with its throne of gold, its sixteen columns of Phrygian and +Numidian marble and its eight niches containing colossal statues; there +were the hall of justice, the vast dining-room, the peristylium, the +sleeping apartments, where granite, porphyry, and alabaster overflowed, +carved and decorated by the most famous artists, and lavished on all +sides in order to dazzle the world. And finally, many years later, a last +palace was added to all the others--that of Septimius Severus: again a +building of pride, with arches supporting lofty halls, terraced storeys, +towers o’er-topping the roofs, a perfect Babylonian pile, rising up at +the extreme point of the mount in view of the Appian Way, so that the +emperor’s compatriots--those from the province of Africa, where he was +born--might, on reaching the horizon, marvel at his fortune and worship +him in his glory. + +And now Pierre beheld all those palaces which he had conjured up around +him, resuscitated, resplendent in the full sunlight. They were as if +linked together, parted merely by the narrowest of passages. In order +that not an inch of that precious summit might be lost, they had sprouted +thickly like the monstrous florescence of strength, power, and unbridled +pride which satisfied itself at the cost of millions, bleeding the whole +world for the enjoyment of one man. And in truth there was but one palace +altogether, a palace enlarged as soon as one emperor died and was placed +among the deities, and another, shunning the consecrated pile where +possibly the shadow of death frightened him, experienced an imperious +need to build a house of his own and perpetuate in everlasting stone the +memory of his reign. All the emperors were seized with this building +craze; it was like a disease which the very throne seemed to carry from +one occupant to another with growing intensity, a consuming desire to +excel all predecessors by thicker and higher walls, by a more and more +wonderful profusion of marbles, columns, and statues. And among all these +princes there was the idea of a glorious survival, of leaving a testimony +of their greatness to dazzled and stupefied generations, of perpetuating +themselves by marvels which would not perish but for ever weigh heavily +upon the earth, when their own light ashes should long since have been +swept away by the winds. And thus the Palatine became but the venerable +base of a monstrous edifice, a thick vegetation of adjoining buildings, +each new pile being like a fresh eruption of feverish pride; while the +whole, now showing the snowy brightness of white marble and now the +glowing hues of coloured marble, ended by crowning Rome and the +world with the most extraordinary and most insolent abode of +sovereignty--whether palace, temple, basilica, or cathedral--that +omnipotence and dominion have ever reared under the heavens. + +But death lurked beneath this excess of strength and glory. Seven hundred +and thirty years of monarchy and republic had sufficed to make Rome +great; and in five centuries of imperial sway the people-king was to be +devoured down to its last muscles. There was the immensity of the +territory, the more distant provinces gradually pillaged and exhausted; +there was the fisc consuming everything, digging the pit of fatal +bankruptcy; and there was the degeneration of the people, poisoned by the +scenes of the circus and the arena, fallen to the sloth and debauchery of +their masters, the Caesars, while mercenaries fought the foe and tilled +the soil. Already at the time of Constantine, Rome had a rival, +Byzantium; disruption followed with Honorius; and then some ten emperors +sufficed for decomposition to be complete, for the bones of the dying +prey to be picked clean, the end coming with Romulus Augustulus, the +sorry creature whose name is, so to say, a mockery of the whole glorious +history, a buffet for both the founder of Rome and the founder of the +empire. + +The palaces, the colossal assemblage of walls, storeys, terraces, and +gaping roofs, still remained on the deserted Palatine; many ornaments and +statues, however, had already been removed to Byzantium. And the empire, +having become Christian, had afterwards closed the temples and +extinguished the fire of Vesta, whilst yet respecting the ancient +Palladium. But in the fifth century the barbarians rush upon Rome, sack +and burn it, and carry the spoils spared by the flames away in their +chariots. As long as the city was dependent on Byzantium a custodian of +the imperial palaces remained there watching over the Palatine. Then all +fades and crumbles in the night of the middle ages. It would really seem +that the popes then slowly took the place of the Caesars, succeeding them +both in their abandoned marble halls and their ever-subsisting passion +for domination. Some of them assuredly dwelt in the palace of Septimius +Severus; a council of the Church was held in the Septizonium; and, later +on, Gelasius II was elected in a neighbouring monastery on the sacred +mount. It was as if Augustus were again rising from the tomb, once more +master of the world, with a Sacred College of Cardinals resuscitating the +Roman Senate. In the twelfth century the Septizonium belonged to some +Benedictine monks, and was sold by them to the powerful Frangipani +family, who fortified it as they had already fortified the Colosseum and +the arches of Constantine and Titus, thus forming a vast fortress round +about the venerable cradle of the city. And the violent deeds of civil +war and the ravages of invasion swept by like whirlwinds, throwing down +the walls, razing the palaces and towers. And afterwards successive +generations invaded the ruins, installed themselves in them by right of +trover and conquest, turned them into cellars, store-places for forage, +and stables for mules. Kitchen gardens were formed, vines were planted on +the spots where fallen soil had covered the mosaics of the imperial +halls. All around nettles and brambles grew up, and ivy preyed on the +overturned porticoes, till there came a day when the colossal assemblage +of palaces and temples, which marble was to have rendered eternal, seemed +to dive beneath the dust, to disappear under the surging soil and +vegetation which impassive Nature threw over it. And then, in the hot +sunlight, among the wild flowerets, only big, buzzing flies remained, +whilst herds of goats strayed in freedom through the throne-room of +Domitian 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! He +wondered how entire palaces, yet peopled by admirable statuary, could +thus have been gradually buried without any one thinking of protecting +them. It was no sudden catastrophe which had swallowed up those +masterpieces, subsequently to be disinterred with exclamations of +admiring wonder; they had been drowned, as it were--caught progressively +by the legs, the waist, and the neck, till at last the head had sunk +beneath the rising tide. And how could one explain that generations had +heedlessly witnessed such things without thought of putting forth a +helping hand? It would seem as if, at a given moment, a black curtain +were suddenly drawn across the world, as if mankind began afresh, with a +new and empty brain which needed moulding and furnishing. Rome had become +depopulated; men ceased to repair the ruins left by fire and sword; the +edifices which by their very immensity had become useless were utterly +neglected, allowed to crumble and fall. And then, too, the new religion +everywhere hunted down the old one, stole its temples, overturned its +gods. Earthly deposits probably completed the disaster--there were, it is +said, both earthquakes and inundations--and the soil was ever rising, the +alluvia of the young Christian world buried the ancient pagan society. +And after the pillaging of the temples, the theft of the bronze roofs and +marble columns, the climax came with the filching of the stones torn from +the Colosseum and the Theatre of Marcellus, with the pounding of the +statuary and sculpture-work, thrown into kilns to procure the lime needed +for the new monuments of Catholic Rome. + +It was nearly one o’clock, and Pierre awoke as from a dream. The sun-rays +were streaming in a golden rain between the shiny leaves of the +ever-green oaks above him, and down below Rome lay dozing, overcome by +the great heat. Then he made up his mind to leave the garden, and went +stumbling over the rough pavement of the Clivus Victoriae, his mind still +haunted by blinding visions. To complete his day, he had resolved to +visit the old Appian Way during the afternoon, and, unwilling to return +to 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 the +Campagna in a long straight line with rows of proud tombs on either +hand--to Pierre it seemed like a triumphant prolongation of the Palatine. +He there found the same passion for splendour and domination, the same +craving to eternise the memory of Roman greatness in marble and daylight. +Oblivion was vanquished; the dead refused to rest, and remained for ever +erect among the living, on either side of that road which was traversed +by multitudes from the entire world. The deified images of those who were +now but dust still gazed on the passers-by with empty eyes; the +inscriptions still spoke, proclaiming names and titles. In former times +the rows of sepulchres must have extended without interruption along all +the straight, level miles between the tomb of Cæcilia Metella and that +of Casale Rotondo, forming an elongated cemetery where the powerful and +wealthy competed as to who should leave the most colossal and lavishly +decorated mausoleum: such, indeed, was the craving for survival, the +passion for pompous immortality, the desire to deify death by lodging it +in temples; whereof the present-day monumental splendour of the Genoese +Campo Santo and the Roman Campo Verano is, so to say, a remote +inheritance. And what a vision it was to picture all the tremendous tombs +on the right and left of the glorious pavement which the legions trod on +their return from the conquest of the world! That tomb of Cæcilia +Metella, with its bond-stones so huge, its walls so thick that the middle +ages transformed it into the battlemented keep of a fortress! And then +all the tombs which follow, the modern structures erected in order that +the marble fragments discovered might be set in place, the old blocks of +brick and concrete, despoiled of their sculptured-work and rising up like +seared rocks, yet still suggesting their original shapes as shrines, +_cippi_, and _sarcophagi_. There is a wondrous succession of high reliefs +figuring the dead in groups of three and five; statues in which the dead +live deified, erect; seats contrived in niches in order that wayfarers +may rest and bless the hospitality of the dead; laudatory epitaphs +celebrating the dead, both the known and the unknown, the children of +Sextius Pompeius Justus, the departed Marcus Servilius Quartus, Hilarius +Fuscus, Rabirius Hermodorus; without counting the sepulchres venturously +ascribed to Seneca and the Horatii and Curiatii. And finally there is the +most extraordinary and gigantic of all the tombs, that known as Casale +Rotondo, which is so large that it has been possible to establish a +farmhouse and an olive garden on its substructures, which formerly upheld +a 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 Cæcilia Metella, +continued his excursion on foot, going slowly towards Casale Rotondo. In +many places the old pavement appears--large blocks of basaltic lava, worn +into deep ruts that jolt the best-hung vehicles. Among the ruined tombs +on either hand run bands of grass, the neglected grass of cemeteries, +scorched by the summer suns and sprinkled with big violet thistles and +tall sulphur-wort. Parapets of dry stones, breast high, enclose the +russet roadsides, which resound with the crepitation of grasshoppers; +and, beyond, the Campagna stretches, vast and bare, as far as the eye can +see. A parasol pine, a eucalyptus, some olive or fig trees, white with +dust, alone rise up near the road at infrequent intervals. On the left +the ruddy arches of the Acqua Claudia show vigorously in the meadows, and +stretches of poorly cultivated land, vineyards, and little farms, extend +to the blue and lilac Sabine and Alban hills, where Frascati, Rocca di +Papa, and Albano set bright spots, which grow and whiten as one gets +nearer to them. Then, on the right, towards the sea, the houseless, +treeless plain grows and spreads with vast, broad ripples, extraordinary +ocean-like simplicity and grandeur, a long, straight line alone parting +it from the sky. At the height of summer all burns and flares on this +limitless prairie, then of a ruddy gold; but in September a green tinge +begins to suffuse the ocean of herbage, which dies away in the pink and +mauve 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 the +Palatine again confronted his mind’s eye. On either hand the tombs once +more rose up intact, with marble of dazzling whiteness. Had not the head +of 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 the +entire colossal statue standing again between the huge, crouching beasts. +Farther on a beautiful headless statue of a woman had been discovered in +the cella of a sepulchre, and he beheld it, again whole, with features +expressive of grace and strength smiling upon life. The inscriptions also +became perfect; he could read and understand them at a glance, as if +living 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 great +communities. It was a return of the times of the Flavians or the +Antonines, the palmy years of the empire, when the pomp of the Appian +Way, with its grand sepulchres, carved and adorned like temples, attained +its apogee. What a monumental Street of Death, what an approach to Rome, +that highway, straight as an arrow, where with the extraordinary pomp of +their pride, which had survived their dust, the great dead greeted the +traveller, ushered him into the presence of the living! He may well have +wondered among what sovereign people, what masters of the world, he was +about to find himself--a nation which had committed to its dead the duty +of telling strangers that it allowed nothing whatever to perish--that its +dead, like its city, remained eternal and glorious in monuments of +extraordinary 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, bordered +with the marble of its funereal palaces, Pierre, turning round, +distinctly beheld the Palatine, with the marble of its imperial +palaces--the huge assemblage of palaces whose omnipotence had dominated +the world! + +But suddenly he started: two carabiniers had just appeared among the +ruins. The spot was not safe; the authorities watched over tourists even +in broad daylight. And later on came another meeting which caused him +some emotion. He perceived an ecclesiastic, a tall old man, in a black +cassock, edged and girt with red; and was surprised to recognise Cardinal +Boccanera, who had quitted the roadway, and was slowly strolling along +the band of grass, among the tall thistles and sulphur-wort. With his +head lowered and his feet brushing against the fragments of the tombs, +the Cardinal did not even see Pierre. The young priest courteously turned +aside, surprised to find him so far from home and alone. Then, on +perceiving a heavy coach, drawn by two black horses, behind a building, +he understood matters. A footman in black livery was waiting motionless +beside the carriage, and the coachman had not quitted his box. And Pierre +remembered that the Cardinals were not expected to walk in Rome, so that +they were compelled to drive into the country when they desired to take +exercise. But what haughty sadness, what solitary and, so to say, +ostracised grandeur there was about that tall, thoughtful old man, thus +forced to seek the desert, and wander among the tombs, in order to +breathe a little of the evening air! + +Pierre had lingered there for long hours; the twilight was coming on, and +once again he witnessed a lovely sunset. On his left the Campagna became +blurred, and assumed a slaty hue, against which the yellowish arcades of +the aqueduct showed very plainly, while the Alban hills, far away, faded +into pink. Then, on the right, towards the sea, the planet sank among a +number of cloudlets, figuring an archipelago of gold in an ocean of dying +embers. And excepting the sapphire sky, studded with rubies, above the +endless line of the Campagna, which was likewise changed into a sparkling +lake, 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, and +looking, as it were, enlarged as it stood out against the last purple +flush of the sunset. + +Early on the following morning Pierre, eager to see everything, returned +to the Appian Way in order to visit the catacomb of St. Calixtus, the +most extensive and remarkable of the old Christian cemeteries, and one, +too, where several of the early popes were buried. You ascend through a +scorched garden, past olives and cypresses, reach a shanty of boards and +plaster in which a little trade in “articles of piety” is carried on, and +there a modern and fairly easy flight of steps enables you to descend. +Pierre fortunately found there some French Trappists, who guard these +catacombs and show them to strangers. One brother was on the point of +going down with two French ladies, the mother and daughter, the former +still 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 of +an obstinate believer and pale eyes bespeaking an ingenuous soul. + +“Ah! Monsieur l’Abbé,” he said to Pierre, “you’ve come just in time. If +the ladies are willing, you had better come with us; for three Brothers +are 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 the +priest. In all probability neither mother nor daughter was devout, for +both glanced askance at their new companion’s cassock, and suddenly +became serious. Then they all went down and found themselves in a narrow +subterranean corridor. “Take care, mesdames,” repeated the Trappist, +lighting the ground with his candle. “Walk slowly, for there are +projections and slopes.” + +Then, in a shrill voice full of extraordinary conviction, he began his +explanations. Pierre had descended in silence, his heart beating with +emotion. Ah! how many times, indeed, in his innocent seminary days, had +he not dreamt of those catacombs of the early Christians, those asylums +of the primitive faith! Even recently, while writing his book, he had +often thought of them as of the most ancient and venerable remains of +that community of the lowly and simple, for the return of which he +called. But his brain was full of pages written by poets and great prose +writers. He had beheld the catacombs through the magnifying glass of +those imaginative authors, and had believed them to be vast, similar to +subterranean cities, with broad highways and spacious halls, fit for the +accommodation of vast crowds. And now how poor and humble the reality! + +“Well, yes,” said the Trappist in reply to the ladies’ questions, “the +corridor is scarcely more than a yard in width; two persons could not +pass along side by side. How they dug it? Oh! it was simple enough. A +family or a burial association needed a place of sepulchre. Well, a first +gallery was excavated with pickaxes in soil of this description--granular +tufa, as it is called--a reddish substance, as you can see, both soft and +yet 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 the +remains of the buried in a wonderful way.” He paused and brought the +flamelet of his candle near to the compartments excavated on either hand +of the passage. “Look,” he continued, “these are the _loculi_. Well, a +subterranean gallery was dug, and on both sides these compartments were +hollowed out, one above the other. The bodies of the dead were laid in +them, for the most part simply wrapped in shrouds. Then the aperture was +closed with tiles or marble slabs, carefully cemented. So, as you can +see, everything explains itself. If other families joined the first one, +or the burial association became more numerous, fresh galleries were +added to those already filled. Passages were excavated on either hand, in +every sense; and, indeed, a second and lower storey, at times even a +third, was dug out. And here, you see, we are in a gallery which is +certainly thirteen feet high. Now, you may wonder how they raised the +bodies to place them in the compartments of the top tier. Well, they did +not raise them to any such height; in all their work they kept on going +lower and lower, removing more and more of the soil as the compartments +became filled. And in this wise, in these catacombs of St. Calixtus, in +less than four centuries, the Christians excavated more than ten miles of +galleries, in which more than a million of their dead must have been laid +to rest. Now, there are dozens of catacombs; the environs of Rome are +honeycombed with them. Think of that, and perhaps you will be able to +form some idea of the vast number of people who were buried in this +manner.” + +Pierre listened, feeling greatly impressed. He had once visited a coal +pit in Belgium, and he here found the same narrow passages, the same +heavy, 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 of +this funereal, termite-like labour--these chance burrowings continued +according to requirements, without art, method, or symmetry. The rugged +soil was ever ascending and descending, the sides of the gallery snaked: +neither plumb-line nor square had been used. All this, indeed, had simply +been a work of charity and necessity, wrought by simple, willing +grave-diggers, illiterate craftsmen, with the clumsy handiwork of the +decline and fall. Proof thereof was furnished by the inscriptions and +emblems on the marble slabs. They reminded one of the childish drawings +which street urchins scrawl upon blank walls. + +“You see,” the Trappist continued, “most frequently there is merely a +name; and sometimes there is no name, but simply the words _In Pace_. At +other times there is an emblem, the dove of purity, the palm of +martyrdom, or else the fish whose name in Greek is composed of five +letters which, as initials, signify: ‘Jesus Christ, Son of God, +Saviour.’” + +He again brought his candle near to the marble slabs, and the palm could +be distinguished: a central stroke, whence started a few oblique lines; +and then came the dove or the fish, roughly outlined, a zigzag indicating +a tail, two bars representing the bird’s feet, while a round point +simulated an eye. And the letters of the short inscriptions were all +askew, of various sizes, often quite misshapen, as in the coarse +handwriting of the ignorant and simple. + +However, they reached a crypt, a sort of little hall, where the graves of +several popes had been found; among others that of Sixtus II, a holy +martyr, in whose honour there was a superbly engraved metrical +inscription set up by Pope Damasus. Then, in another hall, a family vault +of much the same size, decorated at a later stage, with naive mural +paintings, the spot where St. Cecilia’s body had been discovered was +shown. And the explanations continued. The Trappist dilated on the +paintings, 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 water +from the rock, and Christ--shown beardless, as was the practice in the +early ages--accomplishing His various miracles. + +“You see,” repeated the Trappist, “all those things are shown there; and +remember that none of the paintings was specially prepared: they are +absolutely authentic.” + +At a question from Pierre, whose astonishment was increasing, he admitted +that the catacombs had been mere cemeteries at the outset, when no +religious ceremonies had been celebrated in them. It was only later, in +the fourth century, when the martyrs were honoured, that the crypts were +utilised for worship. And in the same way they only became places of +refuge during the persecutions, when the Christians had to conceal the +entrances to them. Previously they had remained freely and legally open. +This was indeed their true history: cemeteries four centuries old +becoming places of asylum, ravaged at times during the persecutions; +afterwards held in veneration till the eighth century; then despoiled of +their holy relics, and subsequently blocked up and forgotten, so that +they remained buried during more than seven hundred years, people +thinking of them so little that at the time of the first searches in the +fifteenth century they were considered an extraordinary discovery--an +intricate historical problem--one, moreover, which only our own age has +solved. + +“Please stoop, mesdames,” resumed the Trappist. “In this compartment here +is a skeleton which has not been touched. It has been lying here for +sixteen or seventeen hundred years, and will show you how the bodies were +laid out. Savants say that it is the skeleton of a female, probably a +young girl. It was still quite perfect last spring; but the skull, as you +can see, is now split open. An American broke it with his walking stick +to make sure that it was genuine.” + +The ladies leaned forward, and the flickering light illumined their pale +faces, expressive of mingled fright and compassion. Especially noticeable +was the pitiful, pain-fraught look which appeared on the countenance of +the 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 and +went their way through the heavy darkness of the galleries. The visit +lasted another hour, for the Trappist did not spare a detail, fond as he +was of certain nooks and corners, and as zealous as if he desired to work +the redemption of his visitors. + +While Pierre followed the others, a complete evolution took place within +him. As he looked about him, and formed a more and more complete idea of +his surroundings, his first stupefaction at finding the reality so +different from the embellished accounts of story-tellers and poets, his +disillusion at being plunged into such rudely excavated mole-burrows, +gave way to fraternal emotion. It was not that he thought of the fifteen +hundred martyrs whose sacred bones had rested there. But how humble, +resigned, yet full of hope had been those who had chosen such a place of +sepulchre! Those low, darksome galleries were but temporary +sleeping-places for the Christians. If they did not burn the bodies of +their dead, as the Pagans did, it was because, like the Jews, they +believed in the resurrection of the body; and it was that lovely idea of +sleep, of tranquil rest after a just life, whilst awaiting the celestial +reward, which imparted such intense peacefulness, such infinite charm, to +the black, subterranean city. Everything there spoke of calm and silent +night; everything there slumbered in rapturous quiescence, patient until +the far-off awakening. What could be more touching than those terra-cotta +tiles, those marble slabs, which bore not even a name--nothing but the +words _In Pace_--at peace. Ah! to be at peace--life’s work at last +accomplished; to sleep in peace, to hope in peace for the advent of +heaven! And the peacefulness seemed the more delightful as it was enjoyed +in such deep humility. Doubtless the diggers worked chance-wise and +clumsily; the craftsmen no longer knew how to engrave a name or carve a +palm or a dove. Art had vanished; but all the feebleness and ignorance +were instinct with the youth of a new humanity. Poor and lowly and meek +ones swarmed there, reposing beneath the soil, whilst up above the sun +continued its everlasting task. You found there charity and fraternity +and death; husband and wife often lying together with their offspring at +their feet; the great mass of the unknown submerging the personage, the +bishop, or the martyr; the most touching equality--that springing from +modesty--prevailing amidst all that dust, with compartments ever similar +and slabs destitute of ornament, so that rows and rows of the sleepers +mingled without distinctive sign. The inscriptions seldom ventured on a +word of praise, and then how prudent, how delicate it was: the men were +very worthy, very pious: the women very gentle, very beautiful, very +chaste. A perfume of infancy arose, unlimited human affection spread: +this was death as understood by the primitive Christians--death which hid +itself to await the resurrection, and dreamt no more of the empire of the +world! + +And all at once before Pierre’s eyes arose a vision of the sumptuous +tombs of the Appian Way, displaying the domineering pride of a whole +civilisation in the sunlight--tombs of vast dimensions, with a profusion +of marbles, grandiloquent inscriptions, and masterpieces of +sculptured-work. Ah! what an extraordinary contrast between that pompous +avenue of death, conducting, like a highway of triumph, to the regal +Eternal City, when compared with the subterranean necropolis of the +Christians, that city of hidden death, so gentle, so beautiful, and so +chaste! Here only quiet slumber, desired and accepted night, resignation +and patience were to be found. Millions of human beings had here laid +themselves to rest in all humility, had slept for centuries, and would +still be sleeping here, lulled by the silence and the gloom, if the +living had not intruded on their desire to remain in oblivion so long as +the trumpets of the Judgment Day did not awaken them. Death had then +spoken of Life: nowhere had there been more intimate and touching life +than in these buried cities of the unknown, lowly dead. And a mighty +breath had formerly come from them--the breath of a new humanity destined +to renew the world. With the advent of meekness, contempt for the flesh, +terror and hatred of nature, relinquishment of terrestrial joys, and a +passion for death, which delivers and opens the portals of Paradise, +another world had begun. And the blood of Augustus, so proud of purpling +in the sunlight, so fired by the passion for sovereign dominion, seemed +for a moment to disappear, as if, indeed, the new world had sucked it up +in the depths of its gloomy sepulchres. + +However, the Trappist insisted on showing the ladies the steps of +Diocletian, and began to tell them the legend. “Yes,” said he, “it was a +miracle. One day, under that emperor, some soldiers were pursuing several +Christians, who took refuge in these catacombs; and when the soldiers +followed them inside the steps suddenly gave way, and all the persecutors +were hurled to the bottom. The steps remain broken to this day. Come and +see them; they are close by.” + +But the ladies were quite overcome, so affected by their prolonged +sojourn in the gloom and by the tales of death which the Trappist had +poured into their ears that they insisted on going up again. Moreover, +the candles were coming to an end. They were all dazzled when they found +themselves once more in the sunlight, outside the little hut where +articles of piety and souvenirs were sold. The girl bought a paper +weight, 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. He +had as yet only driven across the superb piazza with its obelisk and twin +fountains, encircled by Bernini’s colonnades, those four rows of columns +and pilasters which form a girdle of monumental majesty. At the far end +rises the basilica, its façade making it look smaller and heavier than it +really is, but its sovereign dome nevertheless filling the heavens. + +Pebbled, deserted inclines stretched out, and steps followed steps, worn +and white, under the burning sun; but at last Pierre reached the door and +went in. It was three o’clock. Broad sheets of light streamed in through +the high square windows, and some ceremony--the vesper service, no +doubt--was beginning in the Capella Clementina on the left. Pierre, +however, heard nothing; he was simply struck by the immensity of the +edifice, as with raised eyes he slowly walked along. At the entrance came +the giant basins for holy water with their boy-angels as chubby as +Cupids; then the nave, vaulted and decorated with sunken coffers; then +the four cyclopean buttress-piers upholding the dome, and then again the +transepts and apsis, each as large as one of our churches. And the proud +pomp, the dazzling, crushing splendour of everything, also astonished +him: he marvelled at the cupola, looking like a planet, resplendent with +the gold and bright colours of its mosaic-work, at the sumptuous +_baldacchino_ of bronze, crowning the high altar raised above the very +tomb of St. Peter, and whence descend the double steps of the Confession, +illumined by seven and eighty lamps, which are always kept burning. And +finally he was lost in astonishment at the extraordinary profusion of +marble, both white and coloured. Oh! those polychromatic marbles, +Bernini’s luxurious passion! The splendid pavement reflecting the entire +edifice, the facings of the pilasters with their medallions of popes, the +tiara and the keys borne aloft by chubby angels, the walls covered with +emblems, particularly the dove of Innocent X, the niches with their +colossal statues uncouth in taste, the _loggie_ and their balconies, the +balustrade and double steps of the Confession, the rich altars and yet +richer tombs--all, nave, aisles, transepts, and apsis, were in marble, +resplendent with the wealth of marble; not a nook small as the palm of +one’s hand appearing but it showed the insolent opulence of marble. And +the basilica triumphed, beyond discussion, recognised and admired by +every one as the largest and most splendid church in the whole world--the +personification of hugeness and magnificence combined. + +Pierre still wandered on, gazing, overcome, as yet not distinguishing +details. He paused for a moment before the bronze statue of St. Peter, +seated in a stiff, hierarchical attitude on a marble pedestal. A few of +the faithful were there kissing the large toe of the Saint’s right foot. +Some of them carefully wiped it before applying their lips; others, with +no thought of cleanliness, kissed it, pressed their foreheads to it, and +then kissed it again. Next, Pierre turned into the transept on the left, +where stand the confessionals. Priests are ever stationed there, ready to +confess penitents in every language. Others wait, holding long staves, +with which they lightly tap the heads of kneeling sinners, who thereby +obtain thirty days’ indulgence. However, there were few people present, +and inside the small wooden boxes the priests occupied their leisure time +in reading and writing, as if they were at home. Then Pierre again found +himself before the Confession, and gazed with interest at the eighty +lamps, scintillating like stars. The high altar, at which the Pope alone +can officiate, seemed wrapped in the haughty melancholy of solitude under +its gigantic, flowery _baldacchino_, the casting and gilding of which +cost two and twenty thousand pounds. But suddenly Pierre remembered the +ceremony in the Capella Clementina, and felt astonished, for he could +hear nothing of it. As he drew near a faint breath, like the far-away +piping of a flute, was wafted to him. Then the volume of sound slowly +increased, but it was only on reaching the chapel that he recognised an +organ peal. The sunlight here filtered through red curtains drawn before +the windows, and thus the chapel glowed like a furnace whilst resounding +with the grave music. But in that huge pile all became so slight, so +weak, that at sixty paces neither voice nor organ could be distinguished. + +On entering the basilica Pierre had fancied that it was quite empty and +lifeless. There were, however, some people there, but so few and far +between that their presence was not noticed. A few tourists wandered +about wearily, guide-book in hand. In the grand nave a painter with his +easel was taking a view, as in a public gallery. Then a French seminary +went by, conducted by a prelate who named and explained the tombs. But in +all that space these fifty or a hundred people looked merely like a few +black ants who had lost themselves and were vainly seeking their way. And +Pierre pictured himself in some gigantic gala hall or tremendous +vestibule in an immeasurable palace of reception. The broad sheets of +sunlight streaming through the lofty square windows of plain white glass +illumined the church with blending radiance. There was not a single stool +or chair: nothing but the superb, bare pavement, such as you might find +in a museum, shining mirror-like under the dancing shower of sunrays. Nor +was there a single corner for solitary reflection, a nook of gloom and +mystery, where one might kneel and pray. In lieu thereof the sumptuous, +sovereign dazzlement of broad daylight prevailed upon every side. And, on +thus suddenly finding himself in this deserted opera-house, all aglow +with flaring gold and purple, Pierre could but remember the quivering +gloom of the Gothic cathedrals of France, where dim crowds sob and +supplicate amidst a forest of pillars. In presence of all this ceremonial +majesty--this huge, empty pomp, which was all Body--he recalled with a +pang the emaciate architecture and statuary of the middle ages, which +were all Soul. He vainly sought for some poor, kneeling woman, some +creature swayed by faith or suffering, yielding in a modest half-light to +thoughts of the unknown, and with closed lips holding communion with the +invisible. These he found not: there was but the weary wandering of the +tourists, and the bustle of the prelates conducting the young priests to +the obligatory stations; while the vesper service continued in the +left-hand chapel, nought of it reaching the ears of the visitors save, +perhaps, a confused vibration, as of the peal of a bell penetrating from +outside through the vaults above. + +And Pierre then understood that this was the splendid skeleton of a +colossus whence life was departing. To fill it, to animate it with a +soul, all the gorgeous display of great religious ceremonies was needed; +the eighty thousand worshippers which it could hold, the great pontifical +pomps, the festivals of Christmas and Easter, the processions and +_cortèges_ displaying all the luxury of the Church amidst operatic +scenery and appointments. And he tried to conjure up a picture of the +past magnificence--the basilica overflowing with an idolatrous multitude, +and the superhuman _cortège_ passing along whilst every head was lowered; +the cross and the sword opening the march, the cardinals going two by +two, like twin divinities, in their rochets of lace and their mantles and +robes 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 white +velvet, with cope of gold, stole of gold, and tiara of gold. The bearers +of the _Sedia gestatoria_* shone bravely in red tunics broidered with +gold. Above the one and only Sovereign Pontiff of the world the +_flabelli_ waved those huge fans of feathers which formerly were waved +before the idols of pagan Rome. And around the seat of triumph what a +dazzling, glorious court there was! The whole pontifical family, the +stream of assistant prelates, the patriarchs, the archbishops, and the +bishops, with vestments and mitres of gold, the _Camerieri segreti +partecipanti_ in violet silk, the _Camerieri partecipanti_ of the cape +and the sword in black velvet Renascence costumes, with ruffs and golden +chains, the whole innumerable ecclesiastical and laical suite, which not +even a hundred pages of the “Gerarchia” can completely enumerate, the +prothonotaries, the chaplains, the prelates of every class and degree, +without mentioning the military household, the gendarmes with their +busbies, the Palatine Guards in blue trousers and black tunics, the Swiss +Guards costumed in red, yellow, and black, with breastplates of silver, +suggesting the men at arms of some drama of the Romantic school, and the +Noble Guards, superb in their high boots, white pigskins, red tunics, +gold lace, epaulets, and helmets! However, since Rome had become the +capital of Italy the doors were no longer thrown wide open; on the rare +occasions when the Pope yet came down to officiate, to show himself as +the supreme representative of the Divinity on earth, the basilica was +filled with chosen ones. To enter it you needed a card of invitation. You +no longer saw the people--a throng of fifty, even eighty, thousand +Christians--flocking to the Church and swarming within it promiscuously; +there was but a select gathering, a congregation of friends convened as +for a private function. Even when, by dint of effort, thousands were +collected together there, they formed but a picked audience invited to +the 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 if +gorgeous museum, the feeling grew upon him that he was in some pagan +temple raised to the deity of Light and Pomp. The larger temples of +ancient Rome were certainly similar piles, upheld by the same precious +columns, with walls covered with the same polychromatic marbles and +vaulted ceilings having the same gilded panels. And his feeling was +destined to become yet more acute after his visits to the other +basilicas, which could but reveal the truth to him. First one found the +Christian Church quietly, audaciously quartering itself in a pagan +church, as, for instance, San Lorenzo in Miranda installed in the temple +of Antoninus and Faustina, and retaining the latter’s rare porticus in +_cipollino_ marble and its handsome white marble entablature. Then there +was the Christian Church springing from the ruins of the destroyed pagan +edifice, as, for example, San Clemente, beneath which centuries of +contrary beliefs are stratified: a very ancient edifice of the time of +the kings or the republic, then another of the days of the empire +identified as a temple of Mithras, and next a basilica of the primitive +faith. Then, too, there was the Christian Church, typified by that of +Saint Agnes-beyond-the-walls which had been built on exactly the same +pattern as the Roman secular basilica--that Tribunal and Exchange which +accompanied every Forum. And, in particular, there was the Christian +Church erected with material stolen from the demolished pagan temples. To +this testified the sixteen superb columns of that same Saint Agnes, +columns of various marbles filched from various gods; the one and twenty +columns of Santa Maria in Trastevere, columns of all sorts of orders torn +from a temple of Isis and Serapis, who even now are represented on their +capitals; also the six and thirty white marble Ionic columns of Santa +Maria Maggiore derived from the temple of Juno Lucina; and the two and +twenty columns of Santa Maria in Ara Coeli, these varying in substance, +size, and workmanship, and certain of them said to have been stolen from +Jove himself, from the famous temple of Jupiter Capitolinus which rose +upon the sacred summit. In addition, the temples of the opulent Imperial +period seemed to resuscitate in our times at San Giovanni in Laterano and +San Paolo-fuori-le-mura. Was not that Basilica of San Giovanni--“the +Mother and Head of all the churches of the city and the earth”--like the +abode of honour of some pagan divinity whose splendid kingdom was of this +world? It boasted five naves, parted by four rows of columns; it was a +profusion of bas-reliefs, friezes, and entablatures, and its twelve +colossal statues of the Apostles looked like subordinate deities lining +the approach to the master of the gods! And did not San Paolo, lately +completed, its new marbles shimmering like mirrors, recall the abode of +the Olympian immortals, typical temple as it was with its majestic +colonnade, its flat, gilt-panelled ceiling, its marble pavement +incomparably beautiful both in substance and workmanship, its violet +columns with white bases and capitals, and its white entablature with +violet frieze: everywhere, indeed, you found, the mingling of those two +colours 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 might +peer into the invisible, could be found! And, withal, St. Peter’s +remained the monster, the colossus, larger than the largest of all +others, an extravagant testimony of what the mad passion for the huge can +achieve when human pride, by dint of spending millions, dreams of lodging +the divinity in an over-vast, over-opulent palace of stone, where in +truth that pride itself, and not the divinity, triumphs! + +And to think that after long centuries that gala colossus had been the +outcome of the fervour of primitive faith! You found there a blossoming +of that ancient sap, peculiar to the soil of Rome, which in all ages has +thrown up preposterous edifices, of exaggerated hugeness and dazzling and +ruinous luxury. It would seem as if the absolute masters successively +ruling the city brought that passion for cyclopean building with them, +derived it from the soil in which they grew, for they transmitted it one +to the other, without a pause, from civilisation to civilisation, however +diverse and contrary their minds. It has all been, so to say, a +continuous blossoming of human vanity, a passionate desire to set one’s +name on an imperishable wall, and, after being master of the world, to +leave behind one an indestructible trace, a tangible proof of one’s +passing glory, an eternal edifice of bronze and marble fit to attest that +glory until the end of time. At the bottom the spirit of conquest, the +proud ambition to dominate the world, subsists; and when all has +crumbled, and a new society has sprung up from the ruins of its +predecessor, men have erred in imagining it to be cured of the sin of +pride, steeped in humility once more, for it has had the old blood in its +veins, and has yielded to the same insolent madness as its ancestors, a +prey to all the violence of its heredity directly it has become great and +strong. Among the illustrious popes there has not been one that did not +seek 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 terrestrial +immortality has burst forth: it has been a battle as to who should leave +the highest, most substantial, most gorgeous monument; and so acute has +been the disease that those who, for lack of means and opportunity, have +been unable to build, and have been forced to content themselves with +repairing, have, nevertheless, desired to bequeath the memory of their +modest achievements to subsequent generations by commemorative marble +slabs engraved with pompous inscriptions! These slabs are to be seen on +every side: not a wall has ever been strengthened but some pope has +stamped it with his arms, not a ruin has been restored, not a palace +repaired, not a fountain cleaned, but the reigning pope has signed the +work with his Roman and pagan title of “Pontifex Maximus.” It is a +haunting passion, a form of involuntary debauchery, the fated florescence +of that compost of ruins, that dust of edifices whence new edifices are +ever arising. And given the perversion with which the old Roman soil +almost immediately tarnished the doctrines of Jesus, that resolute +passion for domination and that desire for terrestrial glory which +wrought the triumph of Catholicism in scorn of the humble and pure, the +fraternal and simple ones of the primitive Church, one may well ask +whether Rome has ever been Christian at all! + +And whilst Pierre was for the second time walking round the huge +basilica, admiring the tombs of the popes, truth, like a sudden +illumination, burst upon him and filled him with its glow. Ah! those +tombs! Yonder in the full sunlight, in the rosy Campagna, on either side +of the Appian Way--that triumphal approach to Rome, conducting the +stranger to the august Palatine with its crown of circling palaces--there +arose the gigantic tombs of the powerful and wealthy, tombs of +unparalleled artistic splendour, perpetuating in marble the pride and +pomp of a strong race that had mastered the world. Then, near at hand, +beneath the sod, in the shrouding night of wretched mole-holes, other +tombs were hidden--the tombs of the lowly, the poor, and the +suffering--tombs destitute of art or display, but whose very humility +proclaimed that a breath of affection and resignation had passed by, that +One had come preaching love and fraternity, the relinquishment of the +wealth of the earth for the everlasting joys of a future life, and +committing to the soil the good seed of His Gospel, sowing the new +humanity which was to transform the olden world. And, behold, from that +seed, buried in the soil for centuries, behold, from those humble, +unobtrusive tombs, where martyrs slept their last and gentle sleep whilst +waiting for the glorious call, yet other tombs had sprung, tombs as +gigantic and as pompous as the ancient, destroyed sepulchres of the +idolaters, tombs uprearing their marbles among a pagan-temple-like +splendour, proclaiming the same superhuman pride, the same mad passion +for universal sovereignty. At the time of the Renascence Rome became +pagan once more; the old imperial blood frothed up and swept Christianity +away with the greatest onslaught ever directed against it. Ah! those +tombs of the popes at St. Peter’s, with their impudent, insolent +glorification of the departed, their sumptuous, carnal hugeness, defying +death and setting immortality upon this earth. There are giant popes of +bronze, allegorical figures and angels of equivocal character wearing the +beauty of lovely girls, of passion-compelling women with the thighs and +the breasts of pagan goddesses! Paul III is seated on a high pedestal, +Justice and Prudence are almost prostrate at his feet. Urban VIII is +between Prudence and Religion, Innocent XI between Religion and Justice, +Innocent XII between Justice and Charity, Gregory XIII between Religion +and Strength. Attended by Prudence and Justice, Alexander VII appears +kneeling, with Charity and Truth before him, and a skeleton rises up +displaying an empty hour-glass. Clement XIII, also on his knees, triumphs +above a monumental sarcophagus, against which leans Religion bearing the +Cross; while the Genius of Death, his elbow resting on the right-hand +corner, has two huge, superb lions, emblems of omnipotence, beneath him. +Bronze bespeaks the eternity of the figures, white marble describes +opulent 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 the +magnificent, deserted, sunlit basilica. Yes, these tombs, so imperial in +their ostentation, were meet companions for those of the Appian Way. +Assuredly it was Rome, the soil of Rome, that soil where pride and +domination sprouted like the herbage of the fields that had transformed +the humble Christianity of primitive times, the religion of fraternity, +justice, and hope into what it now was: victorious Catholicism, allied to +the rich and powerful, a huge implement of government, prepared for the +conquest of every nation. The popes had awoke as Caesars. Remote heredity +had acted, the blood of Augustus had bubbled forth afresh, flowing +through their veins and firing their minds with immeasurable ambition. As +yet none but Augustus had held the empire of the world, had been both +emperor and pontiff, master of the body and the soul. And thence had come +the eternal dream of the popes in despair at only holding the spiritual +power, and obstinately refusing to yield in temporal matters, clinging +for ever to the ancient hope that their dream might at last be realised, +and the Vatican become another Palatine, whence they might reign with +absolute despotism over all the conquered nations. + + + + +VI. + +PIERRE had been in Rome for a fortnight, and yet the affair of his book +was no nearer solution. He was still possessed by an ardent desire to see +the Pope, but could in no wise tell how to satisfy it, so frequent were +the delays and so greatly had he been frightened by Monsignor Nani’s +predictions of the dire consequences which might attend any imprudent +action. And so, foreseeing a prolonged sojourn, he at last betook himself +to the Vicariate in order that his “celebret” might be stamped, and +afterwards said his mass each morning at the Church of Santa Brigida, +where he received a kindly greeting from Abbé Pisoni, Benedetta’s former +confessor. + +One Monday evening he resolved to repair early to Donna Serafina’s +customary reception in the hope of learning some news and expediting his +affairs. Perhaps Monsignor Nani would look in; perhaps he might be lucky +enough to come across some cardinal or domestic prelate willing to help +him. It was in vain that he had tried to extract any positive information +from Don Vigilio, for, after a short spell of affability and willingness, +Cardinal Pio’s secretary had relapsed into distrust and fear, and avoided +Pierre as if he were resolved not to meddle in a business which, all +considered, was decidedly suspicious and dangerous. Moreover, for a +couple of days past a violent attack of fever had compelled him to keep +his room. + +Thus the only person to whom Pierre could turn for comfort was Victorine +Bosquet, the old Beauceronne servant who had been promoted to the rank of +housekeeper, and who still retained a French heart after thirty years’ +residence in Rome. She often spoke to the young priest of Auneau, her +native place, as if she had left it only the previous day; but on that +particular Monday even she had lost her wonted gay vivacity, and when she +heard that he meant to go down in the evening to see the ladies she +wagged her head significantly. “Ah! you won’t find them very cheerful,” + said she. “My poor Benedetta is greatly worried. Her divorce suit is not +progressing at all well.” + +All Rome, indeed, was again talking of this affair. An extraordinary +revival of tittle-tattle had set both white and black worlds agog. And so +there was no need for reticence on Victorine’s part, especially in +conversing with a compatriot. It appeared, then, that, in reply to +Advocate Morano’s memoir setting forth that the marriage had not been +consummated, there had come another memoir, a terrible one, emanating +from Monsignor Palma, a doctor in theology, whom the Congregation of the +Council had selected to defend the marriage. As a first point, Monsignor +Palma flatly disputed the alleged non-consummation, questioned the +certificate put forward on Benedetta’s behalf, and quoted instances +recorded in scientific text-books which showed how deceptive appearances +often were. He strongly insisted, moreover, on the narrative which Count +Prada supplied in another memoir, a narrative well calculated to inspire +doubt; and, further, he so turned and twisted the evidence of Benedetta’s +own maid as to make that evidence also serve against her. Finally he +argued in a decisive way that, even supposing the marriage had not been +consummated, this could only be ascribed to the resistance of the +Countess, who had thus set at defiance one of the elementary laws of +married life, which was that a wife owed obedience to her husband. + +Next had come a fourth memoir, drawn up by the reporter of the +Congregation, who analysed and discussed the three others, and +subsequently the Congregation itself had dealt with the matter, opining +in favour of the dissolution of the marriage by a majority of one +vote--such a bare majority, indeed, that Monsignor Palma, exercising his +rights, had hastened to demand further inquiry, a course which brought +the whole _procédure_ again into question, and rendered a fresh vote +necessary. + +“Ah! the poor Contessina!” exclaimed Victorine, “she’ll surely die of +grief, 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 can +make the affair drag on as long as he likes. And then a deal of money had +already been spent, and one will have to spend a lot more. Abbé 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 she +wrecked her daughter’s life when she gave her to Count Prada.” + +The housekeeper paused. Then, impelled by an instinctive sense of +justice, she resumed. “It’s only natural that Count Prada should be +annoyed, for he’s really being made a fool of. And, for my part, as there +is no end to all the fuss, and this divorce is so hard to obtain, I +really don’t see why the Contessina shouldn’t live with her Dario without +troubling any further. Haven’t they loved one another ever since they +were children? Aren’t they both young and handsome, and wouldn’t they be +happy together, whatever the world might say? Happiness, _mon Dieu_! one +finds 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 the +humble classes of France, whose only desire is a quiet and happy life, +irrespective of matrimonial ties. Next, in more discreet language, she +proceeded to lament another worry which had fallen on the household, +another result of the divorce affair. A rupture had come about between +Donna Serafina and Advocate Morano, who was very displeased with the ill +success of his memoir to the congregation, and accused Father +Lorenza--the confessor of the Boccanera ladies--of having urged them into +a deplorable lawsuit, whose only fruit could be a wretched scandal +affecting everybody. And so great had been Morano’s annoyance that he had +not returned to the Boccanera mansion, but had severed a connection of +thirty years’ standing, to the stupefaction of all the Roman +drawing-rooms, which altogether disapproved of his conduct. Donna +Serafina was, for her part, the more grieved as she suspected the +advocate of having purposely picked the quarrel in order to secure an +excuse for leaving her; his real motive, in her estimation, being a +sudden, disgraceful passion for a young and intriguing woman of the +middle classes. + +That Monday evening, when Pierre entered the drawing-room, hung with +yellow brocatelle of a flowery Louis XIV pattern, he at once realised +that melancholy reigned in the dim light radiating from the lace-veiled +lamps. Benedetta and Celia, seated on a sofa, were chatting with Dario, +whilst Cardinal Sarno, ensconced in an arm-chair, listened to the +ceaseless chatter of the old relative who conducted the little Princess +to each Monday gathering. And the only other person present was Donna +Serafina, seated all alone in her wonted place on the right-hand side of +the chimney-piece, and consumed with secret rage at seeing the chair on +the left-hand side unoccupied--that chair which Morano had always taken +during the thirty years that he had been faithful to her. Pierre noticed +with what anxious and then despairing eyes she observed his entrance, her +glance ever straying towards the door, as though she even yet hoped for +the fickle one’s return. Withal her bearing was erect and proud; she +seemed to be more tightly laced than ever; and there was all the wonted +haughtiness on her hard-featured face, with its jet-black eyebrows and +snowy hair. + +Pierre had no sooner paid his respects to her than he allowed his own +worry to appear by inquiring whether they would not have the pleasure of +seeing Monsignor Nani that evening. Thereupon Donna Serafina could not +refrain from answering: “Oh! Monsignor Nani is forsaking us like the +others. People always take themselves off when they can be of service.” + +She harboured a spite against the prelate for having done so little to +further the divorce in spite of his many promises. Beneath his outward +show of extreme willingness and caressing affability he doubtless +concealed some scheme of his own which he was tenaciously pursuing. +However, Donna Serafina promptly regretted the confession which anger had +wrung from her, and resumed: “After all, he will perhaps come. He is so +good-natured, and so fond of us.” + +In spite of the vivacity of her temperament she really wished to act +diplomatically, so as to overcome the bad luck which had recently set in. +Her brother the Cardinal had told her how irritated he was by the +attitude of the Congregation of the Council; he had little doubt that the +frigid reception accorded to his niece’s suit had been due in part to the +desire of some of his brother cardinals to be disagreeable to him. +Personally, he desired the divorce, as it seemed to him the only means of +ensuring the perpetuation of the family; for Dario obstinately refused to +marry any other woman than his cousin. And thus there was an accumulation +of disasters; the Cardinal was wounded in his pride, his sister shared +his sufferings and on her own side was stricken in the heart, whilst both +lovers were plunged in despair at finding their hopes yet again deferred. + +As Pierre approached the sofa where the young folks were chatting he +found that they were speaking of the catastrophe. “Why should you be so +despondent?” asked Celia in an undertone. “After all, there was a +majority of a vote in favour of annulling the marriage. Your suit hasn’t +been rejected; there is only a delay.” + +But Benedetta shook her head. “No, no! If Monsignor Palma proves +obstinate his Holiness will never consent. It’s all over.” + +“Ah! if one were only rich, very rich!” murmured Dario, with such an air +of conviction that no one smiled. And, turning to his cousin, he added in +a whisper: “I must really have a talk with you. We cannot go on living +like this.” + +In a breath she responded: “Yes, you are right. Come down to-morrow +evening at five. I will be here alone.” + +Then dreariness set in; the evening seemed to have no end. Pierre was +greatly touched by the evident despair of Benedetta, who as a rule was so +calm and sensible. The deep eyes which illumined her pure, delicate, +infantile face were now blurred as by restrained tears. He had already +formed a sincere affection for her, pleased as he was with her equable if +somewhat indolent disposition, the semblance of discreet good sense with +which she veiled her soul of fire. That Monday even she certainly tried +to smile while listening to the pretty secrets confided to her by Celia, +whose love affairs were prospering far more than her own. There was only +one brief interval of general conversation, and that was brought about by +the little Princess’s aunt, who, suddenly raising her voice, began to +speak of the infamous manner in which the Italian newspapers referred to +the Holy Father. Never, indeed, had there been so much bad feeling +between the Vatican and the Quirinal. Cardinal Sarno felt so strongly on +the subject that he departed from his wonted silence to announce that on +the occasion of the sacrilegious festivities of the Twentieth of +September, celebrating the capture of Rome, the Pope intended to cast a +fresh letter of protest in the face of all the Christian powers, whose +indifference proved their complicity in the odious spoliation of the +Church. + +“Yes, indeed! what folly to try and marry the Pope and the King,” + bitterly exclaimed Donna Serafina, alluding to her niece’s deplorable +marriage. + +The old maid now seemed quite beside herself; it was already so late that +neither Monsignor Nani nor anybody else was expected. However, at the +unhoped-for sound of footsteps her eyes again brightened and turned +feverishly towards the door. But it was only to encounter a final +disappointment. The visitor proved to be Narcisse Habert, who stepped up +to her, apologising for making so late a call. It was Cardinal Sarno, his +uncle by marriage, who had introduced him into this exclusive _salon_, +where he had received a cordial reception on account of his religious +views, which were said to be most uncompromising. If, however, despite +the lateness of the hour, he had ventured to call there that evening, it +was 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 see +my 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 to +the Holy Father. Briefly, the audience seems to me assured.” + +Pierre was greatly delighted by this promised certainty, which came to +him so suddenly in that dreary drawing-room, where for a couple of hours +he had been gradually sinking into despair! So at last a solution was at +hand! + +Meantime Narcisse, after shaking hands with Dario and bowing to Benedetta +and Celia, approached his uncle the Cardinal, who, having rid himself of +the old relation, made up his mind to talk. But his conversation was +confined to the state of his health, and the weather, and sundry +insignificant anecdotes which he had lately heard. Not a word escaped him +respecting the thousand complicated matters with which he dealt at the +Propaganda. It was as though, once outside his office, he plunged into +the commonplace and the unimportant by way of resting from the anxious +task of governing the world. And after he had spoken for a time every one +got up, and the visitors took leave. + +“Don’t forget,” Narcisse repeated to Pierre, “you will find me at the +Sixtine Chapel to-morrow at ten. And I will show you the Botticellis +before 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 to +the right, towards the bronze gate near one corner of Bernini’s +colonnade, he raised his eyes and lingered, gazing at the Vatican. +Nothing to his mind could be less monumental than the jumble of buildings +which, without semblance of architectural order or regularity of any +kind, had grown up in the shadow cast by the dome of the basilica. Roofs +rose one above the other and broad, flat walls stretched out chance-wise, +just as wings and storeys had been added. The only symmetry observable +above the colonnade was that of the three sides of the court of San +Damaso, 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 all +palaces, comprising no fewer than eleven thousand apartments and +containing the most admirable masterpieces of human genius! But Pierre, +disillusioned as he was, had eyes only for the lofty façade on the right, +overlooking the piazza, for he knew that the second-floor windows there +were those of the Pope’s private apartments. And he contemplated those +windows for a long time, and remembered having been told that the fifth +one on the right was that of the Pope’s bed-room, and that a lamp could +always be seen burning there far into the night. + +What was there, too, behind that gate of bronze which he saw before +him--that sacred portal by which all the kingdoms of the world +communicated with the kingdom of heaven, whose august vicar had secluded +himself behind those lofty, silent walls? From where he stood Pierre +gazed on that gate with its metal panels studded with large square-headed +nails, and wondered what it defended, what it concealed, what it shut off +from the view, with its stern, forbidding air, recalling that of the gate +of some ancient fortress. What kind of world would he find behind it, +what treasures of human charity jealously preserved in yonder gloom, what +revivifying hope for the new nations hungering for fraternity and +justice? He took pleasure in fancying, in picturing the one holy pastor +of humanity, ever watching in the depths of that closed palace, and, +while the nations strayed into hatred, preparing all for the final reign +of Jesus, and at last proclaiming the advent of that reign by +transforming our democracies into the one great Christian community +promised by the Saviour. Assuredly the world’s future was being prepared +behind that bronze portal; assuredly it was that future which would issue +forth. + +But all at once Pierre was amazed to find himself face to face with +Monsignor Nani, who had just left the Vatican on his way to the +neighbouring Palace of the Inquisition, where, as Assessor, he had his +residence. + +“Ah! Monsignor,” said Pierre, “I am very pleased. My friend Monsieur +Habert 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 your +satisfaction, my dear son. Only, you must be prudent.” And then, as if +fearing that the young priest might have understood by his first words +that he had just seen Monsignor Gamba, the most easily terrified prelate +of the whole prudent pontifical family, he related that he had been +running about since an early hour on behalf of two French ladies, who +likewise were dying of a desire to see the Pope. However, he greatly +feared that the help he was giving them would not prove successful. + +“I will confess to you, Monsignor,” replied Pierre, “that I myself was +getting very discouraged. Yes, it is high time I should find a little +comfort, 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 Rome +were finally destroying his faith. Such days as those which he had spent +on the Palatine and along the Appian Way, in the Catacombs and at St. +Peter’s, grievously disturbed him, spoilt his dream of Christianity +rejuvenated and triumphant. He emerged from them full of doubt and +growing lassitude, having already lost much of his usually rebellious +enthusiasm. + +Still smiling, Monsignor Nani listened and nodded approvingly. Yes, no +doubt that was the fatal result. He seemed to have foreseen it, and to be +well satisfied thereat. “At all events, my dear son,” said he, +“everything is going on well, since you are now certain that you will see +his Holiness.” + +“That is true, Monsignor; I have placed my only hope in the very just and +perspicacious Leo XIII. He alone can judge me, since he alone can +recognise in my book his own ideas, which I think I have very faithfully +set forth. Ah! if he be willing he will, in Jesus’ name and by democracy +and science, save this old world of ours!” + +Pierre’s enthusiasm was returning again, and Nani, smiling more and more +affably 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, Nani +carried his amiability so far as to undeceive Pierre with respect to the +Pope’s bed-room. No, the window where a light was seen every evening was +simply 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 gaze +at the façade. + +“Well, till we meet again, my dear son,” said Nani at last. “You will +tell me of your interview, I hope.” + +As soon as Pierre was alone he went in by the bronze portal, his heart +beating violently, as if he were entering some redoubtable sanctuary +where the future happiness of mankind was elaborated. A sentry was on +duty there, a Swiss guard, who walked slowly up and down in a grey-blue +cloak, below which one only caught a glimpse of his baggy red, black, and +yellow breeches; and it seemed as if this cloak of sober hue were +purposely cast over a disguise in order to conceal its strangeness, which +had become irksome. Then, on the right-hand, came the covered stairway +conducting to the Court of San Damaso; but to reach the Sixtine Chapel it +was necessary to follow a long gallery, with columns on either hand, and +ascend the royal staircase, the Scala Regia. And in this realm of the +gigantic, where every dimension is exaggerated and replete with +overpowering majesty, Pierre’s breath came short as he ascended the broad +steps. + +He was much surprised on entering the Sixtine Chapel, for it at first +seemed to him small, a sort of rectangular and lofty hall, with a +delicate screen of white marble separating the part where guests +congregate on the occasion of great ceremonies from the choir where the +cardinals sit on simple oaken benches, while the inferior prelates remain +standing behind them. On a low platform to the right of the soberly +adorned altar is the pontifical throne; while in the wall on the left +opens the narrow singing gallery with its balcony of marble. And for +everything suddenly to spread out and soar into the infinite one must +raise one’s head, allow one’s eyes to ascend from the huge fresco of the +Last Judgment, occupying the whole of the end wall, to the paintings +which cover the vaulted ceiling down to the cornice extending between the +twelve windows of white glass, six on either hand. + +Fortunately there were only three or four quiet tourists there; and +Pierre at once perceived Narcisse Habert occupying one of the cardinals’ +seats above the steps where the train-bearers crouch. Motionless, and +with his head somewhat thrown back, the young man seemed to be in +ecstasy. But it was not the work of Michael Angelo that he thus +contemplated. His eyes never strayed from one of the earlier frescoes +below the cornice; and on recognising the priest he contented himself +with murmuring: “Ah! my friend, just look at the Botticelli.” Then, with +dreamy eyes, he relapsed into a state of rapture. + +Pierre, for his part, had received a great shock both in heart and in +mind, overpowered as he was by the superhuman genius of Michael Angelo. +The rest vanished; there only remained, up yonder, as in a limitless +heaven, the extraordinary creations of the master’s art. That which at +first surprised one was that the painter should have been the sole +artisan of the mighty work. No marble cutters, no bronze workers, no +gilders, no one of another calling had intervened. The painter with his +brush had sufficed for all--for the pilasters, columns, and cornices of +marble, for the statues and the ornaments of bronze, for the _fleurons_ +and roses of gold, for the whole of the wondrously rich decorative work +which surrounded the frescoes. And Pierre imagined Michael Angelo on the +day when the bare vault was handed over to him, covered with plaster, +offering only a flat white surface, hundreds of square yards to be +adorned. 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 four +and a half years in fierce solitude, and day by day adding to his +colossal work of creation. Ah! that mighty work, a task to fill a whole +lifetime, a task which he must have begun with quiet confidence in his +own will and power, drawing, as it were, an entire world from his brain +and flinging it there with the ceaseless flow of creative virility in the +full heyday of its omnipotence. + +And Pierre was yet more overcome when he began to examine these +presentments of humanity, magnified as by the eyes of a visionary, +overflowing in mighty sympathetic pages of cyclopean symbolisation. Royal +grace and nobility, sovereign peacefulness and power--every beauty shone +out like natural florescence. And there was perfect science, the most +audacious foreshortening risked with the certainty of success--an +everlasting triumph of technique over the difficulty which an arched +surface presented. And, in particular, there was wonderful simplicity of +medium; matter was reduced almost to nothingness; a few colours were used +broadly without any studied search for effect or brilliancy. Yet that +sufficed, the blood seethed freely, the muscles projected, the figures +became animated and stood out of their frames with such energy and dash +that it seemed as if a flame were flashing by aloft, endowing all those +beings with superhuman and immortal life. Life, aye, it was life, which +burst forth and triumphed--mighty, swarming life, miraculous life, the +creation of one sole hand possessed of the supreme gift--simplicity +blended 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, and +finally God’s judgment on the last day--this was a matter on which Pierre +was unable to dwell, at this first visit, in the wondering stupor into +which the paintings threw him. But he could not help noticing how the +human body, its beauty, its power, and its grace were exalted! Ah! that +regal Jehovah, at once terrible and paternal, carried off amid the +whirlwind of his creation, his arms outstretched and giving birth to +worlds! And that superb and nobly outlined Adam, with extended hand, whom +Jehovah, though he touch him not, animates with his finger--a wondrous +and admirable gesture, leaving a sacred space between the finger of the +Creator and that of the created--a tiny space, in which, nevertheless, +abides all the infinite of the invisible and the mysterious. And then +that powerful yet adorable Eve, that Eve with the sturdy flanks fit for +the bearing of humanity, that Eve with the proud, tender grace of a woman +bent on being loved even to perdition, that Eve embodying the whole of +woman with her fecundity, her seductiveness, her empire! Moreover, even +the decorative figures of the pilasters at the corners of the frescoes +celebrate the triumph of the flesh: there are the twenty young men +radiant in their nakedness, with incomparable splendour of torso and of +limb, and such intensity of life that a craze for motion seems to carry +them off, bend them, throw them over in superb attitudes. And between the +windows are the giants, the prophets and the sibyls--man and woman +deified, with inordinate wealth of muscle and grandeur of intellectual +expression. There is Jeremiah with his elbow resting on his knee and his +chin on his hand, plunged as he is in reflection--in the very depths of +his visions and his dreams; there is the Sibylla Erithraea, so pure of +profile, so young despite the opulence of her form, and with one finger +resting on the open book of destiny; there is Isaiah with the thick lips +of truth, virile and haughty, his head half turned and his hand raised +with a gesture of command; there is the Sibylla Cumaea, terrifying with +her science and her old age, her wrinkled countenance, her vulture’s +nose, her square protruding chin; there is Jonah cast forth by the whale, +and wondrously foreshortened, his torso twisted, his arms bent, his head +thrown back, and his mouth agape and shouting: and there are the others, +all of the same full-blown, majestic family, reigning with the +sovereignty of eternal health and intelligence, and typifying the dream +of a broader, loftier, and indestructible humanity. Moreover, in the +lunettes and the arches over the windows other figures of grace, power, +and beauty appear and throng, the ancestors of the Christ, thoughtful +mothers with lovely nude infants, men with wondering eyes peering into +the future, representatives of the punished weary race longing for the +promised Redeemer; while in the pendentives of the four corners various +biblical episodes, the victories of Israel over the Spirit of Evil, +spring into life. And finally there is the gigantic fresco at the far +end, the Last Judgment with its swarming multitude, so numerous that days +and days are needed to see each figure aright, a distracted crowd, full +of the hot breath of life, from the dead rising in response to the +furious trumpeting of the angels, from the fearsome groups of the damned +whom the demons fling into hell, even to Jesus the justiciar, surrounded +by the saints and apostles, and to the radiant concourse of the blessed +who ascend upheld by angels, whilst higher and still higher other angels, +bearing the instruments of the Passion, triumph as in full glory. And +yet, above this gigantic composition, painted thirty years subsequently, +in the full ripeness of age, the ceiling retains its ethereality, its +unquestionable superiority, for on it the artist bestowed all his virgin +power, his whole youth, the first great flare of his genius. + +And Pierre found but one word to express his feelings: Michael Angelo was +the monster dominating and crushing all others. Beneath his immense +achievement you had only to glance at the works of Perugino, +Pinturicchio, Roselli, Signorelli, and Botticelli, those earlier +frescoes, admirable in their way, which below the cornice spread out +around the chapel. + +Narcisse for his part had not raised his eyes to the overpowering +splendour of the ceiling. Wrapt in ecstasy, he did not allow his gaze to +stray from one of the three frescoes of Botticelli. “Ah! Botticelli,” he +at last murmured; “in him you have the elegance and the grace of the +mysterious; a profound feeling of sadness even in the midst of +voluptuousness, a divination of the whole modern soul, with the most +troublous charm that ever attended artist’s work.” + +Pierre glanced at him in amazement, and then ventured to inquire: “You +come here to see the Botticellis?” + +“Yes, certainly,” the young man quietly replied; “I only come here for +him, and five hours every week I only look at his work. There, just study +that fresco, Moses and the daughters of Jethro. Isn’t it the most +penetrating work that human tenderness and melancholy have produced?” + +Then, with a faint, devout quiver in his voice and the air of a priest +initiating another into the delightful but perturbing atmosphere of a +sanctuary, he went on repeating the praises of Botticelli’s art; his +women with long, sensual, yet candid faces, supple bearing, and rounded +forms showing from under light drapery; his young men, his angels of +doubtful sex, blending stateliness of muscle with infinite delicacy of +outline; next the mouths he painted, fleshy, fruit-like mouths, at times +suggesting irony, at others pain, and often so enigmatical with their +sinuous curves that one knew not whether the words they left unuttered +were words of purity or filth; then, too, the eyes which he bestowed on +his figures, eyes of languor and passion, of carnal or mystical rapture, +their joy at times so instinct with grief as they peer into the nihility +of human things that no eyes in the world could be more impenetrable. And +finally there were Botticelli’s hands, so carefully and delicately +painted, so full of life, wantoning so to say in a free atmosphere, now +joining, caressing, and even, as it were, speaking, the whole evincing +such intense solicitude for gracefulness that at times there seems to be +undue mannerism, though every hand has its particular expression, each +varying expression of the enjoyment or pain which the sense of touch can +bring. And yet there was nothing effeminate or false about the painter’s +work: on all sides a sort of virile pride was apparent, an atmosphere of +superb passionate motion, absolute concern for truth, direct study from +life, conscientiousness, veritable realism, corrected and elevated by a +genial strangeness of feeling and character that imparted a +never-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 Florentine +fashion, and whose blue, mauvish eyes paling with enthusiasm he now for +the first time remarked. “Botticelli,” he at last said, “was no doubt a +marvellous artist, only it seems to me that here, at any rate, Michael +Angelo--” + +But Narcisse interrupted him almost with violence. “No! no! Don’t talk of +him! He spoilt everything, ruined everything! A man who harnessed himself +to his work like an ox, who laboured at his task like a navvy, at the +rate of so many square yards a day! And a man, too, with no sense of the +mysterious and the unknown, who saw everything so huge as to disgust one +with beauty, painting girls like the trunks of oak-trees, women like +giant butchers, with heaps and heaps of stupid flesh, and never a gleam +of a divine or infernal soul! He was a mason--a colossal mason, if you +like--but he was nothing more.” + +Weary “modern” that Narcisse was, spoilt by the pursuit of the original +and the rare, he thus unconsciously gave rein to his fated hate of health +and power. That Michael Angelo who brought forth without an effort, who +had left behind him the most prodigious of all artistic creations, was +the enemy. And his crime precisely was that he had created life, produced +life in such excess that all the petty creations of others, even the most +delightful among them, vanished in presence of the overflowing torrent of +human beings flung there all alive in the sunlight. + +“Well, for my part,” Pierre courageously declared, “I’m not of your +opinion. I now realise that life is everything in art; that real +immortality belongs only to those who create. The case of Michael Angelo +seems to me decisive, for he is the superhuman master, the monster who +overwhelms all others, precisely because he brought forth that +magnificent living flesh which offends your sense of delicacy. Those who +are inclined to the curious, those who have minds of a pretty turn, whose +intellects are ever seeking to penetrate things, may try to improve on +the equivocal and invisible, and set all the charm of art in some +elaborate stroke or symbolisation; but, none the less, Michael Angelo +remains the all-powerful, the maker of men, the master of clearness, +simplicity, and health.” + +At this Narcisse smiled with indulgent and courteous disdain. And he +anticipated further argument by remarking: “It’s already eleven. My +cousin was to have sent a servant here as soon as he could receive us. I +am 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 his +remarks and just in his appreciations, having recovered all his easy +intelligence as soon as he was no longer upset by his hatred of colossal +labour and cheerful decoration. + +It was unfortunate that Pierre should have first visited the Sixtine +Chapel; for it was necessary he should forget what he had just seen and +accustom 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 any +immediate relish of a lighter vintage of delicate fragrance. Admiration +did not here fall upon one with lightning speed; it was slowly, +irresistibly that one grew charmed. And the contrast was like that of +Racine beside Corneille, Lamartine beside Hugo, the eternal pair, the +masculine and feminine genius coupled through centuries of glory. With +Raffaelle it is nobility, grace, exquisiteness, and correctness of line, +and divineness of harmony that triumph. You do not find in him merely the +materialist symbolism so superbly thrown off by Michael Angelo; he +introduces psychological analysis of deep penetration into the painter’s +art. Man is shown more purified, idealised; one sees more of that which +is within him. And though one may be in presence of an artist of +sentimental bent, a feminine genius whose quiver of tenderness one can +feel, it is also certain that admirable firmness of workmanship confronts +one, that the whole is very strong and very great. Pierre gradually +yielded to such sovereign masterliness, such virile elegance, such a +vision of supreme beauty set in supreme perfection. But if the “Dispute +on the Sacrament” and the so-called “School of Athens,” both prior to the +paintings of the Sixtine Chapel, seemed to him to be Raffaelle’s +masterpieces, he felt that in the “Burning of the Borgo,” and +particularly in the “Expulsion of Heliodorus from the Temple,” and “Pope +St. Leo staying Attila at the Gates of Rome,” the artist had lost the +flower of his divine grace, through the deep impression which the +overwhelming grandeur of Michael Angelo had wrought upon him. How +crushing indeed had been the blow when the Sixtine Chapel was thrown open +and the rivals entered! The creations of the monster then appeared, and +the 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 glazed +galleries which are so high and so delicately decorated. But here you +only find work which pupils executed after designs left by Raffaelle at +his death. The fall was sudden and complete, and never had Pierre better +understood that genius is everything--that when it disappears the school +collapses. The man of genius sums up his period; at a given hour he +throws forth all the sap of the social soil, which afterwards remains +exhausted often for centuries. So Pierre became more particularly +interested in the fine view that the _loggie_ afford, and all at once he +noticed that the papal apartments were in front of him, just across the +Court of San Damaso. This court, with its porticus, fountain, and white +pavement, had an aspect of empty, airy, sunlit solemnity which surprised +him. There was none of the gloom or pent-up religious mystery that he had +dreamt of with his mind full of the surroundings of the old northern +cathedrals. Right and left of the steps conducting to the rooms of the +Pope and the Cardinal Secretary of State four or five carriages were +ranged, the coachmen stiffly erect and the horses motionless in the +brilliant light; and nothing else peopled that vast square desert of a +court which, with its bareness gilded by the coruscations of its +glass-work and the ruddiness of its stones, suggested a pagan temple +dedicated to the sun. But what more particularly struck Pierre was the +splendid panorama of Rome, for he had not hitherto imagined that the Pope +from his windows could thus behold the entire city spread out before him +as if he merely had to stretch forth his hand to make it his own once +more. + +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 message +to Narcisse, was retiring with a deep bow. Looking much annoyed, the +_attaché_ approached the young priest. “Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo,” said +he, “has sent word that he can’t see us this morning. Some unexpected +duties require his presence.” However, Narcisse’s embarrassment showed +that he did not believe in the excuse, but rather suspected some one of +having so terrified his cousin that the latter was afraid of compromising +himself. Obliging and courageous as Habert himself was, this made him +indignant. Still he smiled and resumed: “Listen, perhaps there’s a means +of forcing an entry. If your time is your own we can lunch together and +then return to visit the Museum of Antiquities. I shall certainly end by +coming across my cousin and we may, perhaps, be lucky enough to meet the +Pope should he go down to the gardens.” + +At the news that his audience was yet again postponed Pierre had felt +keenly disappointed. However, as the whole day was at his disposal, he +willingly accepted the _attaché’s_ offer. They lunched in front of St. +Peter’s, in a little restaurant of the Borgo, most of whose customers +were pilgrims, and the fare, as it happened, was far from good. Then at +about two o’clock they set off for the museum, skirting the basilica by +way of the Piazza della Sagrestia. It was a bright, deserted, burning +district; and again, but in a far greater degree, did the young priest +experience that sensation of bare, tawny, sun-baked majesty which had +come upon him while gazing into the Court of San Damaso. Then, as he +passed the apse of St. Peter’s, the enormity of the colossus was brought +home to him more strongly than ever: it rose like a giant bouquet of +architecture edged by empty expanses of pavement sprinkled with fine +weeds. And in all the silent immensity there were only two children +playing in the shadow of a wall. The old papal mint, the Zecca, now an +Italian possession, and guarded by soldiers of the royal army, is on the +left of the passage leading to the museums, while on the right, just in +front, is one of the entrances of honour to the Vatican where the papal +Swiss Guard keeps watch and ward; and this is the entrance by which, +according to etiquette, the pair-horse carriages convey the Pope’s +visitors into the Court of San Damaso. + +Following the long lane which ascends between a wing of the palace and +its garden wall, Narcisse and Pierre at last reached the Museum of +Antiquities. Ah! what a museum it is, with galleries innumerable, a +museum compounded of three museums, the Pio-Clementino, Chiaramonti, and +the Braccio-Nuovo, and containing a whole world found beneath the soil, +then exhumed, and now glorified in full sunlight. For more than two hours +Pierre went from one hall to another, dazzled by the masterpieces, +bewildered by the accumulation of genius and beauty. It was not only the +celebrated examples of statuary, the Laocoon and the Apollo of the +cabinets of the Belvedere, the Meleager, or even the torso of +Hercules--that astonished him. He was yet more impressed by the +_ensemble_, by the innumerable quantities of Venuses, Bacchuses, and +deified emperors and empresses, by the whole superb growth of beautiful +or August flesh celebrating the immortality of life. Three days +previously he had visited the Museum of the Capitol, where he had admired +the Venus, the Dying Gaul,* the marvellous Centaurs of black marble, and +the extraordinary collection of busts, but here his admiration became +intensified into stupor by the inexhaustible wealth of the galleries. +And, with more curiosity for life than for art, perhaps, he again +lingered before the busts which so powerfully resuscitate the Rome of +history--the Rome which, whilst incapable of realising the ideal beauty +of Greece, was certainly well able to create life. The emperors, the +philosophers, the learned men, the poets are all there, and live such as +they really were, studied and portrayed in all scrupulousness with their +deformities, their blemishes, the slightest peculiarities of their +features. And from this extreme solicitude for truth springs a wonderful +wealth of character and an incomparable vision of the past. Nothing, +indeed, could be loftier: the very men live once more, and retrace the +history of their city, that history which has been so falsified that the +teaching of it has caused generations of school-boys to hold antiquity in +horror. But on seeing the men, how well one understands, how fully one +can sympathise! And indeed the smallest bits of marble, the maimed +statues, the bas-reliefs in fragments, even the isolated limbs--whether +the divine arm of a nymph or the sinewy, shaggy thigh of a satyr--evoke +the 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 Abbé,” 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 Father +sometimes passes this way to go down to the gardens. It would be really +lucky if you could see him, perhaps even speak to him--who can tell? At +all events, it will rest you, for you must be tired out.” + +Narcisse was known to all the attendants, and his relationship to +Monsignor Gamba gave him the run of almost the entire Vatican, where he +was fond of spending his leisure time. Finding two chairs, they sat down, +and the _attaché_ again began to talk of art. + +How astonishing had been the destiny of Rome, what a singular, borrowed +royalty had been hers! She seemed like a centre whither the whole world +converged, but where nothing grew from the soil itself, which from the +outset appeared to be stricken with sterility. The arts required to be +acclimatised there; it was necessary to transplant the genius of +neighbouring nations, which, once there, however, flourished +magnificently. 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 with +paganism; it was on another soil that it produced Gothic art, the +Christian Art _par excellence_. Later still, at the Renascence, it was +certainly at Rome that the age of Julius II and Leo X shone forth; but +the artists of Tuscany and Umbria prepared the evolution, brought it to +Rome 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 by +blossoming so triumphantly within her walls. Then occurred the +extraordinary awakening of antiquity, Apollo and Venus resuscitated +worshipped by the popes themselves, who from the time of Nicholas V +dreamt of making papal Rome the equal of the imperial city. After the +precursors, 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 the +fall was sudden, years elapsed before the advent of Caravaggio with power +of colour and modelling, all that the science of painting could achieve +when bereft of genius. And afterwards the decline continued until Bernini +was reached--Bernini, the real creator of the Rome of the present popes, +the prodigal child who at twenty could already show a galaxy of colossal +marble wenches, the universal architect who with fearful activity +finished the façade, built the colonnade, decorated the interior of St. +Peter’s, and raised fountains, churches, and palaces innumerable. And +that was the end of all, for since then Rome has little by little +withdrawn from life, from the modern world, as though she, who always +lived on what she derived from others, were dying of her inability to +take anything more from them in order to convert it to her own glory. + +“Ah! Bernini, that delightful Bernini!” continued Narcisse with his +rapturous air. “He is both powerful and exquisite, his verve always +ready, his ingenuity invariably awake, his fecundity full of grace and +magnificence. As for their Bramante with his masterpiece, that cold, +correct Cancelleria, we’ll dub him the Michael Angelo and Raffaelle of +architecture and say no more about it. But Bernini, that exquisite +Bernini, why, there is more delicacy and refinement in his pretended bad +taste than in all the hugeness and perfection of the others! Our own age +ought to recognise itself in his art, at once so varied and so deep, so +triumphant in its mannerisms, so full of a perturbing solicitude for the +artificial and so free from the baseness of reality. Just go to the Villa +Borghese to see the group of Apollo and Daphne which Bernini executed +when he was eighteen,* and in particular see his statue of Santa Teresa +in ecstasy at Santa Maria della Vittoria! Ah! that Santa Teresa! It is +like heaven opening, with the quiver that only a purely divine enjoyment +can set in woman’s flesh, the rapture of faith carried to the point of +spasm, the creature losing breath and dying of pleasure in the arms of +the Divinity! I have spent hours and hours before that work without +exhausting 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 his +covert, unconscious hatred of health, simplicity, and strength, scarcely +listened to him. The young priest himself was again becoming absorbed in +the idea he had formed of pagan Rome resuscitating in Christian Rome and +turning it into Catholic Rome, the new political, sacerdotal, domineering +centre of earthly government. Apart from the primitive age of the +Catacombs, had Rome ever been Christian? The thoughts that had come to +him on the Palatine, in the Appian Way, and in St. Peter’s were gathering +confirmation. Genius that morning had brought him fresh proof. No doubt +the paganism which reappeared in the art of Michael Angelo and Raffaelle +was tempered, transformed by the Christian spirit. But did it not still +remain the basis? Had not the former master peered across Olympus when +snatching his great nudities from the terrible heavens of Jehovah? Did +not the ideal figures of Raffaelle reveal the superb, fascinating flesh +of Venus beneath the chaste veil of the Virgin? It seemed so to Pierre, +and some embarrassment mingled with his despondency, for all those +beautiful forms glorifying the ardent passions of life, were in +opposition to his dream of rejuvenated Christianity giving peace to the +world and reviving the simplicity and purity of the early ages. + +All at once he was surprised to hear Narcisse, by what transition he +could not tell, speaking to him of the daily life of Leo XIII. “Yes, my +dear Abbé, at eighty-four* the Holy Father shows the activity of a young +man and leads a life of determination and hard work such as neither you +nor I would care for! At six o’clock he is already up, says his mass in +his private chapel, and drinks a little milk for breakfast. Then, from +eight o’clock till noon, there is a ceaseless procession of cardinals and +prelates, all the affairs of the congregations passing under his eyes, +and none could be more numerous or intricate. At noon the public and +collective audiences usually begin. At two he dines. Then comes the +siesta which he has well earned, or else a promenade in the gardens until +six o’clock. The private audiences then sometimes keep him for an hour or +two. He sups at nine and scarcely eats, lives on nothing, in fact, and is +always alone at his little table. What do you think, eh, of the etiquette +which compels him to such loneliness? There you have a man who for +eighteen years has never had a guest at his table, who day by day sits +all alone in his grandeur! And as soon as ten o’clock strikes, after +saying 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 frequently +troubled by insomnia, and gets up and sends for a secretary to dictate +memoranda or letters to him. When any interesting matter requires his +attention he gives himself up to it heart and soul, never letting it +escape his thoughts. And his life, his health, lies in all this. His mind +is always busy; his will and strength must always be exerting themselves. +You may know that he long cultivated Latin verse with affection; and I +believe that in his days of struggle he had a passion for journalism, +inspired the articles of the newspapers he subsidised, and even dictated +some 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 the +little papal _cortège_ were not emerging from the Gallery of the +Tapestries to pass them on its way to the gardens. “You are perhaps +aware,” he resumed, “that his Holiness is brought down on a low chair +which is small enough to pass through every doorway. It’s quite a +journey, more than a mile, through the _loggie_, the _stanze_ of +Raffaelle, the painting and sculpture galleries, not to mention the +numerous staircases, before he reaches the gardens, where a pair-horse +carriage awaits him. It’s quite fine this evening, so he will surely +come. We must have a little patience.” + +Whilst Narcisse was giving these particulars Pierre again sank into a +reverie and saw the whole extraordinary history pass before him. First +came the worldly, ostentatious popes of the Renascence, those who +resuscitated antiquity with so much passion and dreamt of draping the +Holy See with the purple of empire once more. There was Paul II, the +magnificent Venetian who built the Palazzo di Venezia; Sixtus IV, to whom +one owes the Sixtine Chapel; and Julius II and Leo X, who made Rome a +city of theatrical pomp, prodigious festivities, tournaments, ballets, +hunts, masquerades, and banquets. At that time the papacy had just +rediscovered Olympus amidst the dust of buried ruins, and as though +intoxicated by the torrent of life which arose from the ancient soil, it +founded the museums, thus reviving the superb temples of the pagan age, +and restoring them to the cult of universal admiration. Never had the +Church been in such peril of death, for if the Christ was still honoured +at St. Peter’s, Jupiter and all the other gods and goddesses, with their +beauteous, triumphant flesh, were enthroned in the halls of the Vatican. +Then, however, another vision passed before Pierre, one of the modern +popes prior to the Italian occupation--notably Pius IX, who, whilst yet +free, often went into his good city of Rome. His huge red and gold coach +was drawn by six horses, surrounded by Swiss Guards and followed by Noble +Guards; but now and again he would alight in the Corso, and continue his +promenade on foot, and then the mounted men of the escort galloped +forward to give warning and stop the traffic. The carriages drew up, the +gentlemen had to alight and kneel on the pavement, whilst the ladies +simply 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, the +voluntary prisoner, shut up in the Vatican for eighteen years, and he, +behind the high, silent walls, in the unknown sphere where each of his +days flowed by so quietly, had acquired a more exalted majesty, instinct +with sacred and redoubtable mysteriousness. + +Ah! that Pope whom you no longer meet or see, that Pope hidden from the +common of mankind like some terrible divinity whom the priests alone dare +to approach! It is in that sumptuous Vatican which his forerunners of the +Renascence built and adorned for giant festivities that he has secluded +himself; it is there he lives, far from the crowd, in prison with the +handsome men and the lovely women of Michael Angelo and Raffaelle, with +the gods and goddesses of marble, with the whole of resplendent Olympus +celebrating around him the religion of life and light. With him the +entire Papacy is there steeped in paganism. What a spectacle when the +slender, weak old man, all soul, so purely white, passes along the +galleries of the Museum of Antiquities on his way to the gardens. Right +and left the statues behold him pass with all their bare flesh. There is +Jupiter, there is Apollo, there is Venus the _dominatrix_, there is Pan, +the universal god in whose laugh the joys of earth ring out. Nereids +bathe in transparent water. Bacchantes roll, unveiled, in the warm grass. +Centaurs gallop by carrying lovely girls, faint with rapture, on their +steaming haunches. Ariadne is surprised by Bacchus, Ganymede fondles the +eagle, Adonis fires youth and maiden with his flame. And on and on passes +the weak, white old man, swaying on his low chair, amidst that splendid +triumph, that display and glorification of the flesh, which shouts aloud +the omnipotence of Nature, of everlasting matter! Since they have found +it again, exhumed it, and honoured it, that it is which once more reigns +there imperishable; and in vain have they set vine leaves on the statues, +even as they have swathed the huge figures of Michael Angelo; sex still +flares on all sides, life overflows, its germs course in torrents through +the veins of the world. Near by, in that Vatican library of incomparable +wealth, where all human science lies slumbering, there lurks a yet more +terrible danger--the danger of an explosion which would sweep away +everything, Vatican and St. Peter’s also, if one day the books in their +turn were to awake and speak aloud as speak the beauty of Venus and the +manliness of Apollo. But the white, diaphanous old man seems neither to +see 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 an +attendant, he learnt from him that his Holiness had already gone down. To +shorten the distance, indeed, the _cortège_ often passes along a kind of +open 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 he +personally knew. The man at once let him pass with Pierre, but was unable +to tell him whether Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo had accompanied his +Holiness that day. + +“No matter,” resumed Narcisse when he and his companion were alone in the +path; “I don’t despair of meeting him--and these, you see, are the famous +gardens of the Vatican.” + +They are very extensive grounds, and the Pope can go quite two and a half +miles by passing along the paths of the wood, the vineyard, and the +kitchen garden. Occupying the plateau of the Vatican hill, which the +medieval wall of Leo IV still girdles, the gardens are separated from the +neighbouring valleys as by a fortified rampart. The wall formerly +stretched to the castle of Sant’ Angelo, thereby forming what was known +as the Leonine City. No inquisitive eyes can peer into the grounds +excepting from the dome of St. Peter’s, which casts its huge shadow over +them during the hot summer weather. They are, too, quite a little world, +which each pope has taken pleasure in embellishing. There is a large +parterre with lawns of geometrical patterns, planted with handsome palms +and adorned with lemon and orange trees in pots; there is a less formal, +a shadier garden, where, amidst deep plantations of yoke-elms, you find +Giovanni Vesanzio’s fountain, the Aquilone, and Pius IV’s old Casino; +then, too, there are the woods with their superb evergreen oaks, their +thickets of plane-trees, acacias, and pines, intersected by broad +avenues, which are delightfully pleasant for leisurely strolls; and +finally, on turning to the left, beyond other clumps of trees, come the +kitchen garden and the vineyard, the last well tended. + +Whilst walking through the wood Narcisse told Pierre of the life led by +the Holy Father in these gardens. He strolls in them every second day +when the weather allows. Formerly the popes left the Vatican for the +Quirinal, which is cooler and healthier, as soon as May arrived; and +spent the dog days at Castle Gandolfo on the margins of the Lake of +Albano. But nowadays the only summer residence possessed by his Holiness +is a virtually intact tower of the old rampart of Leo IV. He here spends +the hottest days, and has even erected a sort of pavilion beside it for +the accommodation of his suite. Narcisse, like one at home, went in and +secured permission for Pierre to glance at the one room occupied by the +Pope, a spacious round chamber with semispherical ceiling, on which are +painted the heavens with symbolical figures of the constellations; one of +the latter, the lion, having two stars for eyes--stars which a system of +lighting causes to sparkle during the night. The walls of the tower are +so thick that after blocking up a window, a kind of room, for the +accommodation of a couch, has been contrived in the embrasure. Beside +this couch the only furniture is a large work-table, a dining-table with +flaps, and a large regal arm-chair, a mass of gilding, one of the gifts +of the Pope’s episcopal jubilee. And you dream of the days of solitude +and perfect silence, spent in that low donjon hall, where the coolness of +a tomb prevails whilst the heavy suns of August are scorching overpowered +Rome. + +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 fond +of resting. He sometimes goes on foot to the kitchen garden, and takes +much interest in the vineyard, visiting it to see if the grapes are +ripening and if the vintage will be a good one. What most astonished +Pierre, however, was to learn that the Holy Father had been very fond of +“sport” before age had weakened him. He was indeed passionately addicted +to bird snaring. Broad-meshed nets were hung on either side of a path on +the fringe of a plantation, and in the middle of the path were placed +cages containing the decoys, whose songs soon attracted all the birds of +the neighbourhood--red-breasts, white-throats, black-caps, nightingales, +fig-peckers of all sorts. And when a numerous company of them was +gathered together Leo XIII, seated out of sight and watching, would +suddenly clap his hands and startle the birds, which flew up and were +caught by the wings in the meshes of the nets. All that then remained to +be done was to take them out of the nets and stifle them by a touch of +the 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 suddenly +lighted on a “Grotto of Lourdes,” a miniature imitation of the original, +built of rocks and blocks of cement. And such was his emotion at the +sight that he could not conceal it. “It’s true, then!” said he. “I was +told of it, but I thought that the Holy Father was of loftier mind--free +from all such base superstitions!” + +“Oh!” replied Narcisse, “I fancy that the grotto dates from Pius IX, who +evinced especial gratitude to our Lady of Lourdes. At all events, it must +be a gift, and Leo XIII simply keeps it in repair.” + +For a few moments Pierre remained motionless and silent before that +imitation grotto, that childish plaything. Some zealously devout visitors +had left their visiting cards in the cracks of the cement-work! For his +part, he felt very sad, and followed his companion with bowed head, +lamenting the wretched idiocy of the world. Then, on emerging from the +wood, on again reaching the parterre, he raised his eyes. + +Ah! how exquisite in spite of everything was that decline of a lovely +day, and what a victorious charm ascended from the soil in that part of +the gardens. There, in front of that bare, noble, burning parterre, far +more than under the languishing foliage of the wood or among the fruitful +vines, Pierre realised the strength of Nature. Above the grass growing +meagrely over the compartments of geometrical pattern which the pathways +traced there were barely a few low shrubs, dwarf roses, aloes, rare tufts +of withering flowers. Some green bushes still described the escutcheon of +Pius IX in accordance with the strange taste of former times. And amidst +the warm silence one only heard the faint crystalline murmur of the water +trickling from the basin of the central fountain. But all Rome, its +ardent heavens, sovereign grace, and conquering voluptuousness, seemed +with their own soul to animate this vast rectangular patch of decorative +gardening, this mosaic of verdure, which in its semi-abandonment and +scorched decay assumed an aspect of melancholy pride, instinct with the +ever returning quiver of a passion of fire that could not die. Some +antique vases and statues, whitely nude under the setting sun, skirted +the parterres. And above the aroma of eucalyptus and of pine, stronger +even than that of the ripening oranges, there rose the odour of the +large, bitter box-shrubs, so laden with pungent life that it disturbed +one as one passed as if indeed it were the very scent of the fecundity of +that ancient soil saturated with the dust of generations. + +“It’s very strange that we have not met his Holiness,” exclaimed +Narcisse. “Perhaps his carriage took the other path through the wood +while we were in the tower.” + +Then, reverting to Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo, the _attaché_ explained +that the functions of _Copiere_, or papal cup-bearer, which his cousin +should have discharged as one of the four _Camerieri segreti +partecipanti_ had become purely honorary since the dinners offered to +diplomatists or in honour of newly consecrated bishops had been given by +the Cardinal Secretary of State. Monsignor Gamba, whose cowardice and +nullity were legendary, seemed therefore to have no other _rôle_ than +that of enlivening Leo XIII, whose favour he had won by his incessant +flattery and the anecdotes which he was ever relating about both the +black and the white worlds. Indeed this fat, amiable man, who could even +be obliging when his interests were not in question, was a perfect +newspaper, brimful of tittle-tattle, disdaining no item of gossip +whatever, even if it came from the kitchens. And thus he was quietly +marching towards the cardinalate, certain of obtaining the hat without +other exertion than that of bringing a budget of gossip to beguile the +pleasant hours of the promenade. And Heaven knew that he was always able +to garner an abundant harvest of news in that closed Vatican swarming +with prelates of every kind, in that womanless pontifical family of old +begowned bachelors, all secretly exercised by vast ambitions, covert and +revolting rivalries, and ferocious hatreds, which, it is said, are still +sometimes 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; he +is about to get into his carriage again.” + +As he spoke a carriage drew up at the verge of the wood, and a little +_cortège_ emerging from a narrow path, went towards it. + +Pierre felt as if he had received a great blow in the heart. Motionless +beside his companion, and half hidden by a lofty vase containing a +lemon-tree, it was only from a distance that he was able to see the white +old man, looking so frail and slender in the wavy folds of his white +cassock, and walking so very slowly with short, gliding steps. The young +priest could scarcely distinguish the emaciated face of old diaphanous +ivory, emphasised by a large nose which jutted out above thin lips. +However, the Pontiff’s black eyes were glittering with an inquisitive +smile, while his right ear was inclined towards Monsignor Gamba del +Zoppo, who was doubtless finishing some story at once rich and short, +flowery and dignified. And on the left walked a Noble Guard; and two +other prelates followed. + +It was but a familiar apparition; Leo XIII was already climbing into the +closed carriage. And Pierre, in the midst of that large, odoriferous, +burning garden, again experienced the singular emotion which had come +upon him in the Gallery of the Candelabra while he was picturing the Pope +on his way between the Apollos and Venuses radiant in their triumphant +nudity. There, however, it was only pagan art which had celebrated the +eternity of life, the superb, almighty powers of Nature. But here he had +beheld the Pontiff steeped in Nature itself, in Nature clad in the most +lovely, most voluptuous, most passionate guise. Ah! that Pope, that old +man strolling with his Divinity of grief, humility, and renunciation +along the paths of those gardens of love, in the languid evenings of the +hot summer days, beneath the caressing scents of pine and eucalyptus, +ripe oranges, and tall, acrid box-shrubs! The whole atmosphere around him +proclaimed the powers of the great god Pan. How pleasant was the thought +of living there, amidst that magnificence of heaven and of earth, of +loving 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 joy +and light it was only possible for a temporal religion of conquest and +political domination to rise; not the mystical, pain-fraught religion of +the North--the religion of the soul! + +However, Narcisse led the young priest away, telling him other anecdotes +as they went--anecdotes of the occasional _bonhomie_ of Leo XIII, who +would stop to chat with the gardeners, and question them about the health +of the trees and the sale of the oranges. And he also mentioned the +Pope’s former passion for a pair of gazelles, sent him from Africa, two +graceful creatures which he had been fond of caressing, and at whose +death he had shed tears. But Pierre no longer listened. When they found +themselves on the Piazza of St. Peter’s, he turned round and gazed at the +Vatican once more. + +His eyes had fallen on the gate of bronze, and he remembered having +wondered that morning what there might be behind these metal panels +ornamented with big nails. And he did not yet dare to answer the +question, and decide if the new nations thirsting for fraternity and +justice would really find there the religion necessary for the +democracies of to-morrow; for he had not been able to probe things, and +only carried a first impression away with him. But how keen it was, and +how ill it boded for his dreams! A gate of bronze! Yes, a hard, +impregnable gate, so completely shutting the Vatican off from the rest of +the world that nothing new had entered the palace for three hundred +years. 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 Noble +Guards, and the prelates themselves were unchanged; and you found +yourself in the world of three hundred years ago, with its etiquette, its +costumes, and its ideas. That the popes in a spirit of haughty protest +should for five and twenty years have voluntarily shut themselves up in +their palace was already regrettable; but this imprisonment of centuries +within the past, within the grooves of tradition, was far more serious +and dangerous. It was all Catholicism which was thus imprisoned, whose +dogmas and sacerdotal organisation were obstinately immobilised. Perhaps, +in spite of its apparent flexibility, Catholicism was really unable to +yield in anything, under peril of being swept away, and therein lay both +its 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 the +bars--the Crucified by the side of Jupiter Capitolinus, all pagan +antiquity fraternising with the Apostles, all the splendours of the +Renascence surrounding the pastor of the Gospel who reigns in the name of +the humble and the poor! + +The sun was sinking, the gentle, luscious sweetness of the Roman evenings +was falling from the limpid heavens, and after that splendid day spent +with Michael Angelo, Raffaelle, the ancients, and the Pope, in the finest +palace of the world, the young priest lingered, distracted, on the Piazza +of St. Peter’s. + +“Well, you must excuse me, my dear Abbé,” concluded Narcisse. “But I will +now confess to you that I suspect my worthy cousin of a fear that he +might compromise himself by meddling in your affair. I shall certainly +see 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 the +little side door, a key of which had been given him. But he had that +morning received a letter from M. de la Choue, and desired to communicate +it to Benedetta. So he ascended the grand staircase, and on reaching the +anteroom was surprised to find nobody there. As a rule, whenever the +man-servant went out Victorine installed herself in his place and busied +herself with some needlework. Her chair was there, and Pierre even +noticed some linen which she had left on a little table when probably +summoned elsewhere. Then, as the door of the first reception-room was +ajar, he at last ventured in. It was almost night there already, the +twilight was softly dying away, and all at once the young priest stopped +short, fearing to take another step, for, from the room beyond, the large +yellow _salon_, there came a murmur of feverish, distracted words, ardent +entreaties, fierce panting, a rustling and a shuffling of footsteps. And +suddenly Pierre no longer hesitated, urged on despite himself by the +conviction that the sounds he heard were those of a struggle, and that +some one was hard pressed. + +And when he darted into the further room he was stupefied, for Dario was +there, no longer showing the degenerate elegance of the last scion of an +exhausted race, but maddened by the hot, frantic blood of the Boccaneras +which had bubbled up within him. He had clasped Benedetta by the +shoulders 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 wretched +for ever! Love me as you do love me, and let me love you--let me love +you!” + +But the Contessina, with an indescribable expression of tenderness and +suffering on her tearful face, repulsed him with her outstretched arms, +she likewise evincing a fierce energy as she repeated: “No, no; I love +you, but it must not, it must not be.” + +At that moment, amidst the roar of his despair, Dario became conscious +that some one was entering the room. He turned and gazed at Pierre with +an expression of stupefied insanity, scarce able even to recognise him. +Then he carried his two hands to his face, to his bloodshot eyes and his +cheeks wet with scalding tears, and fled, heaving a terrible, +pain-fraught sigh in which baffled passion mingled with grief and +repentance. + +Benedetta seated herself, breathing hard, her strength and courage +wellnigh exhausted. But as Pierre, too much embarrassed to speak, turned +towards the door, she addressed him in a calmer voice: “No, no, Monsieur +l’Abbé, do not go away--sit down, I pray you; I should like to speak to +you for a moment.” + +He thereupon thought it his duty to account for his sudden entrance, and +explained that he had found the door of the first _salon_ ajar, and that +Victorine was not in the ante-room, though he had seen her work lying on +the table there. + +“Yes,” exclaimed the Contessina, “Victorine ought to have been there; I +saw her there but a short time ago. And when my poor Dario lost his head +I called her. Why did she not come?” Then, with sudden expansion, leaning +towards Pierre, she continued: “Listen, Monsieur l’Abbé, I will tell you +what happened, for I don’t want you to form too bad an opinion of my poor +Dario. It was all in some measure my fault. Last night he asked me for an +appointment here in order that we might have a quiet chat, and as I knew +that my aunt would be absent at this time to-day I told him to come. It +was only natural--wasn’t it?--that we should want to see one another and +come to an agreement after the grievous news that my marriage will +probably 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, mingling +our tears together. I kissed him again and again, telling him how I +adored him, how bitterly grieved I was at being the cause of his +sufferings, and how surely I should die of grief at seeing him so +unhappy. Ah! no doubt I did wrong; I ought not to have caught him to my +heart and embraced him as I did, for it maddened him, Monsieur l’Abbé; he +lost his head, and would have made me break my vow to the Blessed +Virgin.” + +She spoke these words in all tranquillity and simplicity, without sign of +embarrassment, like a young and beautiful woman who is at once sensible +and practical. Then she resumed: “Oh! I know my poor Dario well, but it +does not prevent me from loving him; perhaps, indeed, it only makes me +love him the more. He looks delicate, perhaps rather sickly, but in truth +he is a man of passion. Yes, the old blood of my people bubbles up in +him. I know something of it myself, for when I was a child I sometimes +had fits of angry passion which left me exhausted on the floor, and even +now, when the gusts arise within me, I have to fight against myself and +torture myself in order that I may not act madly. But my poor Dario does +not know how to suffer. He is like a child whose fancies must be +gratified. And yet at bottom he has a good deal of common sense; he waits +for me because he knows that the only real happiness lies with the woman +who adores him.” + +As Pierre listened he was able to form a more precise idea of the young +prince, of whose character he had hitherto had but a vague perception. +Whilst dying of love for his cousin, Dario had ever been a man of +pleasure. Though he was no doubt very amiable, the basis of his +temperament was none the less egotism. And, in particular, he was unable +to endure suffering; he loathed suffering, ugliness, and poverty, whether +they affected himself or others. Both his flesh and his soul required +gaiety, brilliancy, show, life in the full sunlight. And withal he was +exhausted, with no strength left him but for the idle life he led, so +incapable of thought and will that the idea of joining the new _régime_ +had not even occurred to him. Yet he had all the unbounded pride of a +Roman; sagacity--a keen, practical perception of the real--was mingled +with his indolence; while his inveterate love of woman, more frequently +displayed in charm of manner, burst forth at times in attacks of frantic +sensuality. + +“After all he is a man,” concluded Benedetta in a low voice, “and I must +not ask impossibilities of him.” Then, as Pierre gazed at her, his +notions of Italian jealousy quite upset, she exclaimed, aglow with +passionate adoration: “No, no. Situated as we are, I am not jealous. I +know very well that he will always return to me, and that he will be mine +alone whenever I please, whenever it may be possible.” + +Silence followed; shadows were filling the room, the gilding of the large +pier tables faded away, and infinite melancholy fell from the lofty, dim +ceiling and the old hangings, yellow like autumn leaves. But soon, by +some chance play of the waning light, a painting stood out above the sofa +on which the Contessina was seated. It was the portrait of the beautiful +young girl with the turban--Cassia Boccanera the forerunner, the +_amorosa_ and avengeress. Again was Pierre struck by the portrait’s +resemblance to Benedetta, and, thinking aloud, he resumed: “Passion +always proves the stronger; there invariably comes a moment when one +succumbs--” + +But Benedetta violently interrupted him: “I! I! Ah! you do not know me; I +would rather die!” And with extraordinary exaltation, all aglow with +love, as if her superstitious faith had fired her passion to ecstasy, she +continued: “I have vowed to the Madonna that I will belong to none but +the man I love, and to him only when he is my husband. And hitherto I +have kept that vow, at the cost of my happiness, and I will keep it +still, 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 shall +not 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 idea +of human nobility which Christianity has set in renunciation and purity; +a protest, as it were, against eternal matter, against the forces of +Nature, the everlasting fruitfulness of life. But there was more than +this; she reserved herself, like a divine and priceless gift, to be +bestowed on the one being whom her heart had chosen, he who would be her +lord and master when God should have united them in marriage. For her +everything lay in the blessing of the priest, in the religious +solemnisation of matrimony. And thus one understood her long resistance +to Prada, whom she did not love, and her despairing, grievous resistance +to Dario, whom she did love, but who was not her husband. And how +torturing it was for that soul of fire to have to resist her love; how +continual was the combat waged by duty in the Virgin’s name against the +wild, passionate blood of her race! Ignorant, indolent though she might +be, she was capable of great fidelity of heart, and, moreover, she was +not given to dreaming: love might have its immaterial charms, but she +desired it complete. + +As Pierre looked at her in the dying twilight he seemed to see and +understand her for the first time. The duality of her nature appeared in +her somewhat full, fleshy lips, in her big black eyes, which suggested a +dark, tempestuous night illumined by flashes of lightning, and in the +calm, sensible expression of the rest of her gentle, infantile face. And, +withal, behind those eyes of flame, beneath that pure, candid skin, one +divined the internal tension of a superstitious, proud, and self-willed +woman, who was obstinately intent on reserving herself for her one love. +And Pierre could well understand that she should be adored, that she +should fill the life of the man she chose with passion, and that to his +own eyes she should appear like the younger sister of that lovely, tragic +Cassia who, unwilling to survive the blow that had rendered self-bestowal +impossible, had flung herself into the Tiber, dragging her brother Ercole +and the corpse of her lover Flavio with her. + +However, with a gesture of kindly affection Benedetta caught hold of +Pierre’s hands. “You have been here a fortnight, Monsieur l’Abbé,” said +she, “and I have come to like you very much, for I feel you to be a +friend. If at first you do not understand us, at least pray do not judge +us too severely. Ignorant as I may be, I always strive to act for the +best, I assure you.” + +Pierre was greatly touched by her affectionate graciousness, and thanked +her whilst for a moment retaining her beautiful hands in his own, for he +also was becoming much attached to her. A fresh dream was carrying him +off, 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 of +future 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 and +so sleepy, instinct with a dying grace, charming one even in her +drowsiness, and retaining so much mystery in the fathomless depths of her +black, passionate eyes! And what a _rôle_ would be that of awakening her, +instructing her, winning her over to truth, making her the rejuvenated +Italy of to-morrow such as he had dreamt of! Even in that disastrous +marriage with Count Prada he tried to see merely a first attempt at +revival which had failed, the modern Italy of the North being over-hasty, +too brutal in its eagerness to love and transform that gentle, belated +Rome which was yet so superb and indolent. But might he not take up the +task? Had he not noticed that his book, after the astonishment of the +first perusal, had remained a source of interest and reflection with +Benedetta amidst the emptiness of her days given over to grief? What! was +it really possible that she might find some appeasement for her own +wretchedness by interesting herself in the humble, in the happiness of +the poor? Emotion already thrilled her at the idea, and he, quivering at +the thought of all the boundless love that was within her and that she +might bestow, vowed to himself that he would draw tears of pity from her +eyes. + +But the night had now almost completely fallen, and Benedetta rose to ask +for a lamp. Then, as Pierre was about to take leave, she detained him for +another moment in the gloom. He could no longer see her; he only heard +her grave voice: “You will not go away with too bad an opinion of us, +will you, Monsieur l’Abbé? We love one another, Dario and I, and that is +no sin when one behaves as one ought. Ah! yes, I love him, and have loved +him for years. I was barely thirteen, he was eighteen, and we already +loved one another wildly in those big gardens of the Villa Montefiori +which are now all broken up. Ah! what days we spent there, whole +afternoons among the trees, hours in secret hiding-places, where we +kissed like little angels. When the oranges ripened their perfume +intoxicated us. And the large box-plants, ah, _Dio!_ how they enveloped +us, how their strong, acrid scent made our hearts beat! I can never smell +then nowadays without feeling faint!” + +A man-servant brought in the lamp, and Pierre ascended to his room. But +when half-way up the little staircase he perceived Victorine, who started +slightly, as if she had posted herself there to watch his departure from +the _salon_. And now, as she followed him up, talking and seeking for +information, he suddenly realised what had happened. “Why did you not go +to 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 heard +nothing. But her good-natured, frank face did not know how to lie, and +she ended by confessing, with a gay, courageous air. “Well,” she said, +“it surely wasn’t for me to interfere between lovers! Besides, my poor +little Benedetta is simply torturing herself to death with those ideas of +hers. Why shouldn’t they be happy, since they love one another? Life +isn’t so amusing as some may think. And how bitterly one regrets not +having seized hold of happiness when the time for it has gone!” + +Once alone in his room, Pierre suddenly staggered, quite overcome. The +great box-plants, the great box-plants with their acrid, perturbing +perfume! She, Benedetta, like himself, had quivered as she smelt them; +and he saw them once more in a vision of the pontifical gardens, the +voluptuous gardens of Rome, deserted, glowing under the August sun. And +now his whole day crystallised, assumed clear and full significance. It +spoke to him of the fruitful awakening, of the eternal protest of Nature +and life, Venus and Hercules, whom one may bury for centuries beneath the +soil, but who, nevertheless, one day arise from it, and though one may +seek to wall them up within the domineering, stubborn, immutable Vatican, +reign yet even there, and rule the whole, wide world with sovereign +power! + + + + + +PART III. + + + + +VII. + + +On the following day as Pierre, after a long ramble, once more found +himself in front of the Vatican, whither a harassing attraction ever led +him, he again encountered Monsignor Nani. It was a Wednesday evening, and +the Assessor of the Holy Office had just come from his weekly audience +with the Pope, whom he had acquainted with the proceedings of the +Congregation at its meeting that morning. “What a fortunate chance, my +dear sir,” said he; “I was thinking of you. Would you like to see his +Holiness in public while you are waiting for a private audience?” + +Nani had put on his pleasant expression of smiling civility, beneath +which one would barely detect the faint irony of a superior man who knew +everything, prepared everything, and could do everything. + +“Why, yes, Monsignor,” Pierre replied, somewhat astonished by the +abruptness of the offer. “Anything of a nature to divert one’s mind is +welcome when one loses one’s time in waiting.” + +“No, no, you are not losing your time,” replied the prelate. “You are +looking round you, reflecting, and enlightening yourself. Well, this is +the point. You are doubtless aware that the great international +pilgrimage of the Peter’s Pence Fund will arrive in Rome on Friday, and +be received on Saturday by his Holiness. On Sunday, moreover, the Holy +Father will celebrate mass at the Basilica. Well, I have a few cards +left, and here are some very good places for both ceremonies.” So saying +he produced an elegant little pocketbook bearing a gilt monogram and +handed Pierre two cards, one green and the other pink. “If you only knew +how people fight for them,” he resumed. “You remember that I told you of +two 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 a +way, and they have had to content themselves with cards like these. The +fact is, the Holy Father is somewhat fatigued at the present time. I +found him looking yellow and feverish just now. But he has so much +courage; he nowadays only lives by force of soul.” Then Nani’s smile came +back with its almost imperceptible touch of derision as he resumed: +“Impatient ones ought to find a great example in him, my dear son. I +heard that Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo had been unable to help you. But you +must not be too much distressed on that account. This long delay is +assuredly a grace of Providence in order that you may instruct yourself +and come to understand certain things which you French priests do not, +unfortunately, realise when you arrive in Rome. And perhaps it will +prevent you from making certain mistakes. Come, calm yourself, and +remember that the course of events is in the hands of God, who, in His +sovereign wisdom, fixes the hour for all things.” + +Thereupon Nani offered Pierre his plump, supple, shapely hand, a hand +soft like a woman’s but with the grasp of a vice. And afterwards he +climbed into his carriage, which was waiting for him. + +It so happened that the letter which Pierre had received from Viscount +Philibert de la Choue was a long cry of spite and despair in connection +with the great international pilgrimage of the Peter’s Pence Fund. The +Viscount wrote from his bed, to which he was confined by a very severe +attack of gout, and his grief at being unable to come to Rome was the +greater as the President of the Committee, who would naturally present +the pilgrims to the Pope, happened to be Baron de Fouras, one of his most +bitter adversaries of the old conservative, Catholic party. M. de la +Choue felt certain that the Baron would profit by his opportunity to win +the Pope over to the theory of free corporations; whereas he, the +Viscount, believed that the salvation of Catholicism and the world could +only be worked by a system in which the corporations should be closed and +obligatory. And so he urged Pierre to exert himself with such cardinals +as were favourable, to secure an audience with the Holy Father whatever +the obstacles, and to remain in Rome until he should have secured the +Pontiff’s approbation, which alone could decide the victory. The letter +further mentioned that the pilgrimage would be made up of a number of +groups headed by bishops and other ecclesiastical dignitaries, and would +comprise three thousand people from France, Belgium, Spain, Austria, and +even Germany. Two thousand of these would come from France alone. An +international committee had assembled in Paris to organise everything and +select the pilgrims, which last had proved a delicate task, as a +representative gathering had been desired, a commingling of members of +the aristocracy, sisterhood of middle-class ladies, and associations of +the working classes, among whom all social differences would be forgotten +in the union of a common faith. And the Viscount added that the +pilgrimage would bring the Pope a large sum of money, and had settled the +date of its arrival in the Eternal City in such wise that it would figure +as a solemn protest of the Catholic world against the festivities of +September 20, by which the Quirinal had just celebrated the anniversary +of the occupation of Rome. + +The reception of the pilgrimage being fixed for noon, Pierre in all +simplicity thought that he would be sufficiently early if he reached St. +Peter’s at eleven. The function was to take place in the Hall of +Beatifications, which is a large and handsome apartment over the portico, +and has been arranged as a chapel since 1890. One of its windows opens on +to the central balcony, whence the popes formerly blessed the people, the +city, and the world. To reach the apartment you pass through two other +halls of audience, the Sala Regia and Sala Ducale, and when Pierre wished +to gain the place to which his green card entitled him he found both +those rooms so extremely crowded that he could only elbow his way forward +with the greatest difficulty. For an hour already the three or four +thousand people assembled there had been stifling, full of growing +emotion and feverishness. At last the young priest managed to reach the +threshold of the third hall, but was so discouraged at sight of the +extraordinary multitude of heads before him that he did not attempt to go +any 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 painted +under a severe and lofty ceiling. On a low platform, where the altar +usually stood, facing the entry, the pontifical throne had now been set: +a large arm-chair upholstered in red velvet with glittering golden back +and arms; whilst the hangings of the _baldacchino_, also of red velvet, +fell behind and spread out on either side like a pair of huge purple +wings. However, what more particularly interested Pierre was the wildly +passionate concourse of people whose hearts he could almost hear beating +and whose eyes sought to beguile their feverish impatience by +contemplating and adoring the empty throne. As if it had been some golden +monstrance which the Divinity in person would soon deign to occupy, that +throne dazzled them, disturbed them, filled them all with devout rapture. +Among the throng were workmen rigged out in their Sunday best, with clear +childish eyes and rough ecstatic faces; ladies of the upper classes +wearing black, as the regulations required, and looking intensely pale +from the sacred awe which mingled with their excessive desire; and +gentlemen in evening dress, who appeared quite glorious, inflated with +the conviction that they were saving both the Church and the nations. One +cluster of dress-coats assembled near the throne, was particularly +noticeable; it comprised the members of the International Committee, +headed by Baron de Fouras, a very tall, stout, fair man of fifty, who +bestirred and exerted himself and issued orders like some commander on +the morning of a decisive victory. Then, amidst the general mass of grey, +neutral hue, there gleamed the violet silk of some bishop’s cassock, for +each pastor had desired to remain with his flock; whilst members of +various religious orders, superiors in brown, black, and white habits, +rose up above all others with lofty bearded or shaven heads. Right and +left drooped banners which associations and congregations had brought to +present to the Pope. And the sea of pilgrims ever waved and surged with a +growing clamour: so much impatient love being exhaled by those perspiring +faces, burning eyes, and hungry mouths that the atmosphere, reeking with +the odour of the throng, seemed thickened and darkened. + +All at once, however, Pierre perceived Monsignor Nani standing near the +throne and beckoning him to approach; and although the young priest +replied by a modest gesture, implying that he preferred to remain where +he 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 not +come to take your place? Your card entitled you to be here, on the left +of the throne.” + +“The truth is,” answered the priest, “I did not like to disturb so many +people. Besides, this is an undue honour for me.” + +“No, no; I gave you that place in order that you should occupy it. I want +you to be in the first rank, so that you may see everything of the +ceremony.” + +Pierre could not do otherwise than thank him. Then, on looking round, he +saw that several cardinals and many other prelates were likewise waiting +on either side of the throne. But it was in vain that he sought Cardinal +Boccanera, who only came to St. Peter’s and the Vatican on the days when +his functions required his presence there. However, he recognised +Cardinal Sanguinetti, who, broad and sturdy and red of face, was talking +in 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 and +mighty personages--the Cardinal Vicar, a short, fat man, with a feverish +countenance scorched by ambition, and the Cardinal Secretary, who was +robust and bony, fashioned as with a hatchet, suggesting a romantic type +of 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 swept +in like a wave from the other halls. But it was merely the ushers opening +a passage for the _cortège_. Then, all at once, acclamations arose in the +first hall, gathered volume, and drew nearer. This time it was the +_cortège_ 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 the +domestic 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 blessing +the pilgrims on either hand. In his wake the clamour which had risen in +the other apartments swept into the Hall of Beatifications with the +violence of delirious love; and, under his slender, white, benedictive +hand, all those distracted creatures fell upon both knees, nought +remaining but the prostration of a devout multitude, overwhelmed, as it +were, by the apparition of its god. + +Quivering, carried away, Pierre had knelt like the others. Ah! that +omnipotence, that irresistible contagion of faith, of the redoubtable +current from the spheres beyond, increased tenfold by a _scenario_ and a +pomp of sovereign grandeur! Profound silence fell when Leo XIII was +seated on the throne surrounded by the cardinals and his court; and then +the ceremony proceeded according to rite and usage. First a bishop spoke, +kneeling and laying the homage of the faithful of all Christendom at his +Holiness’s feet. The President of the Committee, Baron de Fouras, +followed, remaining erect whilst he read a long address in which he +introduced the pilgrimage and explained its motive, investing it with all +the gravity of a political and religious protest. This stout man had a +shrill and piercing voice, and his words jarred like the grating of a +gimlet as he proclaimed the grief of the Catholic world at the spoliation +which the Holy See had endured for a quarter of a century, and the desire +of all the nations there represented by the pilgrims to console the +supreme and venerated Head of the Church by bringing him the offerings of +rich and poor, even to the mites of the humblest, in order that the +Papacy might retain the pride of independence and be able to treat its +enemies with contempt. And he also spoke of France, deplored her errors, +predicted her return to healthy traditions, and gave it to be understood +that she remained in spite of everything the most opulent and generous of +the Christian nations, the donor whose gold and presents flowed into Rome +in a never ending stream. At last Leo XIII arose to reply to the bishop +and the baron. His voice was full, with a strong nasal twang, and +surprised one coming from a man so slight of build. In a few sentences he +expressed his gratitude, saying how touched he was by the devotion of the +nations to the Holy See. Although the times might be bad, the final +triumph could not be delayed much longer. There were evident signs that +mankind was returning to faith, and that iniquity would soon cease under +the universal dominion of the Christ. As for France, was she not the +eldest daughter of the Church, and had she not given too many proofs of +her 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 the +societies and enterprises they represented, on their families and +friends, on France, on all the nations of the Catholic world, his +apostolic benediction, in gratitude for the precious help which they sent +him. And whilst he was again seating himself applause burst forth, +frantic salvoes of applause lasting for ten minutes and mingling with +vivats and inarticulate cries--a passionate, tempestuous outburst, which +made the very building shake. + +Amidst this blast of frantic adoration Pierre gazed at Leo XIII, now +again motionless on his throne. With the papal cap on his head and the +red cape edged with ermine about his shoulders, he retained in his long +white cassock the rigid, sacerdotal attitude of an idol venerated by two +hundred and fifty millions of Christians. Against the purple background +of the hangings of the _baldacchino_, between the wing-like drapery on +either side, enclosing, as it were, a brasier of glory, he assumed real +majesty 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. The +simious ugliness of his face, the largeness of his nose, the long slit of +his mouth, the hugeness of his ears, the conflicting jumble of his +withered features disappeared. In that waxen countenance you only +distinguished the admirable, dark, deep eyes, beaming with eternal youth, +with extraordinary intelligence and penetration. And then there was a +resolute bracing of his entire person, a consciousness of the eternity +which he represented, a regal nobility, born of the very circumstance +that he was now but a mere breath, a soul set in so pellucid a body of +ivory that it became visible as though it were already freed from the +bonds of earth. And Pierre realised what such a man--the Sovereign +Pontiff, the king obeyed by two hundred and fifty millions of +subjects--must be for the devout and dolent creatures who came to adore +him from so far, and who fell at his feet awestruck by the splendour of +the powers incarnate in him. Behind him, amidst the purple of the +hangings, what a gleam was suddenly afforded of the spheres beyond, what +an Infinite of ideality and blinding glory! So many centuries of history +from the Apostle Peter downward, so much strength and genius, so many +struggles and triumphs to be summed up in one being, the Elect, the +Unique, the Superhuman! And what a miracle, incessantly renewed, was that +of Heaven deigning to descend into human flesh, of the Deity fixing His +abode in His chosen servant, whom He consecrated above and beyond all +others, endowing him with all power and all science! What sacred +perturbation, what emotion fraught with distracted love might one not +feel at the thought of the Deity being ever there in the depths of that +man’s eyes, speaking with his voice and emanating from his hand each time +that he raised it to bless! Could one imagine the exorbitant absoluteness +of that sovereign who was infallible, who disposed of the totality of +authority in this world and of salvation in the next! At all events, how +well one understood that souls consumed by a craving for faith should fly +towards him, that those who at last found the certainty they had so +ardently sought should seek annihilation in him, the consolation of +self-bestowal and disappearance within the Deity Himself. + +Meantime, the ceremony was drawing to an end; Baron de Fouras was now +presenting the members of the committee and a few other persons of +importance. There was a slow procession with trembling genuflections and +much greedy kissing of the papal ring and slipper. Then the banners were +offered, and Pierre felt a pang on seeing that the finest and richest of +them was one of Lourdes, an offering no doubt from the Fathers of the +Immaculate Conception. On one side of the white, gold-bordered silk Our +Lady of Lourdes was painted, while on the other appeared a portrait of +Leo XIII. Pierre saw the Pope smile at the presentment of himself, and +was greatly grieved thereat, as though, indeed, his whole dream of an +intellectual, evangelical Pope, disentangled from all low superstition, +were crumbling away. And just then his eyes met those of Nani, who from +the outset had been watching him with the inquisitive air of a man who is +making an experiment. + +“That banner is superb, isn’t it?” said Nani, drawing near. “How it must +please his Holiness to be so nicely painted in company with so pretty a +virgin.” And as the young priest, turning pale, did not reply, the +prelate added, with an air of devout enjoyment: “We are very fond of +Lourdes in Rome; that story of Bernadette is so delightful.” + +However, the scene which followed was so extraordinary that for a long +time Pierre remained overcome by it. He had beheld never-to-be-forgotten +idolatry at Lourdes, incidents of naive faith and frantic religious +passion which yet made him quiver with alarm and grief. But the crowds +rushing on the grotto, the sick dying of divine love before the Virgin’s +statue, the multitudes delirious with the contagion of the +miraculous--nothing of all that gave an idea of the blast of madness +which suddenly inflamed the pilgrims at the feet of the Pope. Some +bishops, superiors of religious orders, and other delegates of various +kinds had stepped forward to deposit near the throne the offerings which +they brought from the whole Catholic world, the universal “collection” of +St. Peter’s Pence. It was the voluntary tribute of the nations to their +sovereign: silver, gold, and bank notes in purses, bags, and cases. +Ladies came and fell on their knees to offer silk and velvet alms-bags +which they themselves had embroidered. Others had caused the note cases +which they tendered to be adorned with the monogram of Leo XIII in +diamonds. And at one moment the enthusiasm became so intense that several +women stripped themselves of their adornments, flung their own purses on +to the platform, and emptied their pockets even to the very coppers they +had about them. One lady, tall and slender, very beautiful and very dark, +wrenched her watch from about her neck, pulled off her rings, and threw +everything upon the carpet. Had it been possible, they would have torn +away their flesh to pluck out their love-burnt hearts and fling them +likewise to the demi-god. They would even have flung themselves, have +given themselves without reserve. It was a rain of presents, an explosion +of the passion which impels one to strip oneself for the object of one’s +cult, 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 arose +amidst pushing and jostling of increased violence, one and all yielding +to the irresistible desire to kiss the idol! + +But a signal was given, and Leo XIII made haste to quit the throne and +take his place in the _cortège_ in order to return to his apartments. The +Swiss Guards energetically thrust back the throng, seeking to open a way +through the three halls. But at sight of his Holiness’s departure a +lamentation of despair arose and spread, as if heaven had suddenly closed +again and shut out those who had not yet been able to approach. What a +frightful disappointment--to have beheld the living manifestation of the +Deity and to see it disappear before gaining salvation by just touching +it! So terrible became the scramble, so extraordinary the confusion, that +the Swiss Guards were swept away. And ladies were seen to dart after the +Pope, to drag themselves on all fours over the marble slabs and kiss his +footprints and lap up the dust of his steps! The tall dark lady suddenly +fell at the edge of the platform, raised a loud shriek, and fainted; and +two gentlemen of the committee had to hold her so that she might not do +herself an injury in the convulsions of the hysterical fit which had come +upon her. Another, a plump blonde, was wildly, desperately kissing one of +the golden arms of the throne-chair, on which the old man’s poor, bony +elbow had just rested. And others, on seeing her, came to dispute +possession, seized both arms, gilding and velvet, and pressed their +mouths to wood-work or upholstery, their bodies meanwhile shaking with +their 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 painful +dream, sick at heart, and with his mind revolting. And again he +encountered Nani’s glance, which never left him. “It was a superb +ceremony, was it not?” said the prelate. “It consoles one for many +iniquities.” + +“Yes, no doubt; but what idolatry!” the young priest murmured despite +himself. + +Nani, however, merely smiled, as if he had not heard the last word. At +that same moment the two French ladies whom he had provided with tickets +came up to thank him, and. Pierre was surprised to recognise the mother +and daughter whom he had met at the Catacombs. Charming, bright, and +healthy as they were, their enthusiasm was only for the spectacle: they +declared that they were well pleased at having seen it--that it was +really astonishing, unique. + +As the crowd slowly withdrew Pierre all at once felt a tap on his +shoulder, and, on turning his head, perceived Narcisse Habert, who also +was very enthusiastic. “I made signs to you, my dear Abbé,” said he, “but +you didn’t see me. Ah! how superb was the expression of that dark woman +who fell rigid beside the platform with her arms outstretched. She +reminded me of a masterpiece of one of the primitives, Cimabue, Giotto, +or Fra Angelico. And the others, those who devoured the chair arms with +their kisses, what suavity, beauty, and love! I never miss these +ceremonies: there are always some fine scenes, perfect pictures, in which +souls 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 the +ideas which were tumultuously throbbing in his brain into something like +order. There was certainly grandeur and beauty in that Pope who had shut +himself up in his Vatican, and who, the more he became a purely moral, +spiritual authority, freed from all terrestrial cares, had grown in the +adoration and awe of mankind. Such a flight into the ideal deeply stirred +Pierre, whose dream of rejuvenated Christianity rested on the idea of the +supreme Head of the Church exercising only a purified, spiritual +authority. He had just seen what an increase of majesty and power was in +that way gained by the Supreme Pontiff of the spheres beyond, at whose +feet the women fainted, and behind whom they beheld a vision of the +Deity. But at the same moment the pecuniary side of the question had +risen before him and spoilt his joy. If the enforced relinquishment of +the temporal power had exalted the Pope by freeing him from the worries +of a petty sovereignty which was ever threatened, the need of money still +remained like a chain about his feet tying him to earth. As he could not +accept the proffered subvention of the Italian Government,* there was +certainly in the Peter’s Pence a means of placing the Holy See above all +material cares, provided, however, that this Peter’s Pence were really +the Catholic _sou_, the mite of each believer, levied on his daily income +and sent direct to Rome. Such a voluntary tribute paid by the flock to +its pastor would, moreover, suffice for the wants of the Church if each +of the 250,000,000 of Catholics gave his or her _sou_ every week. In this +wise the Pope, indebted to each and all of his children, would be +indebted to none in particular. A _sou_ was so little and so easy to +give, and there was also something so touching about the idea. But, +unhappily, things were not worked in that way; the great majority of +Catholics gave nothing whatever, while the rich ones sent large sums from +motives of political passion; and a particular objection was that the +gifts were centralised in the hands of certain bishops and religious +orders, so that these became ostensibly the benefactors of the papacy, +the indispensable cashiers from whom it drew the sinews of life. The +lowly and humble whose mites filled the collection boxes were, so to say, +suppressed, and the Pope became dependent on the intermediaries, and was +compelled to act cautiously with them, listen to their remonstrances, and +even at times obey their passions, lest the stream of gifts should +suddenly dry up. And so, although he was disburdened of the dead weight +of the temporal power, he was not free; but remained the tributary of his +clergy, with interests and appetites around him which he must needs +satisfy. And Pierre remembered the “Grotto of Lourdes” in the Vatican +gardens, and the banner which he had just seen, and he knew that the +Lourdes fathers levied 200,000 francs a year on their receipts to send +them as a present to the Holy Father. Was not that the chief reason of +their great power? He quivered, and suddenly became conscious that, do +what 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 heard +Narcisse asking Monsignor Nani: “Indeed! Do you really think that +to-day’s gifts exceeded that figure?” + +“Yes, more than three millions,* I’m convinced of it,” the prelate +replied. + + * 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 and +gazed at the vast, sunlit piazza where the pilgrims were spreading out +like little black specks hurrying hither and thither--an ant-hill, as it +were, in revolution. + +Three millions! The words had rung in Pierre’s ears. And, raising his +head, he gazed at the Vatican, all golden in the sunlight against the +expanse of blue sky, as if he wished to penetrate its walls and follow +the steps of Leo XIII returning to his apartments. He pictured him laden +with those millions, with his weak, slender arms pressed to his breast, +carrying the silver, the gold, the bank notes, and even the jewels which +the women had flung him. And almost unconsciously the young priest spoke +aloud: “What will he do with those millions? Where is he taking them?” + +Narcisse and even Nani could not help being amused by this strangely +expressed curiosity. It was the young _attaché_ who replied. “Why, his +Holiness is taking them to his room; or, at least, is having them carried +there before him. Didn’t you see two persons of his suite picking up +everything and filling their pockets? And now his Holiness has shut +himself up quite alone; and if you could see him you would find him +counting and recounting his treasure with cheerful care, ranging the +rolls of gold in good order, slipping the bank notes into envelopes in +equal quantities, and then putting everything away in hiding-places which +are only known to himself.” + +While his companion was speaking Pierre again raised his eyes to the +windows of the Pope’s apartments, as if to follow the scene. Moreover, +Narcisse gave further explanations, asserting that the money was put away +in a certain article of furniture, standing against the right-hand wall +in the Holy Father’s bedroom. Some people, he added, also spoke of a +writing table or secrétaire with deep drawers; and others declared that +the money slumbered in some big padlocked trunks stored away in the +depths of the alcove, which was very roomy. Of course, on the left side +of the passage leading to the Archives there was a large room occupied by +a general cashier and a monumental safe; but the funds kept there were +simply those of the Patrimony of St. Peter, the administrative receipts +of Rome; whereas the Peter’s Pence money, the voluntary donations of +Christendom, remained in the hands of Leo XIII: he alone knew the exact +amount of that fund, and lived alone with its millions, which he disposed +of like an absolute master, rendering account to none. And such was his +prudence that he never left his room when the servants cleaned and set it +in order. At the utmost he would consent to remain on the threshold of +the adjoining apartment in order to escape the dust. And whenever he +meant to absent himself for a few hours, to go down into the gardens, for +instance, 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 not +that so, Monsignor? These are things known to all Rome.” + +The prelate, ever smiling and wagging his head without expressing either +approval or disapproval, had begun to study on Pierre’s face the effect +of these curious stories. “No doubt, no doubt,” he responded; “so many +things are said! I know nothing myself, but you seem to be certain of it +all, 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 of +coffers full of gold in which the Holy Father is said to plunge his hands +for hours at a time; treasures which he has heaped up in corners for the +sole pleasure of counting them over and over again. Nevertheless, one may +well 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 happens +to be alone--and after all that is a very excusable mania in an old man +who has no other pastime. But I must add that he is yet fonder of money +for the social power which it brings, the decisive help which it will +give 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, conscious +of modern requirements, inclined to utilise the powers of the century in +order to conquer it, and for this reason venturing on business and +speculation. As it happened, the treasure bequeathed by Pius IX had +nearly been lost in a financial disaster, but ever since that time Leo +XIII had sought to repair the breach and make the treasure whole again, +in order that he might leave it to his successor intact and even +enlarged. Economical he certainly was, but he saved for the needs of the +Church, which, as he knew, increased day by day; and money was absolutely +necessary if Atheism was to be met and fought in the sphere of the +schools, institutions, and associations of all sorts. Without money, +indeed, the Church would become a vassal at the mercy of the civil +powers, the Kingdom of Italy and other Catholic states; and so, although +he liberally helped every enterprise which might contribute to the +triumph of the Faith, Leo XIII had a contempt for all expenditure without +an object, and treated himself and others with stern closeness. +Personally, he had no needs. At the outset of his pontificate he had set +his small private patrimony apart from the rich patrimony of St. Peter, +refusing to take aught from the latter for the purpose of assisting his +relatives. Never had pontiff displayed less nepotism: his three nephews +and his two nieces had remained poor--in fact, in great pecuniary +embarrassment. 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 therefore +vigorously defending the millions of the Holy See against the desperate +covetousness 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 am +altogether ignorant in such matters,” he replied. “Ask Monsieur Habert, +who is so well informed.” + +“For my part,” responded the _attaché_, “I simply know what is known to +all the embassies here, the matters which are the subject of common +report. With respect to the receipts there is, first of all, the treasure +left by Pius IX, some twenty millions, invested in various ways and +formerly yielding about a million a year in interest. But, as I said +before, a disaster happened, and there must then have been a falling off +in the income. Still, nowadays it is reported that nearly all +deficiencies have been made good. Well, besides the regular income from +the invested money, a few hundred thousand francs are derived every year +from chancellery dues, patents of nobility, and all sorts of little fees +paid to the Congregations. However, as the annual expenses exceed seven +millions, 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 six +millions, perhaps, but three or four of them, and with these the Holy See +has speculated in the hope of doubling them and making both ends meet. It +would take me too long just now to relate the whole story of these +speculations, the first huge gains, then the catastrophe which almost +swept everything away, and finally the stubborn perseverance which is +gradually supplying all deficiencies. However, if you are anxious on the +subject, I will one day tell you all about it.” + +Pierre had listened with deep interest. “Six millions--even four!” he +exclaimed, “what does the Peter’s Pence Fund bring in, then?” + +“Oh! I can only repeat that nobody has ever known the exact figures. In +former times the Catholic Press published lists giving the amounts of +different offerings, and in this way one could frame an approximate +estimate. But the practice must have been considered unadvisable, for no +documents nowadays appear, and it is absolutely impossible for people to +form any real idea of what the Pope receives. He alone knows the correct +amount, keeps the money, and disposes of it with absolute authority. +Still I believe that in good years the offerings have amounted to between +four and five millions. Originally France contributed one-half of the +sum; but nowadays it certainly gives much less. Then come Belgium and +Austria, England and Germany. As for Spain and Italy--oh! Italy--” + +Narcisse paused and smiled at Monsignor Nani, who was wagging his head +with the air of a man delighted at learning some extremely curious things +of 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 to +provide for his living out of the gifts of the Italian Catholics there +would soon be a famine at the Vatican. Far from helping him, indeed, the +Roman nobility has cost him dear; for one of the chief causes of his +pecuniary losses was his folly in lending money to the princes who +speculated. It is really only from France and England that rich people, +noblemen and so forth, have sent royal gifts to the imprisoned and +martyred Pontiff. Among others there was an English nobleman who came to +Rome every year with a large offering, the outcome of a vow which he had +made in the hope that Heaven would cure his unhappy idiot son. And, of +course, I don’t refer to the extraordinary harvest garnered during the +sacerdotal and the episcopal jubilees--the forty millions which then fell +at his Holiness’s feet.” + +“And the expenses?” asked Pierre. + +“Well, as I told you, they amount to about seven millions. We may reckon +two of them for the pensions paid to former officials of the pontifical +government who were unwilling to take service under Italy; but I must add +that this source of expense is diminishing every year as people die off +and their pensions become extinguished. Then, broadly speaking, we may +put down one million for the Italian sees, another for the Secretariate +and the Nunciatures, and another for the Vatican. In this last sum I +include the expenses of the pontifical Court, the military establishment, +the museums, and the repair of the palace and the Basilica. Well, we have +reached five millions, and the two others may be set down for the various +subsidised enterprises, the Propaganda, and particularly the schools, +which Leo XIII, with great practical good sense, subsidises very +handsomely, for he is well aware that the battle and the triumph be in +that direction--among the children who will be men to-morrow, and who +will then defend their mother the Church, provided that they have been +inspired with horror for the abominable doctrines of the age.” + +A spell of silence ensued, and the three men slowly paced the majestic +colonnade. The swarming crowd had gradually disappeared, leaving the +piazza empty, so that only the obelisk and the twin fountains now arose +from the burning desert of symmetrical paving; whilst on the entablature +of the porticus across the square a noble line of motionless statues +stood out in the bright sunlight. And Pierre, with his eyes still raised +to the Pope’s windows, again fancied that he could see Leo XIII amidst +all the streaming gold that had been spoken of, his whole, white, pure +figure, his poor, waxen, transparent form steeped amidst those millions +which he hid and counted and expended for the glory of God alone. “And +so,” murmured the young priest, “he has no anxiety, he is not in any +pecuniary embarrassment.” + +“Pecuniary embarrassment!” exclaimed Monsignor Nani, his patience so +sorely tried by the remark that he could no longer retain his diplomatic +reserve. “Oh! my dear son! Why, when Cardinal Mocenni, the treasurer, +goes to his Holiness every month, his Holiness always gives him the sum +he asks for; he would give it, and be able to give it, however large it +might be! His Holiness has certainly had the wisdom to effect great +economies; the Treasure of St. Peter is larger than ever. Pecuniary +embarrassment, indeed! Why, if a misfortune should occur, and the +Sovereign Pontiff were to make a direct appeal to all his children, the +Catholics of the entire world, do you know that in that case a thousand +millions would fall at his feet just like the gold and the jewels which +you saw raining on the steps of his throne just now?” Then suddenly +calming 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 have +been here to give you information. Ah! Monsieur Habert, Monsieur Habert! +Why, I fancied that you were always in the skies absorbed in your passion +for art, and far removed from all base mundane interests! But you really +understand 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. At +bottom, beneath this make-believe Florentine all-angelicalness, with long +curly hair and mauve eyes which grew dim with rapture at sight of a +Botticelli, 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 a +languorous air. “Oh!” said he, “I’m all reverie; my soul is elsewhere.” + +“At all events,” resumed Nani, turning towards Pierre, “I am very glad +that you were able to see such a beautiful spectacle. A few more such +opportunities and you will understand things far better than you would +from all the explanations in the world. Don’t miss the grand ceremony at +St. Peter’s to-morrow. It will be magnificent, and will give you food for +useful 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 with +pleasure the weariness and uncertainty which were paling his face. And +when the prelate had gone off, and Narcisse also had taken leave with a +gentle hand-shake, the young priest felt the ire of protest rising within +him. What fit frame of mind did Nani mean? Did that man hope to weary him +and drive him to despair by throwing him into collision with obstacles, +so that he might afterwards overcome him with perfect ease? For the +second time Pierre became suddenly and briefly conscious of the stealthy +efforts which were being made to invest and crush him. But, believing as +he did in his own strength of resistance, pride filled him with disdain. +Again he swore that he would never yield, never withdraw his book, no +matter what might happen. And then, before crossing the piazza, he once +more raised his eyes to the windows of the Vatican, all his impressions +crystallising in the thought of that much-needed money which like a last +bond still attached the Pope to earth. Its chief evil doubtless lay in +the manner in which it was provided; and if indeed the only question were +to devise an improved method of collection, his dream of a pope who +should be all soul, the bond of love, the spiritual leader of the world, +would not be seriously affected. At this thought, Pierre felt comforted +and was unwilling to look on things otherwise than hopefully, moved as he +was by the extraordinary scene which he had just beheld, that feeble old +man shining forth like the symbol of human deliverance, obeyed and +venerated by the multitudes, and alone among all men endowed with the +moral omnipotence that might at last set the reign of charity and peace +on earth. + +For the ceremony on the following day, it was fortunate that Pierre held +a private ticket which admitted him to a reserved gallery, for the +scramble at the entrances to the Basilica proved terrible. The mass, +which the Pope was to celebrate in person, was fixed for ten o’clock, but +people began to pour into St. Peter’s four hours earlier, as soon, +indeed, as the gates had been thrown open. The three thousand members of +the International Pilgrimage were increased tenfold by the arrival of all +the tourists in Italy, who had hastened to Rome eager to witness one of +those great pontifical functions which nowadays are so rare. Moreover, +the devotees and partisans whom the Holy See numbered in Rome itself and +in other great cities of the kingdom, helped to swell the throng, all +alacrity at the prospect of a demonstration. Judging by the tickets +distributed, there would be a concourse of 40,000 people. And, indeed, at +nine 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 were +admitted, he saw the portico of the façade still thronged with people who +were but slowly gaining admittance, while several gentlemen in evening +dress, members of some Catholic association, bestirred themselves to +maintain order with the help of a detachment of Pontifical Guards. +Nevertheless, violent quarrels broke out in the crowd, and blows were +exchanged amidst the involuntary scramble. Some people were almost +stifled, and two women were carried off half crushed to death. + +A disagreeable surprise met Pierre on his entry into the Basilica. The +huge edifice was draped; coverings of old red damask with bands of gold +swathed the columns and pilasters, seventy-five feet high; even the +aisles were hung with the same old and faded silk; and the shrouding of +those pompous marbles, of all the superb dazzling ornamentation of the +church bespoke a very singular taste, a tawdry affectation of pomposity, +extremely wretched in its effect. However, he was yet more amazed on +seeing that even the statue of St. Peter was clad, costumed like a living +pope in sumptuous pontifical vestments, with a tiara on its metal head. +He had never imagined that people could garment statues either for their +glory or for the pleasure of the eyes, and the result seemed to him +disastrous. + +The Pope was to say mass at the papal altar of the Confession, the high +altar which stands under the dome. On a platform at the entrance of the +left-hand transept was the throne on which he would afterwards take his +place. Then, on either side of the nave, tribunes had been erected for +the choristers of the Sixtine Chapel, the Corps Diplomatique, the Knights +of Malta, the Roman nobility, and other guests of various kinds. And, +finally, in the centre, before the altar, there were three rows of +benches covered with red rugs, the first for the cardinals and the other +two for the bishops and the prelates of the pontifical court. All the +rest of the congregation was to remain standing. + +Ah! that huge concert-audience, those thirty, forty thousand believers +from here, there, and everywhere, inflamed with curiosity, passion, or +faith, bestirring themselves, jostling one another, rising on tip-toe to +see the better! The clamour of a human sea arose, the crowd was as gay +and familiar as if it had found itself in some heavenly theatre where it +was allowable for one to chat aloud and recreate oneself with the +spectacle of religious pomp! At first Pierre was thunderstruck, he who +only knew of nervous, silent kneeling in the depths of dim cathedrals, +who was not accustomed to that religion of light, whose brilliancy +transformed a religious celebration into a morning festivity. Around him, +in the same tribune as himself, were gentlemen in dress-coats and ladies +gowned in black, carrying glasses as in an opera-house. There were German +and English women, and numerous Americans, all more or less charming, +displaying the grace of thoughtless, chirruping birds. In the tribune of +the Roman nobility on the left he recognised Benedetta and Donna +Serafina, and there the simplicity of the regulation attire for ladies +was relieved by large lace veils rivalling one another in richness and +elegance. Then on the right was the tribune of the Knights of Malta, +where the Grand Master stood amidst a group of commanders: while across +the nave rose the diplomatic tribune where Pierre perceived the +ambassadors of all the Catholic nations, resplendent in gala uniforms +covered with gold lace. However, the young priest’s eyes were ever +returning to the crowd, the great surging throng in which the three +thousand pilgrims were lost amidst the multitude of other spectators. And +yet as the Basilica was so vast that it could easily contain eighty +thousand people, it did not seem to be more than half full. People came +and went along the aisles and took up favourable positions without +impediment. Some could be seen gesticulating, and calls rang out above +the ceaseless rumble of voices. From the lofty windows of plain white +glass fell broad sheets of sunlight, which set a gory glow upon the faded +damask hangings, and these cast a reflection as of fire upon all the +tumultuous, feverish, impatient faces. The multitude of candles, and the +seven-and-eighty lamps of the Confession paled to such a degree that they +seemed but glimmering night-lights in the blinding radiance; and +everything proclaimed the worldly gala of the imperial Deity of Roman +pomp. + +All at once there came a premature shock of delight, a false alert. Cries +burst forth and circulated through the crowd: “Eccolo! eccolo! Here he +comes!” And then there was pushing and jostling, eddying which made the +human sea whirl and surge, all craning their necks, raising themselves to +their full height, darting forward in a frenzied desire to see the Holy +Father and the _cortège_. But only a detachment of Noble Guards marched +by and took up position right and left of the altar. A flattering murmur +accompanied them, their fine impassive bearing with its exaggerated +military stiffness, provoking the admiration of the throng. An American +woman declared that they were superb-looking fellows; and a Roman lady +gave an English friend some particulars about the select corps to which +they belonged. Formerly, said she, young men of the aristocracy had +greatly sought the honour of forming part of it, for the sake of wearing +its rich uniform and caracoling in front of the ladies. But recruiting +was now such a difficult matter that one had to content oneself with +good-looking young men of doubtful or ruined nobility, whose only care +was for the meagre “pay” which just enabled them to live. + +When another quarter of an hour of chatting and scrutinising had elapsed, +the papal _cortège_ at last made its appearance, and no sooner was it +seen than applause burst forth as in a theatre--furious applause it was +which rose and rolled along under the vaulted ceilings, suggesting the +acclamations which ring out when some popular, idolised actor makes his +entry on the stage. As in a theatre, too, everything had been very +skilfully contrived so as to produce all possible effect amidst the +magnificent scenery of the Basilica. The _cortège_ was formed in the +wings, that is in the Cappella della Pieta, the first chapel of the right +aisle, and in order to reach it, the Holy Father, coming from his +apartments by the way of the Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament, had been +stealthily carried behind the hangings of the aisle which served the +purpose of a drop-scene. Awaiting him in all readiness in the Cappella +della Pieta were the cardinals, archbishops, and bishops, the whole +pontifical prelacy, hierarchically classified and grouped. And then, as +at a signal from a ballet master, the _cortège_ made its entry, reaching +the nave and ascending it in triumph from the closed Porta Santa to the +altar of the Confession. On either hand were the rows of spectators whose +applause at the sight of so much magnificence grew louder and louder as +their delirious enthusiasm increased. + +It was the _cortège_ of the olden solemnities, the cross and sword, the +Swiss Guard in full uniform, the valets in scarlet simars, the Knights of +the Cape and the Sword in Renascence costumes, the Canons in rochets of +lace, the superiors of the religious communities, the apostolic +prothonotaries, the archbishops, and bishops, all the pontifical prelates +in violet silk, the cardinals, each wearing the _cappa magna_ and draped +in purple, walking solemnly two by two with long intervals between each +pair. Finally, around his Holiness were grouped the officers of the +military household, the chamber prelates, Monsignor the Majordomo, +Monsignor the Grand Chamberlain, and all the other high dignitaries of +the Vatican, with the Roman prince assistant of the throne, the +traditional, symbolical defender of the Church. And on the _sedia +gestatoria_, screened by the _flabelli_ with their lofty triumphal fans +of feathers and carried on high by the bearers in red tunics broidered +with silk, sat the Pope, clad in the sacred vestments which he had +assumed in the Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament, the amict, the alb, the +stole, and the white chasuble and white mitre enriched with gold, two +gifts of extraordinary sumptuousness that had come from France. And, as +his Holiness drew near, all hands were raised and clapped yet more loudly +amidst the waves of living sunlight which streamed from the lofty +windows. + +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 old +man, leaning on the arm of a talkative prelate as he strolled through the +loveliest gardens in the world. He no longer recalled the Holy Father, in +red cape and papal cap, giving a paternal welcome to a pilgrimage which +brought him a fortune. He was here the Sovereign Pontiff, the +all-powerful Master whom Christendom adored. His slim waxen form seemed +to 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 centuries +past by the smoke of sacrifices. Amidst the mournful stiffness of his +face only his eyes lived--eyes like black sparkling diamonds gazing afar, +beyond earth, into the infinite. He gave not a glance to the crowd, he +lowered his eyes neither to right nor to left, but remained soaring in +the heavens, ignoring all that took place at his feet. + +And as that seemingly embalmed idol, deaf and blind, in spite of the +brilliancy of his eyes, was carried through the frantic multitude which +it appeared neither to hear nor to see, it assumed fearsome majesty, +disquieting grandeur, all the rigidity of dogma, all the immobility of +tradition exhumed with its _fascioe_ which alone kept it erect. Still +Pierre fancied he could detect that the Pope was ill and weary, suffering +from the attack of fever which Nani had spoken of when glorifying the +courage of that old man of eighty-four, whom strength of soul alone now +kept alive. + +The service began. Alighting from the _sedia gestatoria_ before the altar +of the Confession, his Holiness slowly celebrated a low mass, assisted by +four prelates and the pro-prefect of the ceremonies. When the time came +for washing his fingers, Monsignor the Majordomo and Monsignor the Grand +Chamberlain, accompanied by two cardinals, poured the water on his august +hands; and shortly before the elevation of the host all the prelates of +the pontifical court, each holding a lighted taper, came and knelt around +the altar. There was a solemn moment, the forty thousand believers there +assembled shuddered as if they could feel the terrible yet delicious +blast of the invisible sweeping over them when during the elevation the +silver clarions sounded the famous chorus of angels which invariably +makes some women swoon. Almost immediately an aerial chant descended from +the cupola, from a lofty gallery where one hundred and twenty choristers +were concealed, and the enraptured multitude marvelled as though the +angels had indeed responded to the clarion call. The voices descended, +taking their flight under the vaulted ceilings with the airy sweetness of +celestial harps; then in suave harmony they died away, reascended to the +heavens as with a faint flapping of wings. And, after the mass, his +Holiness, 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 congregation +joined them, forty thousand voices were raised, and a hymn of joy and +glory spread through the vast nave with incomparable splendour of effect. +And then the scene became one of extraordinary magnificence: there was +Bernini’s triumphal, flowery, gilded _baldacchino_, surrounded by the +whole pontifical court with the lighted tapers showing like starry +constellations, there was the Sovereign Pontiff in the centre, radiant +like a planet in his gold-broidered chasuble, there were the benches +crowded with cardinals in purple and archbishops and bishops in violet +silk, there were the tribunes glittering with official finery, the gold +lace of the diplomatists, the variegated uniforms of foreign officers, +and then there was the throng flowing and eddying on all sides, rolling +billows after billows of heads from the most distant depths of the +Basilica. And the hugeness of the temple increased one’s amazement; and +even the glorious hymn which the multitude repeated became colossal, +ascended like a tempest blast amidst the great marble tombs, the +superhuman statues and gigantic pillars, till it reached the vast vaulted +heavens of stone, and penetrated into the firmament of the cupola where +the Infinite seemed to open resplendent with the gold-work of the +mosaics. + +A long murmur of voices followed the _Te Deum_, whilst Leo XIII, after +donning the tiara in lieu of the mitre, and exchanging the chasuble for +the pontifical cope, went to occupy his throne on the platform at the +entry of the left transept. He thence dominated the whole assembly, +through which a quiver sped when after the prayers of the ritual, he once +more rose erect. Beneath the symbolic, triple crown, in the golden +sheathing of his cope, he seemed to have grown taller. Amidst sudden and +profound silence, which only feverish heart-beats interrupted, he raised +his arm with a very noble gesture and pronounced the papal benediction in +a slow, loud, full voice, which seemed, as it were, the very voice of the +Deity, so greatly did its power astonish one, coming from such waxen +lips, from such a bloodless, lifeless frame. And the effect was +prodigious: as soon as the _cortège_ reformed to return whence it had +come, applause again burst forth, a frenzy of enthusiasm which the +clapping of hands could no longer content. Acclamations resounded and +gradually gained upon the whole multitude. They began among a group of +ardent partisans stationed near the statue of St. Peter: _“Evviva il +Papa-Rè! evviva il Papa-Rè_! Long live the Pope-King!” as the _cortège_ +went by the shout rushed along like leaping fire, inflaming heart after +heart, and at last springing from every mouth in a thunderous protest +against the theft of the states of the Church. All the faith, all the +love of those believers, overexcited by the regal spectacle they had just +beheld, returned once more to the dream, to the rageful desire that the +Pope should be both King and Pontiff, master of men’s bodies as he was of +their souls--in one word, the absolute sovereign of the earth. Therein +lay the only truth, the only happiness, the only salvation! Let all be +given to him, both mankind and the world! “_Evviva il Papa-Rè! evviva il +Papa-Rè_! Long live the Pope-King!” + +Ah! that cry, that cry of war which had caused so many errors and so much +bloodshed, that cry of self-abandonment and blindness which, realised, +would have brought back the old ages of suffering, it shocked Pierre, and +impelled him in all haste to quit the tribune where he was in order that +he might escape the contagion of idolatry. And while the _cortège_ still +went its way and the deafening clamour of the crowd continued, he for a +moment followed the left aisle amidst the general scramble. This, +however, made him despair of reaching the street, and anxious to escape +the crush of the general departure, it occurred to him to profit by a +door which he saw open and which led him into a vestibule, whence +ascended the steps conducting to the dome. A sacristan standing in the +doorway, both bewildered and delighted at the demonstration, looked at +him for a moment, hesitating whether he should stop him or not. However, +the sight of the young priest’s cassock combined with his own emotion +rendered the man tolerant. Pierre was allowed to pass, and at once began +to climb the staircase as rapidly as he could, in order that he might +flee farther and farther away, ascend higher and yet higher into peace +and silence. + +And the silence suddenly became profound, the walls stifled the cry of +the multitude. The staircase was easy and light, with broad paved steps +turning within a sort of tower. When Pierre came out upon the roofs of +nave and aisles, he was delighted to find himself in the bright sunlight +and the pure keen air which blew there as in the open country. And it was +with astonishment that he gazed upon the huge expanse of lead, zinc, and +stone-work, a perfect aerial city living a life of its own under the blue +sky. He saw cupolas, spires, terraces, even houses and gardens, houses +bright with flowers, the residences of the workmen who live atop of the +Basilica, which is ever and ever requiring repair. A little population +here bestirs itself, labours, loves, eats, and sleeps. However, Pierre +desired to approach the balustrade so as to get a near view of the +colossal statues of the Saviour and the Apostles which surmount the +façade on the side of the piazza. These giants, some nineteen feet in +height, are constantly being mended; their arms, legs, and heads, into +which the atmosphere is ever eating, nowadays only hold together by the +help of cement, bars, and hooks. And having examined them, Pierre was +leaning forward to glance at the Vatican’s jumble of ruddy roofs, when it +seemed to him that the shout from which he had fled was rising from the +piazza, and thereupon, in all haste, he resumed his ascent within the +pillar conducting to the dome. There was first a staircase, and then came +some 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 Basilica +again, at nearly 200 feet from the ground. A narrow gallery there ran +round the dome just above the frieze, on which, in letters five feet +high, appeared the famous inscription: _Tu es Petrus et super hanc petram +œdificabo ecclesiam meam et tibi dabo claves regni cœlorum._* And then, +as Pierre leant over to gaze into the fearful cavity beneath him and the +wide openings of nave, and aisles, and transepts, the cry, the delirious +cry of the multitude, yet clamorously swarming below, struck him full in +the face. He fled once more; but, higher up, yet a second time he pushed +another door open and found another gallery, one perched above the +windows, just where the splendid mosaics begin, and whence the crowd +seemed to him lost in the depths of a dizzy abyss, altar and +_baldacchino_ alike looking no larger than toys. And yet the cry of +idolatry and warfare arose again, and smote him like the buffet of a +tempest which gathers increase of strength the farther it rushes. So to +escape it he had to climb higher still, even to the outer gallery which +encircles 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 at +first brought him! Above him now there only remained the ball of gilt +copper into which emperors and queens have ascended, as is testified by +the pompous inscriptions in the passages; a hollow ball it is, where the +voice crashes like thunder, where all the sounds of space reverberate. As +he emerged on the side of the apse, his eyes at first plunged into the +papal gardens, whose clumps of trees seemed mere bushes almost level with +the soil; and he could retrace his recent stroll among them, the broad +_parterre_ looking like a faded Smyrna rug, the large wood showing the +deep glaucous greenery of a stagnant pool. Then there were the kitchen +garden and the vineyard easily identified and tended with care. The +fountains, the observatory, the casino, where the Pope spent the hot days +of summer, showed merely like little white spots in those undulating +grounds, walled in like any other estate, but with the fearsome rampart +of the fourth Leo, which yet retained its fortress-like aspect. However, +Pierre took his way round the narrow gallery and abruptly found himself +in front of Rome, a sudden and immense expanse, with the distant sea on +the west, the uninterrupted mountain chains on the east and the south, +the Roman Campagna stretching to the horizon like a bare and greenish +desert, while the city, the Eternal City, was spread out at his feet. +Never before had space impressed him so majestically. Rome was there, as +a bird might see it, within the glance, as distinct as some geographical +plan executed in relief. To think of it, such a past, such a history, so +much grandeur, and Rome so dwarfed and contracted by distance! Houses as +lilliputian and as pretty as toys; and the whole a mere mouldy speck upon +the earth’s face! What impassioned Pierre was that he could at a glance +understand the divisions of Rome: the antique city yonder with the +Capitol, the Forum, and the Palatine; the papal city in that Borgo which +he overlooked, with St. Peter’s and the Vatican gazing across the city of +the middle ages--which was huddled together in the right angle described +by the yellow Tiber--towards the modern city, the Quirinal of the Italian +monarchy. And particularly did he remark the chalky girdle with which the +new districts encompassed the ancient, central, sun-tanned quarters, thus +symbolising 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 pure +ethereal Rome which had met his eyes on the morning of his arrival in the +delightfully soft radiance of the rising sun. That smiling, unobtrusive +city, half veiled by golden mist, immersed as it were in some dream of +childhood, now appeared to him flooded with a crude light, motionless, +hard of outline and silent like death. The distance was as if devoured by +too keen a flame, steeped in a luminous dust in which it crumbled. And +against that blurred background the whole city showed with violent +distinctness in great patches of light and shade, their tracery harshly +conspicuous. One might have fancied oneself above some very ancient, +abandoned stone quarry, which a few clumps of trees spotted with dark +green. Of the ancient city one could see the sunburnt tower of the +Capitol, the black cypresses of the Palatine, and the ruins of the palace +of Septimius Severus, suggesting the white osseous carcase of some fossil +monster, left there by a flood. In front, was enthroned the modern city +with the long, renovated buildings of the Quirinal, whose yellow walls +stood forth with wondrous crudity amidst the vigorous crests of the +garden trees. And to right and left on the Viminal, beyond the palace, +the new districts appeared like a city of chalk and plaster mottled by +innumerable windows as with a thousand touches of black ink. Then here +and there were the Pincio showing like a stagnant mere, the Villa Medici +uprearing its campanili, the castle of Sant’ Angelo brown like rust, the +spire of Santa Maria Maggiore aglow like a burning taper, the three +churches of the Aventine drowsy amidst verdure, the Palazzo Farnese with +its summer-baked tiles showing like old gold, the domes of the Gesù, of +Sant’ Andrea della Valle, of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, and yet other +domes and other domes, all in fusion, incandescent in the brazier of the +heavens. And Pierre again felt a heart-pang in presence of that harsh, +stern Rome, so different from the Rome of his dream, the Rome of +rejuvenescence and hope, which he had fancied he had found on his first +morning, but which had now faded away to give place to the immutable city +of pride and domination, stubborn under the sun even unto death. + +And there on high, all alone with his thoughts, Pierre suddenly +understood. It was as if a dart of flaming light fell on him in that +free, unbounded expanse where he hovered. Had it come from the ceremony +which he had just beheld, from the frantic cry of servitude still ringing +in his ears? Had it come from the spectacle of that city beneath him, +that city which suggested an embalmed queen still reigning amidst the +dust 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: he +felt that Catholicism could not exist without the temporal power, that it +must fatally disappear whenever it should no longer be king over this +earth. 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 they +had come from the imperial abodes on the Palatine, from the palace of +Septimius Severus, and throughout the centuries their policy had ever +pursued 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’être_; for the Church cannot recognise any empire or kingdom +otherwise than politically--the emperors and the kings being purely and +simply so many temporary delegates placed in charge of the nations +pending the time when they shall be called upon to relinquish their +trust. All the nations, all humanity, and the whole world belong to the +Church to whom they have been given by God. And if real and effective +possession is not hers to-day, this is only because she yields to force, +compelled to face accomplished facts, but with the formal reserve that +she is in presence of guilty usurpation, that her possessions are +unjustly withheld from her, and that she awaits the realisation of the +promises of the Christ, who, when the time shall be accomplished, will +for ever restore to her both the earth and mankind. Such is the real +future city which time is to bring: Catholic Rome, sovereign of the world +once more. And Rome the city forms a substantial part of the dream, Rome +whose eternity has been predicted, Rome whose soil has imparted to +Catholicism the inextinguishable thirst of absolute power. And thus the +destiny of the papacy is linked to that of Rome, to such a point indeed +that a pope elsewhere than at Rome would no longer be a Catholic pope. +The thought of all this frightened Pierre; a great shudder passed through +him as he leant on the light iron balustrade, gazing down into the abyss +where the stern mournful city was even now crumbling away under the +fierce sun. + +There was, however, evidence of the facts which had dawned on him. If +Pius 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 leave +the city, to be the head of the Church elsewhere; and in the same way a +pope, however well he may understand the modern world, has not the right +to relinquish the temporal power. This is an inalienable inheritance +which he must defend, and it is moreover a question of life, peremptory, +above discussion. And thus Leo XIII has retained the title of Master of +the temporal dominions of the Church, and this he has done the more +readily since as a cardinal--like all the members of the Sacred College +when elected--he swore that he would maintain those dominions intact. +Italy may hold Rome as her capital for another century or more, but the +coming popes will never cease to protest and claim their kingdom. If ever +an understanding should be arrived at, it must be based on the gift of a +strip of territory. Formerly, when rumours of reconciliation were +current, was it not said that the papacy exacted, as a formal condition, +the possession of at least the Leonine City with the neutralisation of a +road leading to the sea? Nothing is not enough, one cannot start from +nothing to attain to everything, whereas that Civitas Leonina, that bit +of a city, would already be a little royal ground, and it would then only +be necessary to conquer the rest, first Rome, next Italy, then the +neighbouring states, and at last the whole world. Never has the Church +despaired, even when, beaten and despoiled, she seemed to be at the last +gasp. Never will she abdicate, never will she renounce the promises of +the Christ, for she believes in a boundless future and declares herself +to be both indestructible and eternal. Grant her but a pebble on which to +rest her head, and she will hope to possess, first the field in which +that pebble lies, and then the empire in which the field is situated. If +one pope cannot achieve the recovery of the inheritance, another pope, +ten, twenty other popes will continue the work. The centuries do not +count. And this explains why an old man of eighty-four has undertaken +colossal enterprises whose achievement requires several lives, certain as +he is that his successors will take his place, and that the work will +ever and ever be carried forward and completed. + +As these thoughts coursed through his mind, Pierre, overlooking that +ancient city of glory and domination, so stubbornly clinging to its +purple, realised that he was an imbecile with his dream of a purely +spiritual pope. The notion seemed to him so different from the reality, +so out of place, that he experienced a sort of shame-fraught despair. The +new pope, consonant to the teachings of the Gospel, such as a purely +spiritual pope reigning over souls alone, would be, was virtually beyond +the ken of a Roman prelate. At thought of that papal court congealed in +ritual, pride, and authority, Pierre suddenly understood what horror and +repugnance such a pastor would inspire. How great must be the +astonishment and contempt of the papal prelates for that singular notion +of the northern mind, a pope without dominions or subjects, military +household or royal honours, a pope who would be, as it were, a spirit, +exercising purely moral authority, dwelling in the depths of God’s +temple, and governing the world solely with gestures of benediction and +deeds of kindliness and love! All that was but a misty Gothic invention +for this Latin clergy, these priests of light and magnificence, who were +certainly pious and even superstitious, but who left the Deity well +sheltered within the tabernacle in order to govern in His name, according +to what they considered the interests of Heaven. Thence it arose that +they employed craft and artifice like mere politicians, and lived by dint +of expedients amidst the great battle of human appetites, marching with +the prudent, stealthy steps of diplomatists towards the final terrestrial +victory of the Christ, who, in the person of the Pope, was one day to +reign over all the nations. And how stupefied must a French prelate have +been--a prelate like Monseigneur Bergerot, that apostle of renunciation +and charity--when he lighted amidst that world of the Vatican! How +difficult must it have been for him to understand and focus things, and +afterwards how great his grief at finding himself unable to come to any +agreement 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 days +were necessary, one needed to live in Rome, and he, Pierre himself, had +only seen things clearly after a month’s sojourn, whilst labouring under +the violent shock of the royal pomp of St. Peter’s, and standing face to +face with the ancient city as it slumbered heavily in the sunlight and +dreamt its dream of eternity. + +But on lowering his eyes to the piazza in front of the Basilica he +perceived the multitude, the 40,000 believers streaming over the pavement +like insects. And then he thought that he could hear the cry again +rising: “_Evviva il Papa-Rè! evviva il Papa-Rè_! Long live the +Pope-King!” Whilst ascending those endless staircases a moment previously +it had seemed to him as if the colossus of stone were quivering with the +frantic shout raised beneath its ceilings. And now that he had climbed +even into cloudland that shout apparently was traversing space. If the +colossal pile beneath him still vibrated with it, was it not as with a +last rise of sap within its ancient walls, a reinvigoration of that +Catholic blood which formerly had demanded that the pile should be a +stupendous one, the veritable king of temples, and which now was striving +to reanimate it with the powerful breath of life, and this at the very +hour when death was beginning to fall upon its over-vast, deserted nave +and aisles? The crowd was still streaming forth, filling the piazza, and +Pierre’s heart was wrung by frightful anguish, for that throng with its +shout had just swept his last hope away. On the previous afternoon, after +the reception of the pilgrimage, he had yet been able to deceive himself +by overlooking the necessity for money which bound the Pope to earth in +order that he might see nought but the feeble old man, all spirituality, +resplendent like the symbol of moral authority. But his faith in such a +pastor of the Gospel, free from all considerations of earthly wealth, and +king of none other than a heavenly kingdom, had fled. Not only did the +Peter’s Pence impose hard servitude upon Leo XIII but he was also the +prisoner of papal tradition--the eternal King of Rome, riveted to the +soil of Rome, unable either to quit the city or to renounce the temporal +power. 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 schism +burst forth: a new faith for the new nations. Of this Pierre had a +grandiose and tragical vision: he beheld his dream destroyed, his book +swept away amidst that cry which spread around him as if flying to the +four corners of the Catholic world “_Evviva il Papa-Rè! evviva il +Papa-Rè!_ Long live the Pope-King!” But even in that hour of the papacy’s +passing triumph he already felt that the giant of gold and marble on +which he stood was oscillating, even as totter all old and rotten +societies. + +At last he took his way down again, and a fresh shock of emotion came to +him as he reached the roofs, that sunlit expanse of lead and zinc, large +enough for the site of a town. Monsignor Nani was there, in company with +the two French ladies, the mother and the daughter, both looking very +happy and highly amused. No doubt the prelate had good-naturedly offered +to conduct them to the dome. However, as soon as he recognised the young +priest he went towards him: “Well, my dear son,” he inquired, “are you +pleased? Have you been impressed, edified?” As he spoke, his searching +eyes dived into Pierre’s soul, as if to ascertain the present result of +his experiments. Then, satisfied with what he detected, he began to laugh +softly: “Yes, yes, I see--come, you are a sensible fellow after all. I +begin to think that the unfortunate affair which brought you here will +have a happy ending.” + + + + +VIII. + +WHEN Pierre remained in the morning at the Boccanera mansion he often +spent some hours in the little neglected garden which had formerly ended +with a sort of colonnaded _loggia_, whence two flights of steps descended +to the Tiber. This garden was a delightful, solitary nook, perfumed by +the ripe fruit of the centenarian orange-trees, whose symmetrical lines +were the only indication of the former pathways, now hidden beneath rank +weeds. And Pierre also found there the acrid scent of the large +box-shrubs growing in the old central fountain basin, which had been +filled up with loose earth and rubbish. + +On those luminous October mornings, full of such tender and penetrating +charm, the spot was one where all the joy of living might well be +savoured, but Pierre brought thither his northern dreaminess, his concern +for suffering, his steadfast feeling of compassion, which rendered yet +sweeter the caress of the sunlight pervading that atmosphere of love. He +seated himself against the right-hand wall on a fragment of a fallen +column over which a huge laurel cast a deep-black shadow, fresh and +aromatic. In the antique greenish sarcophagus beside him, on which fauns +offered violence to nymphs, the streamlet of water trickling from the +mask incrusted in the wall, set the unchanging music of its crystal note, +whilst he read the newspapers and the letters which he received, all the +communications of good Abbé Rose, who kept him informed of his mission +among the wretched ones of gloomy Paris, now already steeped in fog and +mud. + +One morning however, Pierre unexpectedly found Benedetta seated on the +fallen column which he usually made his chair. She raised a light cry of +surprise on seeing him, and for a moment remained embarrassed, for she +had with her his book “New Rome,” which she had read once already, but +had then imperfectly understood. And overcoming her embarrassment she now +hastened to detain him, making him sit down beside her, and frankly +owning that she had come to the garden in order to be alone and apply +herself to an attentive study of the book, in the same way as some +ignorant school-girl. Then they began to chat like a pair of friends, and +the young priest spent a delightful hour. Although Benedetta did not +speak of herself, he realised that it was her grief alone which brought +her nearer to him, as if indeed her own sufferings enlarged her heart and +made her think of all who suffered in the world. Patrician as she was, +regarding social hierarchy as a divine law, she had never previously +thought of such things, and some pages of Pierre’s book greatly +astonished her. What! one ought to take interest in the lowly, realise +that they had the same souls and the same griefs as oneself, and seek in +brotherly or sisterly fashion to make them happy? She certainly sought to +acquire such an interest, but with no great success, for she secretly +feared that it might lead her into sin, as it could not be right to alter +aught of the social system which had been established by God and +consecrated by the Church. Charitable she undoubtedly was, wont to bestow +small sums in alms, but she did not give her heart, she felt no true +sympathy 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 the +plebeian elect. + +She and Pierre, however, found themselves on other mornings side by side +in the shade of the laurels near the trickling, singing water; and he, +lacking occupation, weary of waiting for a solution which seemed to +recede day by day, fervently strove to animate this young and beautiful +woman with some of his own fraternal feelings. He was impassioned by the +idea that he was catechising Italy herself, the queen of beauty, who was +still slumbering in ignorance, but who would recover all her past glory +if she were to awake to the new times with soul enlarged, swelling with +pity for men and things. Reading good Abbé Rose’s letters to Benedetta, +he made her shudder at the frightful wail of wretchedness which ascends +from all great cities. With such deep tenderness in her eyes, with the +happiness of love reciprocated emanating from her whole being, why should +she not recognise, even as he did, that the law of love was the sole +means of saving suffering humanity, which, through hatred, incurred the +danger of death? And to please him she did try to believe in democracy, +in the fraternal remodelling of society, but among other nations +only--not at Rome, for an involuntary, gentle laugh came to her lips +whenever his words evoked the idea of the poor still remaining in the +Trastevere district fraternising with those who yet dwelt in the old +princely palaces. No, no, things had been as they were so long; they +could not, must not, be altered! And so, after all, Pierre’s pupil made +little progress: she was, in reality, simply touched by the wealth of +ardent love which the young priest had chastely transferred from one +alone to the whole of human kind. And between him and her, as those +sunlit 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 of +Dario, whose name she had hitherto refrained from mentioning. Ah! poor +_amico_, how circumspect and repentant he had shown himself since that +fit of brutal insanity! At first, to conceal his embarrassment, he had +gone to spend three days at Naples, and it was said that La Tonietta, the +sentimental _demi-mondaine_, had hastened to join him there, wildly in +love with him. Since his return to the mansion he had avoided all private +meetings with his cousin, and scarcely saw her except at the Monday +receptions, when he wore a submissive air, and with his eyes silently +entreated forgiveness. + +“Yesterday, however,” continued Benedetta, “I met him on the staircase +and gave him my hand. He understood that I was no longer angry with him +and was very happy. What else could I have done? One must not be severe +for ever. Besides, I do not want things to go too far between him and +that woman. I want him to remember that I still love him, and am still +waiting for him. Oh! he is mine, mine alone. But alas! I cannot say the +word: our affairs are in such sorry plight.” + +She paused, and two big tears welled into her eyes. The divorce +proceedings to which she alluded had now come to a standstill, fresh +obstacles ever arising to stay their course. + +Pierre was much moved by her tears, for she seldom wept. She herself +sometimes confessed, with her calm smile, that she did not know how to +weep. But now her heart was melting, and for a moment she remained +overcome, leaning on the mossy, crumbling sarcophagus, whilst the clear +water falling from the gaping mouth of the tragic mask still sounded its +flutelike note. And a sudden thought of death came to the priest as he +saw her, so young and so radiant with beauty, half fainting beside that +marble resting-place where fauns were rushing upon nymphs in a frantic +bacchanal which proclaimed the omnipotence of love--that omnipotence +which the ancients were fond of symbolising on their tombs as a token of +life’s eternity. And meantime a faint, warm breeze passed through the +sunlit, silent garden, wafting hither and thither the penetrating scent +of 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 am +childish. But it is the fault of your book. It is only when I suffer that +I properly understand it. But all the same I am making progress, am I +not? Since you desire it, let all the poor, all those who suffer, as I +do, be my brothers and sisters.” + +Then for a while they resumed their chat. + +On these occasions Benedetta was usually the first to return to the +house, and Pierre would linger alone under the laurels, vaguely dreaming +of sweet, sad things. Often did he think how hard life proved for poor +creatures whose only thirst was for happiness! + +One Monday evening, at a quarter-past ten, only the young folks remained +in Donna Serafina’s reception-room. Monsignor Nani had merely put in an +appearance that night, and Cardinal Sarno had just gone off. + +Even Donna Serafina, in her usual seat by the fireplace, seemed to have +withdrawn from the others, absorbed as she was in contemplation of the +chair which the absent Morano still stubbornly left unoccupied. Chatting +and laughing in front of the sofa on which sat Benedetta and Celia were +Dario, Pierre, and Narcisse Habert, the last of whom had begun to twit +the 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 was +really superb. She was walking beside you, and you turned into a lane +together--the Borgo Angelico, I think.” + +Dario listened smiling, quite at his ease and incapable of denying his +passionate predilection for beauty. “No doubt, no doubt; it was I, I +don’t deny it,” he responded. “Only the inferences you draw are not +correct.” And turning towards Benedetta, who, without a thought of +jealous anxiety, wore as gay a look as himself, as though delighted that +he should have enjoyed that passing pleasure of the eyes, he went on: “It +was the girl, you know, whom I found in tears six weeks ago. Yes, that +bead-worker who was sobbing because the workshop was shut up, and who +rushed along, all blushing, to conduct me to her parents when I offered +her 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 and +spoken to her. The other day, for instance, I walked with her as far as a +manufacturer’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 aback +at it, but she seemed very well pleased.” + +At this all the others began to laugh. But suddenly Celia desisted and +said very gravely, “You know, Dario, she loves you; you must not be hard +on her.” + +Dario, no doubt, was of Celia’s opinion, for he again looked at +Benedetta, but with a gay toss of the head, as if to say that, although +the girl might love him, he did not love her. A bead-worker indeed, a +girl of the lowest classes, pooh! She might be a Venus, but she could be +nothing to him. And he himself made merry over his romantic adventure, +which Narcisse sought to arrange in a kind of antique sonnet: A beautiful +bead-worker falling madly in love with a young prince, as fair as +sunlight, who, touched by her misfortune, hands her a silver crown; then +the beautiful bead-worker, quite overcome at finding him as charitable as +handsome, dreaming of him incessantly, and following him everywhere, +chained to his steps by a link of flame; and finally the beautiful +bead-worker, who has refused the silver crown, so entreating the handsome +prince with her soft, submissive eyes, that he at last deigns to grant +her the alms of his heart. This pastime greatly amused Benedetta; but +Celia, with her angelic face and the air of a little girl who ought to +have 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 poor +folks are not happy!” said she. + +“Oh!” exclaimed the Prince, “it’s misery beyond belief. On the day she +took 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,” resumed +Benedetta, “and we have done wrong in delaying our visit so long. For +your studies, Monsieur l’Abbé Froment, you greatly desired to accompany +us and see the poor of Rome--was that not so?” + +As she spoke she raised her eyes to Pierre, who for a moment had been +silent. He was much moved by her charitable thought, for he realised, by +the faint quiver of her voice, that she desired to appear a docile pupil, +progressing in affection for the lowly and the wretched. Moreover, his +passion for his apostolate had at once returned to him. “Oh!” said he, “I +shall not quit Rome without having seen those who suffer, those who lack +work and bread. Therein lies the malady which affects every nation; +salvation can only be attained by the healing of misery. When the roots +of the tree cannot find sustenance the tree dies.” + +“Well,” resumed the Contessina, “we will fix an appointment at once; you +shall 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 of +stupefaction, unable to understand the simile of the tree and its roots, +began to protest distressfully, “No, no, cousin, take Monsieur l’Abbé for +a stroll there if it amuses you. But I’ve been, and don’t want to go +back. Why, when I got home the last time I was so upset that I almost +took to my bed. No, no; such abominations are too awful--it isn’t +possible.” + +At this moment a voice, bitter with displeasure, arose from the chimney +corner. Donna Serafina was emerging from her long silence. “Dario is +quite right! Send your alms, my dear, and I will gladly add mine. There +are other places where you might take Monsieur l’Abbé, and which it would +be far more useful for him to see. With that idea of yours you would send +him away with a nice recollection of our city.” + +Roman pride rang out amidst the old lady’s bad temper. Why, indeed, show +one’s sores to foreigners, whose visit is possibly prompted by hostile +curiosity? One always ought to look beautiful; Rome should not be shown +otherwise than in the garb of glory. + +Narcisse, however, had taken possession of Pierre. “It’s true, my dear +Abbé,” said he; “I forgot to recommend that stroll to you. You really +must 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’ll +warrant you, for nowhere can you learn more about the Rome of the present +day. It’s extraordinary, extraordinary!” Then, addressing Benedetta, he +added, “Is it decided? Shall we say to-morrow morning? You’ll find the +Abbé 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 and +respectfully opposed her views. “But Monsieur l’Abbé, aunt, has met +enough 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 seen +in Paris. As he says in one passage, hunger is the same all the world +over.” Then, with her sensible air, she gently laid siege to Dario. “You +know, Dario,” said she, “you would please me very much by taking me +there. We can go in the carriage and join these gentlemen. It will be a +very pleasant outing for us. It is such a long time since we went out +together.” + +It was certainly that idea of going out with Dario, of having a pretext +for a complete reconciliation with him, that enchanted her; he himself +realised it, and, unable to escape, he tried to treat the matter as a +joke. “Ah! cousin,” he said, “it will be your fault; I shall have the +nightmare for a week. An excursion like that spoils all the enjoyment of +life for days and days.” + +The mere thought made him quiver with revolt. However, laughter again +rang out around him, and, in spite of Donna Serafina’s mute disapproval, +the appointment was finally fixed for the following morning at ten +o’clock. Celia as she went off expressed deep regret that she could not +form 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-room +she whispered in her friend’s ear: “Take a good look at that beauty, my +dear, so as to tell me whether she is so very beautiful--beautiful beyond +compare.” + +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 and +enraptured, plunged anew in artistic enthusiasm. At first not a word was +said of the excursion. Narcisse related that he had risen at sunrise in +order that he might spend an hour before Bernini’s “Santa Teresa.” It +seemed that when he did not see that statue for a week he suffered as +acutely as if he were parted from some cherished mistress. And his +adoration varied with the time of day, according to the light in which he +beheld the figure: in the morning, when the pale glow of dawn steeped it +in whiteness, he worshipped it with quite a mystical transport of the +soul, whilst in the afternoon, when the glow of the declining sun’s +oblique rays seemed to permeate the marble, his passion became as fiery +red as the blood of martyrs. “Ah! my friend,” said he with a weary air +whilst his dreamy eyes faded to mauve, “you have no idea how delightful +and perturbing her awakening was this morning--how languorously she +opened her eyes, like a pure, candid virgin, emerging from the embrace of +the Divinity. One could die of rapture at the sight!” + +Then, growing calm again when he had taken a few steps, he resumed in the +voice of a practical man who does not lose his balance in the affairs of +life: “We’ll walk slowly towards the castle-fields district--the +buildings yonder; and on our way I’ll tell you what I know of the things +we shall see there. It was the maddest affair imaginable, one of those +delirious frenzies of speculation which have a splendour of their own, +just like the superb, monstrous masterpiece of a man of genius whose mind +is unhinged. I was told of it all by some relatives of mine, who took +part in the gambling, and, in point of fact, made a good deal of money by +it.” + +Thereupon, with the clearness and precision of a financier, employing +technical terms with perfect ease, he recounted the extraordinary +adventure. That all Italy, on the morrow of the occupation of Rome, +should have been delirious with enthusiasm at the thought of at last +possessing the ancient and glorious city, the eternal capital to which +the empire of the world had been promised, was but natural. It was, so to +say, a legitimate explosion of the delight and the hopes of a young +nation anxious to show its power. The question was to make Rome a modern +capital worthy of a great kingdom, and before aught else there were +sanitary requirements to be dealt with: the city needed to be cleansed of +all the filth which disgraced it. One cannot nowadays imagine in what +abominable putrescence the city of the popes, the _Roma sporca_ which +artists regret, was then steeped: the vast majority of the houses lacked +even the most primitive arrangements, the public thoroughfares were used +for all purposes, noble ruins served as store-places for sewage, the +princely palaces were surrounded by filth, and the streets were perfect +manure beds which fostered frequent epidemics. Thus vast municipal works +were absolutely necessary, the question was one of health and life +itself. And in much the same way it was only right to think of building +houses for the newcomers, who would assuredly flock into the city. There +had been a precedent at Berlin, whose population, after the establishment +of the German empire, had suddenly increased by some hundreds of +thousands. In the same way the population of Rome would certainly be +doubled, tripled, quadrupled, for as the new centre of national life the +city would necessarily attract all the _vis viva_ of the provinces. And +at this thought pride stepped in: the fallen government of the Vatican +must be shown what Italy was capable of achieving, what splendour she +would bestow on the new and third Rome, which, by the magnificence of its +thoroughfares and the multitude of its people, would far excel either the +imperial 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. The +population had doubled at one bound, rising from two to four hundred +thousand souls, thanks to the arrival of the little world of employees +and officials of the public services--all those who live on the State or +hope to live on it, without mentioning the idlers and enjoyers of life +whom a Court always carries in its train. However, this influx of +newcomers was a first cause of intoxication, for every one imagined that +the 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 was +necessary to make immediate preparations for the morrow’s need by +enlarging Rome on all sides. Folks talked, too, of the Paris of the +second empire, which had been so extended and transformed into a city of +light and health. But unfortunately on the banks of the Tiber there was +neither any preconcerted general plan nor any clear-seeing man, master of +the situation, supported by powerful financial organisations. And the +work, begun by pride, prompted by the ambition of surpassing the Rome of +the Caesars and the Popes, the determination to make the eternal, +predestined city the queen and centre of the world once more, was +completed by speculation, one of those extraordinary gambling frenzies, +those tempests which arise, rage, destroy, and carry everything away +without premonitory warning or possibility of arresting their course. All +at once it was rumoured that land bought at five francs the metre had +been sold again for a hundred francs the metre; and thereupon the fever +arose--the fever of a nation which is passionately fond of gambling. A +flight of speculators descending from North Italy swooped down upon Rome, +the noblest and easiest of preys. Those needy, famished mountaineers +found spoils for every appetite in that voluptuous South where life is so +benign, and the very delights of the climate helped to corrupt and hasten +moral gangrene. At first, too; it was merely necessary to stoop; money +was to be found by the shovelful among the rubbish of the first districts +which were opened up. People who were clever enough to scent the course +which the new thoroughfares would take and purchase buildings threatened +with demolition increased their capital tenfold in a couple of years. And +after that the contagion spread, infecting all classes--the princes, +burgesses, petty proprietors, even the shop-keepers, bakers, grocers, and +boot-makers; the delirium rising to such a pitch that a mere baker +subsequently failed for forty-five millions.* Nothing, indeed, was left +but rageful gambling, in which the stakes were millions, whilst the lands +and the houses became mere fictions, mere pretexts for stock-exchange +operations. And thus the old hereditary pride, which had dreamt of +transforming Rome into the capital of the world, was heated to madness by +the high fever of speculation--folks buying, and building, and selling +without limit, without a pause, even as one might throw shares upon the +market 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. The +population had increased to five hundred thousand, and then seemingly +remained stationary; nevertheless, new districts continued to sprout up +more thickly than ever. Yet what folly it was not to wait for a further +influx of inhabitants! Why continue piling up accommodation for thousands +of families whose advent was uncertain? The only excuse lay in having +beforehand propounded the proposition that the third Rome, the triumphant +capital of Italy, could not count less than a million souls, and in +regarding that proposition as indisputable fact. The people had not come, +but they surely would come: no patriot could doubt it without being +guilty 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 to +the date of their arrival; it was sufficient that they should be +expected. Inside Rome the companies which had been formed in connection +with the new thoroughfares passing through the old, demolished, +pestiferous districts, certainly sold or let their house property, and +thereby realised large profits. But, as the craze increased, other +companies were established for the purpose of erecting yet more and more +districts outside Rome--veritable little towns, of which there was no +need whatever. Beyond the Porta San Giovanni and the Porta San Lorenzo, +suburbs sprang up as by miracle. A town was sketched out over the vast +estate of the Villa Ludovisi, from the Porta Pia to the Porta Salaria and +even as far as Sant’ Agnese. And then came an attempt to make quite a +little city, with church, school, and market, arise all at once on the +fields of the Castle of Sant’ Angelo. And it was no question of small +dwellings for labourers, modest flats for employees, and others of +limited means; no, it was a question of colossal mansions three and four +storeys high, displaying uniform and endless façades which made these new +excentral quarters quite Babylonian, such districts, indeed, as only +capitals endowed with intense life, like Paris and London, could contrive +to populate. However, such were the monstrous products of pride and +gambling; 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 strew +the grassy streets! + +The fatal collapse, the disaster proved a frightful one. Narcisse +explained its causes and recounted its phases so clearly that Pierre +fully understood. Naturally enough, numerous financial companies had +sprouted up: the Immobiliere, the Society d’Edilizia e Construzione, the +Fondaria, the Tiberiana, and the Esquilino. Nearly all of them built, +erected huge houses, entire streets of them, for purposes of sale; but +they also gambled in land, selling plots at large profit to petty +speculators, who also dreamt of making large profits amidst the +continuous, fictitious rise brought about by the growing fever of +agiotage. And the worst was that the petty speculators, the middle-class +people, the inexperienced shop-keepers without capital, were crazy enough +to build in their turn by borrowing of the banks or applying to the +companies which had sold them the land for sufficient cash to enable them +to complete their structures. As a general rule, to avoid the loss of +everything, the companies were one day compelled to take back both land +and buildings, incomplete though the latter might be, and from the +congestion which resulted they were bound to perish. If the expected +million of people had arrived to occupy the dwellings prepared for them +the gains would have been fabulous, and in ten years Rome might have +become one of the most flourishing capitals of the world. But the people +did not come, and the dwellings remained empty. Moreover, the buildings +erected by the companies were too large and costly for the average +investor inclined to put his money into house property. Heredity had +acted, the builders had planned things on too huge a scale, raising a +series of magnificent piles whose purpose was to dwarf those of all other +ages; but, as it happened, they were fated to remain lifeless and +deserted, testifying with wondrous eloquence to the impotence of pride. + +So there was no private capital that dared or could take the place of +that of the companies. Elsewhere, in Paris for instance, new districts +have been erected and embellishments have been carried out with the +capital of the country--the money saved by dint of thrift. But in Rome +all was built on the credit system, either by means of bills of exchange +at ninety days, or--and this was chiefly the case--by borrowing money +abroad. The huge sum sunk in these enterprises is estimated at a +milliard, four-fifths of which was French money. The bankers did +everything; the French ones lent to the Italian bankers at 3 1-2 or 4 per +cent.; and the Italian bankers accommodated the speculators, the Roman +builders, at 6, 7, and even 8 per cent. And thus the disaster was great +indeed when France, learning of Italy’s alliance with Germany, withdrew +her 800,000,000 francs in less than two years. The Italian banks were +drained of their specie, and the land and building companies, being +likewise compelled to reimburse their loans, were compelled to apply to +the banks of issue, those privileged to issue notes. At the same time +they intimidated the Government, threatening to stop all work and throw +40,000 artisans and labourers starving on the pavement of Rome if it did +not compel the banks of issue to lend them the five or six millions of +paper which they needed. And this the Government at last did, appalled by +the possibility of universal bankruptcy. Naturally, however, the five or +six millions could not be paid back at maturity, as the newly built +houses found neither purchasers nor tenants; and so the great fall began, +and continued with a rush, heaping ruin upon ruin. The petty speculators +fell on the builders, the builders on the land companies, the land +companies on the banks of issue, and the latter on the public credit, +ruining the nation. And that was how a mere municipal crisis became a +frightful disaster: a whole milliard sunk to no purpose, Rome disfigured, +littered with the ruins of the gaping and empty dwellings which had been +prepared for the five or six hundred thousand inhabitants for whom the +city yet waits in vain! + +Moreover, in the breeze of glory which swept by, the state itself took a +colossal view of things. It was a question of at once making Italy +triumphant and perfect, of accomplishing in five and twenty years what +other nations have required centuries to effect. So there was feverish +activity and a prodigious outlay on canals, ports, roads, railway lines, +and improvements in all the great cities. Directly after the alliance +with Germany, moreover, the military and naval estimates began to devour +millions to no purpose. And the ever growing financial requirements were +simply 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 ten +millions, that of the Ministry of Finances fifteen, whilst a hundred was +spent on the yet unfinished quays, and two hundred and fifty were sunk on +works of defence around the city. And all this was a flare of the old +hereditary pride, springing from that soil whose sap can only blossom in +extravagant projects; the determination to dazzle and conquer the world +which comes as soon as one has climbed to the Capitol, even though one’s +feet rest amidst the accumulated dust of all the forms of human power +which have there crumbled one above the other. + +“And, my dear friend,” continued Narcisse, “if I could go into all the +stories that are current, that are whispered here and there, you would be +stupefied at the insanity which overcame the whole city amidst the +terrible fever to which the gambling passion gave rise. Folks of small +account, and fools and ignorant people were not the only ones to be +ruined; nearly all the Roman nobles lost their ancient fortunes, their +gold and their palaces and their galleries of masterpieces, which they +owed to the munificence of the popes. The colossal wealth which it had +taken centuries of nepotism to pile up in the hands of a few melted away +like wax, in less than ten years, in the levelling fire of modern +speculation.” Then, forgetting that he was speaking to a priest, he went +on 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 the +Cardinal, who has little beyond his stipend left him. Well, Dario would +be a rich man had it not been for that extraordinary affair of the Villa +Montefiori. You have heard of it, no doubt; how Prince Onofrio, Dario’s +father, speculated, sold the villa grounds for ten millions, then bought +them back and built on them, and how, at last, not only the ten millions +were lost, but also all that remained of the once colossal fortune of the +Boccaneras. What you haven’t been told, however, is the secret part which +Count Prada--our Contessina’s husband--played in the affair. He was the +lover of Princess Boccanera, the beautiful Flavia Montefiori, who had +brought 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 was +through her that Prada mastered the Prince--for she held her old doting +husband at arm’s length whenever he hesitated to give a signature or go +farther into the affair of which he scented the danger. And in all this +Prada gained the millions which he now spends, while as for the beautiful +Flavia, you are aware, no doubt, that she saved a little fortune from the +wreck and bought herself a second and much younger husband, whom she +turned into a Marquis Montefiori. In the whole affair the only victim is +our good friend Dario, who is absolutely ruined, and wishes to marry his +cousin, who is as poor as himself. It’s true that she’s determined to +have 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 a +dowry of millions, like so many of the ruined princes, on the verge of +starvation, have done; that is, unless the Cardinal and Donna Serafina +had opposed such a match, which would not have been surprising, proud and +stubborn as they are, anxious to preserve the purity of their old Roman +blood. However, let us hope that Dario and the exquisite Benedetta will +some day be happy together.” + +Narcisse paused; but, after taking a few steps in silence, he added in a +lower tone: “I’ve a relative who picked up nearly three millions in that +Villa Montefiori affair. Ah! I regret that I wasn’t here in those heroic +days of speculation. It must have been very amusing; and what strokes +there were for a man of self-possession to make!” + +However, all at once, as he raised his head, he saw before him the +Quartiere dei Prati--the new district of the castle fields; and his face +thereupon changed: he again became an artist, indignant with the modern +abominations with which old Rome had been disfigured. His eyes paled, and +a curl of his lips expressed the bitter disdain of a dreamer whose +passion for the vanished centuries was sorely hurt: “Look, look at it +all!” he exclaimed. “To think of it, in the city of Augustus, the city of +Leo 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 stretched +alongside the Tiber as far as the first slopes of Monte Mario, thus +supplying, to the satisfaction of artists, a foreground or greenery to +the 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 intersecting +one another at right angles. From end to end similar façades appeared, +suggesting series of convents, barracks, or hospitals. Extraordinary and +painful was the impression produced by this town so suddenly immobilised +whilst in course of erection. It was as if on some accursed morning a +wicked magician had with one touch of his wand stopped the works and +emptied the noisy stone-yards, leaving the buildings in mournful +abandonment. Here on one side the soil had been banked up; there deep +pits dug for foundations had remained gaping, overrun with weeds. There +were houses whose halls scarcely rose above the level of the soil; others +which had been raised to a second or third floor; others, again, which +had been carried as high as was intended, and even roofed in, suggesting +skeletons or empty cages. Then there were houses finished excepting that +their walls had not been plastered, others which had been left without +window frames, shutters, or doors; others, again, which had their doors +and shutters, but were nailed up like coffins with not a soul inside +them; and yet others which were partly, and in a few cases fully, +inhabited--animated by the most unexpected of populations. And no words +could describe the fearful mournfulness of that City of the Sleeping +Beauty, hushed into mortal slumber before it had even lived, lying +annihilated beneath the heavy sun pending an awakening which, likely +enough, 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 pedestrian +passed by. Some streets had no foot ways; weeds were covering the unpaved +roads, turning them once more into fields; and yet there were temporary +gas lamps, mere leaden pipes bound to poles, which had been there for +years. To avoid payment of the door and window tax, the house owners had +generally closed all apertures with planks; while some houses, of which +little had been built, were surrounded by high palings for fear lest +their 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 on +all sides, and required the support of an intricate arrangement of +timbers to prevent them from falling in dust upon the ground. A pang came +to one’s heart as though one was in a city which some scourge had +depopulated--pestilence, war, or bombardment, of which these gaping +carcases seem to retain the mark. Then at the thought that this was +abortment, not death--that destruction would complete its work before the +dreamt-of, vainly awaited denizens would bring life to the still-born +houses, one’s melancholy deepened to hopeless discouragement. And at each +corner, moreover, there was the frightful irony of the magnificent marble +slabs which bore the names of the streets, illustrious historical names, +Gracchus, Scipio, Pliny, Pompey, Julius Caesar, blazing forth on those +unfinished, crumbling walls like a buffet dealt by the Past to modern +incompetency. + +Then Pierre was once more struck by this truth--that whosoever possesses +Rome is consumed by the building frenzy, the passion for marble, the +boastful desire to build and leave his monument of glory to future +generations. After the Caesars and the Popes had come the Italian +Government, which was no sooner master of the city than it wished to +reconstruct it, make it more splendid, more huge than it had ever been +before. It was the fatal suggestion of the soil itself--the blood of +Augustus rushing to the brain of these last-comers and urging them to a +mad desire to make the third Rome the queen of the earth. Thence had come +all the vast schemes such as the cyclopean quays and the mere ministries +struggling to outvie the Colosseum; and thence had come all the new +districts of gigantic houses which had sprouted like towns around the +ancient city. It was not only on the castle fields, but at the Porta San +Giovanni, the Porta San Lorenzo, the Villa Ludovisi, and on the heights +of the Viminal and the Esquiline that unfinished, empty districts were +already crumbling amidst the weeds of their deserted streets. After two +thousand years of prodigious fertility the soil really seemed to be +exhausted. Even as in very old fruit gardens newly planted plum and +cherry trees wither and die, so the new walls, no doubt, found no life in +that old dust of Rome, impoverished by the immemorial growth of so many +temples, circuses, arches, basilicas, and churches. And thus the modern +houses, which men had sought to render fruitful, the useless, over-huge +houses, swollen with hereditary ambition, had been unable to attain +maturity, and remained there sterile like dry bushes on a plot of land +exhausted by over-cultivation. And the frightful sadness that one felt +arose from the fact that so creative and great a past had culminated in +such present-day impotency--Rome, who had covered the world with +indestructible monuments, now so reduced that she could only generate +ruins. + +“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 the +morrow of the conquest had one been able to indulge in the hope of a +mighty influx of population, and now singular blindness was needed for +the belief that such an influx would ever take place. The past +experiments seemed decisive; moreover, there was no reason why the +population should double: Rome offered neither the attraction of pleasure +nor that of gain to be amassed in commerce and industry for those she had +not, nor of intensity of social and intellectual life, since of this she +seemed no longer capable. In any case, years and years would be +requisite. And, meantime, how could one people those houses which were +finished; and for whom was one to finish those which had remained mere +skeletons, falling to pieces under sun and rain? Must they all remain +there indefinitely, some gaunt and open to every blast and others closed +and silent like tombs, in the wretched hideousness of their inutility and +abandonment? What a terrible proof of error they offered under the +radiant sky! The new masters of Rome had made a bad start, and even if +they now knew what they ought to have done would they have the courage to +undo what they had done? Since the milliard sunk there seemed to be +definitely lost and wasted, one actually hoped for the advent of a Nero, +endowed with mighty, sovereign will, who would take torch and pick and +burn 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 spaces +intersecting the deserted streets, and now along the broad, quiet, grassy +road--well fitted for a lovers’ stroll--she was approaching on Dario’s +arm, both of them delighted with their outing, and no longer thinking of +the sad things which they had come to see. “What a nice day it is!” the +Contessina gaily exclaimed as she reached Pierre and Narcisse. “How +pleasant the sunshine is! It’s quite a treat to be able to walk about a +little as if one were in the country!” + +Dario was the first to cease smiling at the blue sky, all the delight of +his stroll with his cousin on his arm suddenly departing. “My dear,” said +he, “we must go to see those people, since you are bent on it, though it +will certainly spoil our day. But first I must take my bearings. I’m not +particularly clever, you know, in finding my way in places where I don’t +care to go. Besides, this district is idiotic with all its dead streets +and dead houses, and never a face or a shop to serve as a reminder. Still +I think the place is over yonder. Follow me; at all events, we shall +see.” + +The four friends then wended their way towards the central part of the +district, the part facing the Tiber, where a small nucleus of a +population had collected. The landlords turned the few completed houses +to the best advantage they could, letting the rooms at very low rentals, +and waiting patiently enough for payment. Some needy employees, some +poverty-stricken families--had thus installed themselves there, and in +the long run contrived to pay a trifle for their accommodation. In +consequence, however, of the demolition of the ancient Ghetto and the +opening of the new streets by which air had been let into the Trastevere +district, perfect hordes of tatterdemalions, famished and homeless, and +almost without garments, had swooped upon the unfinished houses, filling +them with wretchedness and vermin; and it had been necessary to tolerate +this lawless occupation lest all the frightful misery should remain +displayed in the public thoroughfares. And so it was to those frightful +tenants that had fallen the huge four and five storeyed palaces, entered +by monumental doorways flanked by lofty statues and having carved +balconies upheld by caryatides all along their fronts. Each family had +made its choice, often closing the frameless windows with boards and the +gaping doorways with rags, and occupying now an entire princely flat and +now a few small rooms, according to its taste. Horrid-looking linen hung +drying from the carved balconies, foul stains already degraded the white +walls, and from the magnificent porches, intended for sumptuous +equipages, there poured a stream of filth which rotted in stagnant pools +in the roads, where there was neither pavement nor footpath. + +On two occasions already Dario had caused his companions to retrace their +steps. He was losing his way and becoming more and more gloomy. “I ought +to have taken to the left,” said he, “but how is one to know amidst such +a 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 tangled +locks as coarse as horsehair. There were also women in sordid skirts and +with their loose jackets unhooked. Many stood talking together in yelping +voices, whilst others, seated on old chairs with their hands on their +knees, remained like that idle for hours. Not many men were met; but a +few lay on the scorched grass, sleeping heavily in the sunlight. However, +the stench was becoming unbearable--a stench of misery as when the human +animal eschews all cleanliness to wallow in filth. And matters were made +worse by the smell from a small, improvised market--the emanations of the +rotting fruit, cooked and sour vegetables, and stale fried fish which a +few 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 once +exclaimed the Prince, addressing his cousin. “Be reasonable; we’ve surely +seen enough; let’s go back to the carriage.” + +He was really suffering, and, as Benedetta had said, he did not know how +to suffer. It seemed to him monstrous that one should sadden one’s life +by such an excursion as this. Life ought to be buoyant and benign under +the clear sky, brightened by pleasant sights, by dance and song. And he, +with his naive egotism, had a positive horror of ugliness, poverty, and +suffering, the sight of which caused him both mental and physical pain. + +Benedetta shuddered even as he did, but in presence of Pierre she desired +to be brave. Glancing at him, and seeing how deeply interested and +compassionate he looked, she desired to persevere in her effort to +sympathise with the humble and the wretched. “No, no, Dario, we must +stay. These gentlemen wish to see everything--is it not so?” + +“Oh, the Rome of to-day is here,” exclaimed Pierre; “this tells one more +about it than all the promenades among the ruins and the monuments.” + +“You exaggerate, my dear Abbé,” declared Narcisse. “Still, I will admit +that it is very interesting. Some of the old women are particularly +expressive.” + +At this moment Benedetta, seeing a superbly beautiful girl in front of +her, could not restrain a cry of enraptured admiration: “_O che +bellezza!_” + +And then Dario, having recognised the girl, exclaimed with the same +delight: “Why, it’s La Pierina; she’ll show us the way.” + +The girl had been following the party for a moment already without daring +to approach. Her eyes, glittering with the joy of a loving slave, had at +first darted towards the Prince, and then had hastily scrutinised the +Contessina--not, however, with any show of jealous anger, but with an +expression of affectionate submission and resigned happiness at seeing +that she also was very beautiful. And the girl fully answered to the +Prince’s description of her--tall, sturdy, with the bust of a goddess, a +real antique, a Juno of twenty, her chin somewhat prominent, her mouth +and nose perfect in contour, her eyes large and full like a heifer’s, and +her whole face quite dazzling--gilded, so to say, by a sunflash--beneath +her 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 that +there should be such beautiful creatures in the world. + +“Oh yes, signora, yes, at once!” And thereupon Pierina ran off before +them, her feet in shoes which at any rate had no holes, whilst the old +brown woollen dress which she wore appeared to have been recently washed +and mended. One seemed to divine in her a certain coquettish care, a +desire for cleanliness, which none of the others displayed; unless, +indeed, it were simply that her great beauty lent radiance to her humble +garments 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 having +discovered such a beauty, and no longer talking of departure, since he +could at last rest his eyes on something pleasant. + +Behind them came Pierre, likewise full of admiration, whilst Narcisse +spoke to him of the scrupulosity of his own tastes, which were for the +rare and the subtle. “She’s beautiful, no doubt,” said he; “but at bottom +nothing can be more gross than the Roman style of beauty; there’s no +soul, none of the infinite in it. These girls simply have blood under +their skins without ever a glimpse of heaven.” + +Meantime Pierina had stopped, and with a wave of the hand directed +attention to her mother, who sat on a broken box beside the lofty doorway +of an unfinished mansion. She also must have once been very beautiful, +but at forty she was already a wreck, with dim eyes, drawn mouth, black +teeth, broadly wrinkled countenance, and huge fallen bosom. And she was +also fearfully dirty, her grey wavy hair dishevelled and her skirt and +jacket soiled and slit, revealing glimpses of grimy flesh. On her knees +she held a sleeping infant, her last-born, at whom she gazed like one +overwhelmed and courageless, like a beast of burden resigned to her fate. + +“_Bene, bene,_” said she, raising her head, “it’s the gentleman who came +to give me a crown because he saw you crying. And he’s come back to see +us with some friends. Well, well, there are some good hearts in the world +after all.” + +Then she related their story, but in a spiritless way, without seeking to +move her visitors. She was called Giacinta, it appeared, and had married +a 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 an +interval of two years, and finally the infant, a boy, whom she now had on +her lap. They had long lived in the Trastevere district, in an old house +which had lately been pulled down; and their existence seemed to have +then been shattered, for since they had taken refuge in the Quartiere dei +Prati the crisis in the building trade had reduced Tomaso and Tito to +absolute idleness, and the bead factory where Pierina had earned as much +as tenpence a day--just enough to prevent them from dying of hunger--had +closed its doors. At present not one of them had any work; they lived +purely by chance. + +“If you like to go up,” the woman added, “you’ll find Tomaso there with +his brother Ambrogio, whom we’ve taken to live with us. They’ll know +better than I what to say to you. Tomaso is resting; but what else can he +do? It’s like Tito--he’s dozing over there.” + +So saying she pointed towards the dry grass amidst which lay a tall young +fellow with a pronounced nose, hard mouth, and eyes as admirable as +Pierina’s. He had raised his head to glance suspiciously at the visitors, +a fierce frown gathering on his forehead when he remarked how rapturously +his sister contemplated the Prince. Then he let his head fall again, but +kept his eyes open, watching the pair stealthily. + +“Take the lady and gentlemen upstairs, Pierina, since they would like to +see the place,” said the mother. + +Other women had now drawn near, shuffling along with bare feet in old +shoes; bands of children, too, were swarming around; little girls but +half clad, amongst whom, no doubt, were Giacinta’s four. However, with +their black eyes under their tangled mops they were all so much alike +that only their mothers could identify them. And the whole resembled a +teeming camp of misery pitched on that spot of majestic disaster, that +street of palaces, unfinished yet already in ruins. + +With a soft, loving smile, Benedetta turned to her cousin. “Don’t you +come up,” she gently said; “I don’t desire your death, Dario _mio_. It +was very good of you to come so far. Wait for me here in the pleasant +sunshine: Monsieur l’Abbé and Monsieur Habert will go up with me.” + +Dario began to laugh, and willingly acquiesced. Then lighting a +cigarette, he walked slowly up and down, well pleased with the mildness +of 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 already +been laid in the vestibule, whilst the steps of the monumental stone +staircase with sculptured balustrade were already cracked and so grimy +that they seemed almost black. On all sides appeared the greasy stains of +hands; the walls, whilst awaiting the painter and gilder, had been +smeared with repulsive filth. + +On reaching the spacious first-floor landing Pierina paused, and +contented herself with calling through a gaping portal which lacked both +door 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.” And +forthwith she herself rapidly descended the stairs, hastening back to her +passion. + +Benedetta and her companions passed through two large rooms, bossy with +plaster under foot and having frameless windows wide open upon space; and +at last they reached a third room, where the whole Gozzo family had +installed itself with the remnants it used as furniture. On the floor, +where the bare iron girders showed, no boards having been laid down, were +five or six leprous-looking palliasses. A long table, which was still +strong, occupied the centre of the room, and here and there were a few +old, damaged, straw-seated chairs mended with bits of rope. The great +business had been to close two of the three windows with boards, whilst +the third one and the door were screened with some old mattress ticking +studded with stains and holes. + +Tomaso’s face expressed the surprise of a man who is unaccustomed to +visits of charity. Seated at the table, with his elbows resting on it and +his chin supported by his hands, he was taking repose, as his wife +Giacinta had said. He was a sturdy fellow of five and forty, bearded and +long-haired; and, in spite of all his misery and idleness, his large face +had remained as serene as that of a Roman senator. However, the sight of +the 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 on +recognising Benedetta, and as she began to speak of Dario, and to explain +the charitable purpose of their visit, he interrupted her: “Yes, yes, I +know, Contessina. Oh! I well know who you are, for in my father’s time I +once 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 would +have found life tolerable had they been able to work two days a week. And +one could divine that he was, at heart, fairly well content to go on +short commons, provided that he could live as he listed without fatigue. +His narrative and his manner suggested the familiar locksmith who, on +being summoned by a traveller to open his trunk, the key of which was +lost, sent word that he could not possibly disturb himself during the +hour of the siesta. In short, there was no rent to pay, as there were +plenty of empty mansions open to the poor, and a few coppers would have +sufficed for food, easily contented and sober as one was. + +“But oh, sir,” Tomaso continued, “things were ever so much better under +the Pope. My father, a mason like myself, worked at the Vatican all his +life, and even now, when I myself get a job or two, it’s always there. We +were spoilt, you see, by those ten years of busy work, when we never left +our ladders and earned as much as we pleased. Of course, we fed ourselves +better, and bought ourselves clothes, and took such pleasure as we cared +for; so that it’s all the harder nowadays to have to stint ourselves. But +if you’d only come to see us in the Pope’s time! No taxes, everything to +be 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 the +shade 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’t +matter; we took him with us when we heard that he was dying of hunger and +sickness in a cellar.” + +The visitors could not help quivering with pity. Ambrogio was the elder +by some fifteen years; and now, though scarcely sixty, he was already a +ruin, consumed by fever, his legs so wasted that he spent his days on his +palliasse without ever going out. Shorter and slighter, but more +turbulent than his brother, he had been a carpenter by trade. And, +despite his physical decay, he retained an extraordinary head--the head +of an apostle and martyr, at once noble and tragic in its expression, and +encompassed by bristling snowy hair and beard. + +“The Pope,” he growled; “I’ve never spoken badly of the Pope. Yet it’s +his fault if tyranny continues. He alone in ‘49 could have given us the +Republic, and then we shouldn’t have been as we are now.” + +Ambrogio had known Mazzini, whose vague religiosity remained in him--the +dream of a Republican pope at last establishing the reign of liberty and +fraternity. But later on his passion for Garibaldi had disturbed these +views, and led him to regard the papacy as worthless, incapable of +achieving human freedom. And so, between the dream of his youth and the +stern experience of his life, he now hardly knew in which direction the +truth lay. Moreover, he had never acted save under the impulse of violent +emotion, but contented himself with fine words--vague, indeterminate +wishes. + +“Brother Ambrogio,” replied Tomaso, all tranquillity, “the Pope is the +Pope, and wisdom lies in putting oneself on his side, because he will +always be the Pope--that is to say, the stronger. For my part, if we had +to vote to-morrow I’d vote for him.” + +Calmed by the shrewd prudence characteristic of his race, the old +carpenter made no haste to reply. At last he said, “Well, as for me, +brother Tomaso, I should vote against him--always against him. And you +know 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 we +oughtn’t to come to an understanding with him, so that everybody’s +religion may be respected.” + +Pierre listened, deeply interested, and at last ventured to ask: “Are +there 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 those +things are novelties which impatient fellows go in for without +understanding much about them. We old men, we were for liberty; we don’t +believe in fire and massacre.” + +Then, fearing to say too much in presence of that lady and those +gentlemen, Ambrogio began to moan on his pallet, whilst the Contessina, +somewhat upset by the smell of the place, took her departure, after +telling the young priest that it would be best for them to leave their +alms with the wife downstairs. Meantime Tomaso resumed his seat at the +table, again letting his chin rest on his hands as he nodded to his +visitors, no more impressed by their departure than he had been by their +arrival: “To the pleasure of seeing you again, and am happy to have been +able to oblige you.” + +On the threshold, however, Narcisse’s enthusiasm burst forth; he turned +to cast a final admiring glance at old Ambrogio’s head, “a perfect +masterpiece,” which he continued praising whilst he descended the stairs. + +Down below Giacinta was still sitting on the broken box with her infant +across 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, did +not for a moment cease to gaze at them. + +“Ah, signora!” resumed the woman, in her resigned, doleful voice, “the +place is hardly inhabitable, as you must have seen. The only good thing +is that one gets plenty of room. But there are draughts enough to kill +me, and I’m always so afraid of the children falling down some of the +holes.” + +Thereupon she related a story of a woman who had lost her life through +mistaking a window for a door one evening and falling headlong into the +street. Then, too, a little girl had broken both arms by tumbling from a +staircase which had no banisters. And you could die there without anybody +knowing how bad you were and coming to help you. Only the previous day +the corpse of an old man had been found lying on the plaster in a lonely +room. Starvation must have killed him quite a week previously, yet he +would still have been stretched there if the odour of his remains had not +attracted the attention of neighbours. + +“If one only had something to eat things wouldn’t be so bad!” continued +Giacinta. “But it’s dreadful when there’s a baby to suckle and one gets +no food, for after a while one has no milk. This little fellow wants his +titty and gets angry with me because I can’t give him any. But it isn’t +my fault. He has sucked me till the blood came, and all I can do is to +cry.” + +As she spoke tears welled into her poor dim eyes. But all at once she +flew into a tantrum with Tito, who was still wallowing in the grass like +an 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’t +you get up when people come to see you?” she called. + +After some pretence of not hearing, the young fellow at last rose with an +air of great ill-humour; and Pierre, feeling interested in him, tried to +draw him out as he had done with the father and uncle upstairs. But Tito +only returned curt answers, as if both bored and suspicious. Since there +was no work to be had, said he, the only thing was to sleep. It was of no +use to get angry; that wouldn’t alter matters. So the best was to live as +one 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 the +Pope 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 a +nation in which democracy has not yet awakened. However, as the priest +continued, asking Tito his age, what school he had attended, and in what +district he had been born, the young man suddenly cut the questions short +by 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 fully +realised the pride of that race, the long-descending inheritance of glory +which was so heavy to bear. The sovereign vanity of the Caesars lived +anew in that degenerate young fellow who was scarcely able to read and +write. Starveling though he was, he knew his city, and could +instinctively have recounted the grand pages of its history. The names of +the great emperors and great popes were familiar to him. And why should +men toil and moil when they had been the masters of the world? Why not +live nobly and idly in the most beautiful of cities, under the most +beautiful of skies? “_Io son’ Romano di Roma_!” + +Benedetta had slipped her alms into the mother’s hand, and Pierre and +Narcisse 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 his +finger-tips, he said, with a faint laugh, “For beauty!” + +There was something really pretty and pleasing in the kiss thus wafted +with a slightly mocking laugh by that familiar, good-natured young Prince +who, as in some love story of the olden time, was touched by the +beautiful bead-worker’s mute adoration. Pierina flushed with pleasure, +and, losing her head, darted upon Dario’s hand and pressed her warm lips +to it with unthinking impulsiveness, in which there was as much divine +gratitude as tender passion. But Tito’s eyes flashed with anger at the +sight, 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, scenting +the 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 from +those lifeless streets with high resounding names. But what was to be +done? One could not give to all. So the only course lay in flight--amidst +deep sadness as one realised how powerless was charity in presence of +such appalling want. + +When Benedetta and Dario had reached their carriage they hastened to take +their seats and nestle side by side, glad to escape from all such +horrors. Still the Contessina was well pleased with her bravery in the +presence of Pierre, whose hand she pressed with the emotion of a pupil +touched by the master’s lesson, after Narcisse had told her that he meant +to take the young priest to lunch at the little restaurant on the Piazza +of St. Peter’s whence one obtained such an interesting view of the +Vatican. + +“Try some of the light white wine of Genzano,” said Dario, who had become +quite gay again. “There’s nothing better to drive away the blues.” + +However, Pierre’s curiosity was insatiable, and on the way he again +questioned Narcisse about the people of modern Rome, their life, habits, +and manners. There was little or no education, he learnt; no large +manufactures and no export trade existed. The men carried on the few +trades that were current, all consumption being virtually limited to the +city 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 of +hands. But after marriage the women, invariably burdened with numerous +offspring, attempted little beyond household work. Briefly, the +population took life as it came, working just sufficiently to secure +food, contenting itself with vegetables, pastes, and scraggy mutton, +without thought of rebellion or ambition. The only vices were gambling +and a partiality for the red and white wines of the Roman province--wines +which excited to quarrel and murder, and on the evenings of feast days, +when the taverns emptied, strewed the streets with groaning men, slashed +and stabbed with knives. The girls, however, but seldom went wrong; one +could count those who allowed themselves to be seduced; and this arose +from the great union prevailing in each family, every member of which +bowed submissively to the father’s absolute authority. Moreover, the +brothers watched over their sisters even as Tito did over Pierina, +guarding them fiercely for the sake of the family honour. And amidst all +this there was no real religion, but simply a childish idolatry, all +hearts going forth to Madonna and the Saints, who alone were entreated +and regarded as having being: for it never occurred to anybody to think +of God. + +Thus the stagnation of the lower orders could easily be understood. +Behind them were the many centuries during which idleness had been +encouraged, vanity flattered, and nerveless life willingly accepted. When +they were neither masons, nor carpenters, nor bakers, they were servants +serving the priests, and more or less directly in the pay of the Vatican. +Thence sprang the two antagonistic parties, on the one hand the more +numerous party composed of the old Carbonari, Mazzinians, and +Garibaldians, the _élite_ of the Trastevere; and on the other the +“clients” of the Vatican, all who lived on or by the Church and regretted +the 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 sturdy +calmness of the race, would have been needed. But what would have been +the use of it? The wretchedness had lasted for so many centuries, the sky +was so blue, the siesta preferable to aught else during the hot hours! +And only one thing seemed positive--that the majority was certainly in +favour of Rome remaining the capital of Italy. Indeed, rebellion had +almost broken out in the Leonine City when the cession of the latter to +the Holy See was rumoured. As for the increase of want and poverty, this +was largely due to the circumstance that the Roman workman had really +gained nothing by the many works carried on in his city during fifteen +years. First of all, over 40,000 provincials, mostly from the North, more +spirited and resistant than himself, and working at cheaper rates, had +invaded Rome; and when he, the Roman, had secured his share of the +labour, he had lived in better style, without thought of economy; so that +after the crisis, when the 40,000 men from the provinces were sent home +again, he had found himself once more in a dead city where trade was +always slack. And thus he had relapsed into his antique indolence, at +heart well pleased at no longer being hustled by press of work, and again +accommodating himself as best he could to his old mistress, Want, empty +in pocket yet always a _grand seigneur_. + +However, Pierre was struck by the great difference between the want and +wretchedness of Rome and Paris. In Rome the destitution was certainly +more complete, the food more loathsome, the dirt more repulsive. Yet at +the same time the Roman poor retained more ease of manner and more real +gaiety. The young priest thought of the fireless, breadless poor of +Paris, shivering in their hovels at winter time; and suddenly he +understood. The destitution of Rome did not know cold. What a sweet and +eternal consolation; a sun for ever bright, a sky for ever blue and +benign out of charity to the wretched! And what mattered the vileness of +the dwelling if one could sleep under the sky, fanned by the warm breeze! +What mattered even hunger if the family could await the windfall of +chance in sunlit streets or on the scorched grass! The climate induced +sobriety; there was no need of alcohol or red meat to enable one to face +treacherous fogs. Blissful idleness smiled on the golden evenings, +poverty became like the enjoyment of liberty in that delightful +atmosphere where the happiness of living seemed to be all sufficient. +Narcisse told Pierre that at Naples, in the narrow odoriferous streets of +the port and Santa Lucia districts, the people spent virtually their +whole lives out-of-doors, gay, childish, and ignorant, seeking nothing +beyond the few pence that were needed to buy food. And it was certainly +the climate which fostered the prolonged infancy of the nation, which +explained why such a democracy did not awaken to social ambition and +consciousness of itself. No doubt the poor of Naples and Rome suffered +from want; but they did not know the rancour which cruel winter implants +in men’s hearts, the dark rancour which one feels on shivering with cold +while rich people are warming themselves before blazing fires. They did +not know the infuriated reveries in snow-swept hovels, when the guttering +dip burns low, the passionate need which then comes upon one to wreak +justice, to revolt, as from a sense of duty, in order that one may save +wife and children from consumption, in order that they also may have a +warm nest where life shall be a possibility! Ah! the want that shivers +with the bitter cold--therein lies the excess of social injustice, the +most terrible of schools, where the poor learn to realise their +sufferings, where they are roused to indignation, and swear to make those +sufferings cease, even if in doing so they annihilate all olden society! + +And in that same clemency of the southern heavens Pierre also found an +explanation of the life of St. Francis,* that divine mendicant of love +who roamed the high roads extolling the charms of poverty. Doubtless he +was an unconscious revolutionary, protesting against the overflowing +luxury of the Roman court by his return to the love of the humble, the +simplicity of the primitive Church. But such a revival of innocence and +sobriety would never have been possible in a northern land. The +enchantment of Nature, the frugality of a people whom the sunlight +nourished, the benignity of mendicancy on roads for ever warm, were +needed to effect it. And yet how was it possible that a St. Francis, +glowing with brotherly love, could have appeared in a land which nowadays +so seldom practises charity, which treats the lowly so harshly and +contemptuously, and cannot even bestow alms on its own Pope? Is it +because ancient pride ends by hardening all hearts, or because the +experience of very old races leads finally to egotism, that one now +beholds Italy seemingly benumbed amidst dogmatic and pompous Catholicism, +whilst the return to the ideals of the Gospel, the passionate interest in +the poor and the suffering comes from the woeful plains of the North, +from the nations whose sunlight is so limited? Yes, doubtless all that +has much to do with the change, and the success of St. Francis was in +particular due to the circumstance that, after so gaily espousing his +lady, Poverty, he was able to lead her, bare-footed and scarcely clad, +during endless and delightful spring-tides, among communities whom an +ardent 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 the +pavement outside the restaurant where they had lunched once before. The +linen was none too clean, but the view was splendid. The Basilica rose up +in front of them, and the Vatican on the right, above the majestic curve +of the colonnade. Just as the waiter was bringing the _hors-d’œuvre_, +some _finocchio_* and anchovies, the young priest, who had fixed his eyes +on 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 Holy +Father in person. You are so anxious to see him that your very anxiety +conjures him into your presence.” + +“But I assure you,” repeated Pierre, “that he is over there behind the +window-pane. There is a white figure looking this way.” + +Narcisse, who was very hungry, began to eat whilst still indulging in +banter. All at once, however, he exclaimed: “Well, my dear Abbé, as the +Pope is looking at us, this is the moment to speak of him. I promised to +tell you how he sunk several millions of St. Peter’s Patrimony in the +frightful financial crisis of which you have just seen the ruins; and, +indeed, your visit to the new district of the castle fields would not be +complete without this story by way of appendix.” + +Thereupon, without losing a mouthful, Narcisse spoke at considerable +length. At the death of Pius IX the Patrimony of St. Peter, it seemed, +had exceeded twenty millions of francs. Cardinal Antonelli, who +speculated, and whose ventures were usually successful, had for a long +time left a part of this money with the Rothschilds and a part in the +hands of different nuncios, who turned it to profit abroad. After +Antonelli’s death, however, his successor, Cardinal Simeoni, withdrew the +money from the nuncios to invest it at Rome; and Leo XIII on his +accession entrusted the administration of the Patrimony to a commission +of cardinals, of which Monsignor Folchi was appointed secretary. This +prelate, who for twelve years played such an important _rôle_, was the +son of an employee of the Dataria, who, thanks to skilful financial +operations, had left a fortune of a million francs. Monsignor Folchi +inherited his father’s cleverness, and revealed himself to be a financier +of the first rank in such wise that the commission gradually relinquished +its powers to him, letting him act exactly as he pleased and contenting +itself with approving the reports which he laid before it at each +meeting. The Patrimony, however, yielded scarcely more than a million +francs per annum, and, as the expenditure amounted to seven millions, six +had to be found. Accordingly, from that other source of income, the +Peter’s Pence, the Pope annually gave three million francs to Monsignor +Folchi, who, by skilful speculations and investments, was able to double +them every year, and thus provide for all disbursements without ever +breaking into the capital of the Patrimony. In the earlier times he +realised considerable profit by gambling in land in and about Rome. He +took shares also in many new enterprises, speculated in mills, omnibuses, +and water-services, without mentioning all the gambling in which he +participated with the Banca di Roma, a Catholic institution. Wonderstruck +by his skill, the Pope, who, on his own side, had hitherto speculated +through the medium of a confidential employee named Sterbini, dismissed +the latter, and entrusted Monsignor Folchi with the duty of turning his +money to profit in the same way as he turned that of the Holy See. This +was the climax of the prelate’s favour, the apogee of his power. Bad days +were dawning, things were tottering already, and the great collapse was +soon to come, sudden and swift like lightning. One of Leo XIII’s +practices was to lend large sums to the Roman princes who, seized with +the gambling frenzy, and mixed up in land and building speculations, were +at a loss for money. To guarantee the Pope’s advances they deposited +shares with him, and thus, when the downfall came, he was left with heaps +of worthless paper on his hands. Then another disastrous affair was an +attempt to found a house of credit in Paris in view of working off the +shares which could not be disposed of in Italy among the French +aristocracy and religious people. To egg these on it was said that the +Pope was interested in the venture; and the worst was that he dropped +three millions of francs in it.* The situation then became the more +critical as he had gradually risked all the money he disposed of in the +terrible agiotage going on in Rome, tempted thereto by the prospect of +huge profits and perhaps indulging in the hope that he might win back by +money the city which had been torn from him by force. His own +responsibility remained complete, for Monsignor Folchi never made an +important venture without consulting him; and he must have been therefore +the real artisan of the disaster, mastered by his passion for gain, his +desire to endow the Church with a huge capital, that great source of +power in modern times. As always happens, however, the prelate was the +only victim. He had become imperious and difficult to deal with; and was +no longer liked by the cardinals of the commission, who were merely +called together to approve such transactions as he chose to entrust to +them. So, when the crisis came, a plot was laid; the cardinals terrified +the Pope by telling him of all the evil rumours which were current, and +then forced Monsignor Folchi to render a full account of his +speculations. The situation proved to be very bad; it was no longer +possible to avoid heavy losses. And so Monsignor Folchi was disgraced, +and since then has vainly solicited an audience of Leo XIII, who has +always refused to receive him, as if determined to punish him for their +common fault--that passion for lucre which blinded them both. Very pious +and submissive, however, Monsignor Folchi has never complained, but has +kept his secrets and bowed to fate. Nobody can say exactly how many +millions the Patrimony of St. Peter lost when Rome was changed into a +gambling-hell, but if some prelates only admit ten, others go as far as +thirty. The probability is that the loss was about fifteen millions.** + + * The allusion is evidently to the famous Union Générale, 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 Générale, 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 despatched +their cutlets and tomatoes, and the waiter was now serving them some +fried 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 the +Peter’s Pence Fund, the amount of which is only known by the Pope, who +alone fixes its employment. And, by the way, he isn’t cured of +speculating: I know from a good source that he still gambles, though with +more prudence. Moreover, his confidential assistant is still a prelate. +And, when all is said, my dear Abbé, he’s in the right: a man must belong +to his times--dash it all!” + +Pierre had listened with growing surprise, in which terror and sadness +mingled. Doubtless such things were natural, even legitimate; yet he, in +his dream of a pastor of souls free from all terrestrial cares, had never +imagined that they existed. What! the Pope--the spiritual father of the +lowly and the suffering--had speculated in land and in stocks and shares! +He had gambled, placed funds in the hands of Jew bankers, practised +usury, extracted hard interest from money--he, the successor of the +Apostle, the Pontiff of Christ, the representative of Jesus, of the +Gospel, that divine friend of the poor! And, besides, what a painful +contrast: so many millions stored away in those rooms of the Vatican, and +so many millions working and fructifying, constantly being diverted from +one 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 those +abominable unfinished buildings of the new districts, so many poor folks +dying of hunger amidst filth, mothers without milk for their babes, men +reduced to idleness by lack of work, old ones at the last gasp like +beasts of burden who are pole-axed when they are of no more use! Ah! God +of Charity, God of Love, was it possible! The Church doubtless had +material wants; she could not live without money; prudence and policy had +dictated the thought of gaining for her such a treasure as would enable +her to fight her adversaries victoriously. But how grievously this +wounded one’s feelings, how it soiled the Church, how she descended from +her divine throne to become nothing but a party, a vast international +association organised for the purpose of conquering and possessing the +world! + +And the more Pierre thought of the extraordinary adventure the greater +was his astonishment. Could a more unexpected, startling drama be +imagined? That Pope shutting himself up in his palace--a prison, no +doubt, but one whose hundred windows overlooked immensity; that Pope who, +at all hours of the day and night, in every season, could from his window +see his capital, the city which had been stolen from him, and the +restitution of which he never ceased to demand; that Pope who, day by +day, beheld the changes effected in the city--the opening of new streets, +the demolition of ancient districts, the sale of land, and the gradual +erection of new buildings which ended by forming a white girdle around +the old ruddy roofs; that Pope who, in presence of this daily spectacle, +this building frenzy, which he could follow from morn till eve, was +himself finally overcome by the gambling passion, and, secluded in his +closed chamber, began to speculate on the embellishments of his old +capital, seeking wealth in the spurt of work and trade brought about by +that very Italian Government which he reproached with spoliation; and +finally that Pope losing millions in a catastrophe which he ought to have +desired, but had been unable to foresee! No, never had dethroned monarch +yielded to a stranger idea, compromised himself in a more tragical +venture, the result of which fell upon him like divine punishment. And it +was 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 of +the Deity! + +Dessert had now been served--a goat’s cheese and some fruit--and Narcisse +was just finishing some grapes when, on raising his eyes, he in turn +exclaimed: “Well, you are quite right, my dear Abbé, I myself can see a +pale 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 white +and motionless.” + +“Well, after all, what would you have the Pope do?” resumed Narcisse with +his languid air. “He’s like everybody else; he looks out of the window +when he wants a little distraction, and certainly there’s plenty for him +to 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, gloomy +palace, encompassed by high walls, whereas this palace overlooked all +Rome, and the Pope from his window could see the world. Pierre himself +had viewed the panorama from the summit of the Janiculum, the _loggie_ of +Raffaelle, and the dome of St. Peter’s, and so he well knew what it was +that Leo XIII was able to behold. In the centre of the vast desert of the +Campagna, bounded by the Sabine and Alban mountains, the seven +illustrious hills appeared to him with their trees and edifices. His eyes +ranged also over all the basilicas, Santa Maria Maggiore, San Giovanni in +Laterano, the cradle of the papacy, San Paolo-fuori-le-Mura, Santa Croce +in Gerusalemme, Sant’ Agnese, and the others; they beheld, too, the domes +of the Gesù of Sant’ Andrea della Valle, San Carlo and San Giovanni dei +Fiorentini, and indeed all those four hundred churches of Rome which make +the city like a _campo santo_ studded with crosses. And Leo XIII could +moreover see the famous monuments testifying to the pride of successive +centuries--the Castle of Sant’ Angelo, that imperial mausoleum which was +transformed into a papal fortress, the distant white line of the tombs of +the Appian Way, the scattered ruins of the baths of Caracalla and the +abode of Septimius Severus; and then, after the innumerable columns, +porticoes, and triumphal arches, there were the palaces and villas of the +sumptuous cardinals of the Renascence, the Palazzo Farnese, the Palazzo +Borghese, the Villa Medici, and others, amidst a swarming of façades and +roofs. But, in particular, just under his window, on the left, the Pope +was able to see the abominations of the unfinished district of the castle +fields. In the afternoon, when he strolled through his gardens, bastioned +by the wall of the fourth Leo like the plateau of a citadel, his view +stretched over the ravaged valley at the foot of Monte Mario, where so +many brick-works were established during the building frenzy. The green +slopes are still ripped up, yellow trenches intersect them in all +directions, and the closed works and factories have become wretched ruins +with lofty, black, and smokeless chimneys. And at any other hour of the +day Leo XIII could not approach his window without beholding the +abandoned houses for which all those brick-fields had worked, those +houses which had died before they even lived, and where there was now +nought but the swarming misery of Rome, rotting there like some +decomposition of olden society. + +However, Pierre more particularly thought of Leo XIII, forgetting the +rest of the city to let his thoughts dwell on the Palatine, now bereft of +its crown of palaces and rearing only its black cypresses towards the +blue heavens. Doubtless in his mind he rebuilt the palaces of the +Caesars, whilst before him rose great shadowy forms arrayed in purple, +visions of his real ancestors, those emperors and Supreme Pontiffs who +alone could tell him how one might reign over every nation and be the +absolute master of the world. Then, however, his glances strayed to the +Quirinal, and there he could contemplate the new and neighbouring +royalty. How strange the meeting of those two palaces, the Quirinal and +the Vatican, which rise up and gaze at one another across the Rome of the +middle ages and the Renascence, whose roofs, baked and gilded by the +burning sun, are jumbled in confusion alongside the Tiber. When the Pope +and the King go to their windows they can with a mere opera-glass see +each other quite distinctly. True, they are but specks in the boundless +immensity, and what a gulf there is between them--how many centuries of +history, how many generations that battled and suffered, how much +departed greatness, and how much new seed for the mysterious future! +Still, they can see one another, and they are yet waging the eternal +fight, the fight as to which of them--the pontiff and shepherd of the +soul or the monarch and master of the body--shall possess the people +whose stream rolls beneath them, and in the result remain the absolute +sovereign. And Pierre wondered also what might be the thoughts and dreams +of Leo XIII behind those window-panes where he still fancied he could +distinguish his pale, ghostly figure. On surveying new Rome, the ravaged +olden districts and the new ones laid waste by the blast of disaster, the +Pope must certainly rejoice at the colossal failure of the Italian +Government. His city had been stolen from him; the newcomers had +virtually declared that they would show him how a great capital was +created, and their boast had ended in that catastrophe--a multitude of +hideous and useless buildings which they did not even know how to finish! +He, the Pope, could moreover only be delighted with the terrible worries +into which the usurping _régime_ had fallen, the political crisis, and +the financial crisis, the whole growing national unrest amidst which that +_régime_ seemed likely to sink some day; and yet did not he himself +possess a patriotic soul? was he not a loving son of that Italy whose +genius and ancient ambition coursed in the blood of his veins? Ah! no, +nothing against Italy; rather everything that would enable her to become +once 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 with +bankruptcy, displaying like a sore that overturned, unfinished Rome which +was a confession of her impotency. But, on the other hand, if the House +of 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, for +fifteen 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, enthroned +in the predestined city to which prophecy has ensured eternity and +universal dominion. + +But the horizon spread out, and Pierre wondered what Leo XIII beheld +beyond Rome, beyond the Campagna and the Sabine and Alban mountains. What +had he seen for eighteen years past from that window whence he obtained +his only view of the world? What echoes of modern society, its truths and +certainties, had reached his ears? From the heights of the Viminal, where +the railway terminus stands, the prolonged whistling of engines must have +occasionally been carried towards him, suggesting our scientific +civilisation, the nations brought nearer together, free humanity marching +on towards the future. Did he himself ever dream of liberty when, on +turning to the right, he pictured the sea over yonder, past the tombs of +the Appian Way? Had he ever desired to go off, quit Rome and her +traditions, and found the Papacy of the new democracies elsewhere? As he +was said to possess so clear and penetrating a mind he ought to have +understood and trembled at the far-away stir and noise that came from +certain lands of battle, from those United States of America, for +instance, where revolutionary bishops were conquering, winning over the +people. Were they working for him or for themselves? If he could not +follow them, if he remained stubborn within his Vatican, bound on every +side by dogma and tradition, might not rupture some day become +unavoidable? And, indeed, the fear of a blast of schism, coming from +afar, must have filled him with growing anguish. It was assuredly on that +account that he had practised the diplomacy of conciliation, seeking to +unite in his hands all the scattered forces of the Church, overlooking +the audacious proceedings of certain bishops as far as possible, and +himself striving to gain the support of the people by putting himself on +its 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 to +the strict formulas of Catholicism, chained to them by the force of +centuries? There obstinacy was fated; it was impossible for him to resign +himself to that which was his real and surpassing power, the purely +spiritual power, the moral authority which brought mankind to his feet, +made thousands of pilgrims kneel and women swoon. Departure from Rome and +the renunciation of the temporal power would not displace the centre of +the Catholic world, but would transform him, the head of the Catholic +Church, into the head of something else. And how anxious must have been +his thoughts if the evening breeze ever brought him a vague presentiment +of 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 the +sound of which must have reached him at one and the same time from every +point of the compass. + +At this precise moment, however, Pierre felt that the white and +motionless shadow behind those windowpanes was held erect by pride, by +the ever present conviction of victory. If man could not achieve it, a +miracle would intervene. He, the Pope, was absolutely convinced that he +or some successor would recover possession of Rome. Had not the Church +all eternity before it? And, moreover, why should not the victor be +himself? Could not God accomplish the impossible? Why, if it so pleased +God, on the very morrow his city would be restored to him, in spite of +all the objections of human reason, all the apparent logic of facts. Ah! +how he would welcome the return of that prodigal daughter whose equivocal +adventures he had ever watched with tears bedewing his paternal eyes! He +would soon forget the excesses which he had beheld during eighteen years +at all hours and in all seasons. Perhaps he dreamt of what he would do +with those new districts with which the city had been soiled. Should they +be razed, or left as evidence of the insanity of the usurpers? At all +events, Rome would again become the august and lifeless city, disdainful +of such vain matters as material cleanliness and comfort, and shining +forth upon the world like a pure soul encompassed by the traditional +glory of the centuries. And his dream continued, picturing the course +which events would take on the very morrow, no doubt. Anything, even a +republic was preferable to that House of Savoy. Why not a federal +republic, reviving the old political divisions of Italy, restoring Rome +to the Church, and choosing him, the Pope, as the natural protector of +the country thus reorganised? But his eyes travelled beyond Rome and +Italy, and his dream expanded, embracing republican France, Spain which +might become republican again, Austria which would some day be won, and +indeed 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 last +vanishing, and all the dissident communities coming to him as to the one +and only pastor, who would reign in the name of Jesus over the universal +democracy. + +However, whilst Pierre was immersed in this dream which he attributed to +Leo XIII, he was all at once interrupted by Narcisse, who exclaimed: “Oh! +my dear Abbé, just look at those statues on the colonnade.” The young +fellow had ordered a cup of coffee and was languidly smoking a cigar, +deep once more in the subtle aesthetics which were his only +preoccupation. “They are rosy, are they not?” he continued; “rosy, with a +touch of mauve, as if the blue blood of angels circulated in their stone +veins. It is the sun of Rome which gives them that supra-terrestrial +life; for they live, my friend; I have seen them smile and hold out their +arms to me during certain fine sunsets. Ah! Rome, marvellous, delicious +Rome! One could live here as poor as Job, content with the very +atmosphere, 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 acumen +when speaking of money matters. And, at this recollection, the young +priest’s mind reverted to the castle fields, and intense sadness filled +his heart as for the last time all the want and suffering rose before +him. Again he beheld the horrible filth which was tainting so many human +beings, that shocking proof of the abominable social injustice which +condemns the greater number to lead the joyless, breadless lives of +accursed beasts. And as his glance returned yet once more to the window +of the Vatican, and he fancied he could see a pale hand uplifted behind +the glass panes, he thought of that papal benediction which Leo XIII gave +from that height, over Rome, and over the plain and the hills, to the +faithful of all Christendom. And that papal benediction suddenly seemed +to him a mockery, destitute of all power, since throughout such a +multitude of centuries it had not once been able to stay a single one of +the sufferings of mankind, and could not even bring a little justice for +those poor wretches who were agonising yonder beneath the very window. + + + + +IX. + +THAT evening at dusk, as Benedetta had sent Pierre word that she desired +to see him, he went down to her little _salon_, and there found her +chatting with Celia. + +“I’ve seen your Pierina, you know,” exclaimed the latter, just as the +young priest came in. “And with Dario, too. Or rather, she must have been +watching for him; he found her waiting in a path on the Pincio and smiled +at her. I understood at once. What a beauty she is!” + +Benedetta smiled at her friend’s enthusiasm; but her lips twitched +somewhat painfully, for, however sensible she might be, this passion, +which she realised to be so naive and so strong, was beginning to make +her suffer. She certainly made allowances for Dario, but the girl was too +much in love with him, and she feared the consequences. Even in turning +the conversation she allowed the secret of her heart to escape her. “Pray +sit down, Monsieur l’Abbé,” 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 she +has been exhibiting at the Corso every afternoon for a fortnight past.” + +“That’s certain, my dear,” retorted Celia impetuously. “At first people +were in doubt, and talked of little Pontecorvo and Lieutenant Moretta. +But every one now knows that La Tonietta’s caprice is Dario. Besides, he +joined her in her box at the Costanzi the other evening.” + +Pierre remembered that the young Prince had pointed out La Tonietta at +the Pincio one afternoon. She was one of the few _demi-mondaines_ that +the higher-class society of Rome took an interest in. For a month or so +the rich Englishman to whom she owed her means had been absent, +travelling. + +“Ah!” resumed Benedetta, whose budding jealousy was entirely confined to +La Pierina, “so my poor Dario is ruining himself in white roses! Well, I +shall have to twit him about it. But one or another of these beauties +will 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 in +hand 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 divorce +suit, and eager to know if the cousins would soon be able to marry. And +at last throwing her arms round Benedetta, she kissed her passionately. +“So you are hopeful, my dear,” she exclaimed. “You think that the Holy +Father will give you back your liberty? Oh! I am so pleased; it will be +so 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 to +them with that quiet little air of mine, ‘I want Attilio, and you must +give him me.’ And then my father flew into a furious passion and +upbraided me, and shook his fist at me, saying that if he’d made my head +as hard as his own he would know how to break it. My mother was there +quite 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 some +peace!’ 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 at +last 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 have +been asked to give you some important advice, my friend,” she said. “It +seems that the news of your presence in Rome is spreading, and that bad +reports of you are circulated. Your book is said to be a fierce appeal to +schism, 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, to +raise a fearful scandal over it in order to make it sell. Now, if you +still 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 a +fortnight or three weeks.” + +Pierre was stupefied. Why, they would end by maddening him with all the +obstacles they raised to exhaust his patience; they would actually +implant in him an idea of schism, of an avenging, liberating scandal! He +wished to protest and refuse the advice, but all at once he made a +gesture of weariness. What would be the good of it, especially with that +young woman, who was certainly sincere and affectionate. “Who asked you +to give me this advice?” he inquired. She did not answer, but smiled, and +with sudden intuition he resumed: “It was Monsignor Nani, was it not?” + +Thereupon, still unwilling to give a direct reply, she began to praise +the 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 very +afternoon in order to acquaint him with the result of certain steps she +had taken. Father Lorenza, the confessor of both the Boccanera ladies, +was to be present at the interview, for the idea of the divorce was in +reality his own. He had urged the two women to it in his eagerness to +sever the bond which the patriotic priest Pisoni had tied full of such +fine illusions. Benedetta became quite animated as she explained the +reasons 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 be +reasonable also, my friend; do as you are requested. I’m sure you will +some day be well pleased at having taken this advice.” + +Pierre had bowed his head and remained thoughtful. There was nothing +unpleasant in the idea of remaining for a few more weeks in Rome, where +day by day his curiosity found so much fresh food. Of course, all these +delays were calculated to discourage him and bend his will. Yet what did +he 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 new +faith? Once more, in silence, he took that oath, then yielded to +Benedetta’s entreaties. And as he apologised for being a source of +embarrassment in the house she exclaimed: “No, no, I am delighted to have +you here. I fancy that your presence will bring us good fortune now that +luck seems to be changing in our favour.” + +It was then agreed that he would no longer prowl around St. Peter’s and +the Vatican, where his constant presence must have attracted attention. +He even promised that he would virtually spend a week indoors, desirous +as he was of reperusing certain books, certain pages of Rome’s history. +Then he went on chatting for a moment, lulled by the peacefulness which +reigned around him, since the lamp had illumined the _salon_ with its +sleepy 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 a +little fatigue. He sent Don Vigilio to tell me that he intended to shut +himself up in his room and dictate some letters. So there can be nothing +much the matter, you see.” + +Silence fell again. For a while not a sound came from the deserted street +or the old empty mansion, mute and dreamy like a tomb. But all at once +the soft somnolence, instinct with all the sweetness of a dream of hope, +was disturbed by a tempestuous entry, a whirl of skirts, a gasp of +terror. It was Victorine, who had gone off after bringing the lamp, but +now returned, scared and breathless: “Contessina! Contessina!” + +Benedetta had risen, suddenly quite white and cold, as at the advent of a +blast of misfortune. “What, what is it? Why do you run and tremble?” she +asked. + +“Dario, Monsieur Dario--down below. I went down to see if the lantern in +the porch were alight, as it is so often forgotten. And in the dark, in +the porch, I stumbled against Monsieur Dario. He is on the ground; he has +a 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. He +silenced me because he did not want any one to know; he told me to come +and fetch you--only you. However, as Monsieur l’Abbé is here, he had +better help us. We shall be none too many.” + +Pierre listened, also quite aghast. And when Victorine wished to take the +lamp her trembling hand, with which she had no doubt felt the prostrate +body, was seen to be quite bloody. The sight filled Benedetta with so +much horror that she again began to moan wildly. + +“Be quiet, be quiet!” repeated Victorine. “We ought not to make any noise +in going down. I shall take the lamp, because we must at all events be +able to see. Now, quick, quick!” + +Across the porch, just at the entrance of the vestibule, Dario lay prone +upon the slabs, as if, after being stabbed in the street, he had only had +sufficient strength to take a few steps before falling. And he had just +fainted, and lay there with his face very pale, his lips compressed, and +his eyes closed. Benedetta, recovering the energy of her race amidst her +excessive grief, no longer lamented or cried out, but gazed at him with +wild, tearless, dilated eyes, as though unable to understand. The horror +of it all was the suddenness and mysteriousness of the catastrophe, the +why and wherefore of this murderous attempt amidst the silence of the old +deserted palace, black with the shades of night. The wound had as yet +bled but little, for only the Prince’s clothes were stained. + +“Quick, quick!” repeated Victorine in an undertone after lowering the +lamp and moving it around. “The porter isn’t there--he’s always at the +carpenter’s next door--and you see that he hasn’t yet lighted the +lantern. Still he may come back at any moment. So the Abbé and I will +carry 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 docility +of children. “Contessina,” she continued, “you must light us. Here, take +the lamp and lower it a little so that we may see the steps. You, Abbé, +take the feet; I’ll take hold of him under the armpits. And don’t be +alarmed, the poor dear fellow isn’t heavy.” + +Ah! that ascent of the monumental staircase with its low steps and its +landings as spacious as guardrooms. They facilitated the cruel journey, +but how lugubrious looked the little _cortège_ under the flickering +glimmer of the lamp which Benedetta held with arm outstretched, stiffened +by determination! And still not a sound came from the old lifeless +dwelling, nothing but the silent crumbling of the walls, the slow decay +which was making the ceilings crack. Victorine continued to whisper words +of advice whilst Pierre, afraid of slipping on the shiny slabs, put forth +an excess of strength which made his breath come short. Huge, wild +shadows danced over the big expanse of bare wall up to the very vaults +decorated with sunken panels. So endless seemed the ascent that at last a +halt became necessary; but the slow march was soon resumed. Fortunately +Dario’s apartments--bed-chamber, dressing-room, and sitting-room--were on +the first floor adjoining those of the Cardinal in the wing facing the +Tiber; so, on reaching the landing, they only had to walk softly along +the corridor, and at last, to their great relief, laid the wounded man +upon his bed. + +Victorine vented her satisfaction in a light laugh. “That’s done,” said +she; “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 his +Eminence should have shut himself up with Don Vigilio. I wrapped my skirt +round Monsieur Dario’s shoulders, you know, so I don’t think any blood +fell on the stairs. By and by, too, I’ll go down with a sponge and wipe +the slabs in the porch--” She stopped short, looked at Dario, and then +quickly added: “He’s breathing--now I’ll leave you both to watch over him +while 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 to +quiver with the frightful horror that filled their hearts, Benedetta and +Pierre remained on either side of the bed, as yet unable to exchange a +word. The young woman first opened her arms and wrung her hands whilst +giving vent to a hollow moan, as if to relieve and exhale her grief; and +then, leaning forward, she watched for some sign of life on that pale +face whose eyes were closed. Dario was certainly breathing, but his +respiration was slow and very faint, and some time went by before a touch +of 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, instilling +into the pressure all the anguish of her heart. Great was her happiness +on feeling that he feebly returned the clasp. + +“Tell me,” she said, “you can see me and hear me, can’t you? What has +happened, good God?” + +He did not at first answer, being worried by the presence of Pierre. On +recognising the young priest, however, he seemed content that he should +be there, and then glanced apprehensively round the room to see if there +were anybody else. And at last he murmured: “No one saw me, no one +knows?” + +“No, no; be easy. We carried you up with Victorine without meeting a +soul. 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 anybody +to 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 his +eyelids with a weary air as if to escape the question. But he must have +realised that it was best for him to confess some portion of the truth at +once, for he resumed: “A man was hidden in the shadow of the porch--he +must have been waiting for me. And so, when I came in, he dug his knife +into my shoulder, there.” + +Forthwith she again leant over him, quivering, and gazing into the depths +of 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 the +man had fled into the darkness before he could recognise him, she raised +a terrible cry: “It was Prada! it was Prada, confess it, I know it +already!” 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 belong +to one another. Rather than have that he will kill you on the day when I +am free to be your wife! Oh! I know him well; I shall never, never be +happy. 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 I +swear 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 have +been convinced by them. But terror once more overpowered her, for the +hand she held was suddenly growing soft, moist, and powerless. Exhausted +by his effort, Dario had fallen back, again fainting, his face quite +white 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’Abbé!” she exclaimed. “But he is dying, he is +dying; he is already quite cold. Ah! God of heaven, he is dying!” + +Pierre, terribly upset by her cries, sought to reassure her, saying: “He +spoke too much; he has lost consciousness, as he did before. But I assure +you that I can feel his heart beating. Here, put your hand here, +Contessina. For mercy’s sake don’t distress yourself like that; the +doctor 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 a +frantic embrace, bathed it with tears and covered it with kisses whilst +stammering words of fire: “Ah! if I were to lose you, if I were to lose +you! And to think that I repulsed you, that I would not accept happiness +when it was yet possible! Yes, that idea of mine, that vow I made to the +Madonna! Yet how could she be offended by our happiness? And then, and +then, if she has deceived me, if she takes you from me, ah! then I can +have 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 patient +the better to ensure her happiness? Pierre was terrified, and no longer +recognised her. He had hitherto seen her so reserved, so modest, with a +childish charm that seemed to come from her very nature! But under the +threatening blow she feared, the terrible blood of the Boccaneras had +awoke within her with a long heredity of violence, pride, frantic and +exasperated longings. She wished for her share of life, her share of +love! And she moaned and she clamoured, as if death, in taking her lover +from her, were tearing away some of her own flesh. + +“Calm yourself, I entreat you, madame,” repeated the priest. “He is +alive, his heart beats. You are doing yourself great harm.” + +But she wished to die with her lover: “O my darling! if you must go, take +me, take me with you. I will lay myself on your heart, I will clasp you +so tightly with my arms that they shall be joined to yours, and then we +must needs be buried together. Yes, yes, we shall be dead, and we shall +be wedded all the same--wedded in death! I promised that I would belong +to none but you, and I will be yours in spite of everything, even in the +grave. O my darling, open your eyes, open your mouth, kiss me if you +don’t want me to die as soon as you are dead!” + +A blaze of wild passion, full of blood and fire, had passed through that +mournful chamber with old, sleepy walls. But tears were now overcoming +Benedetta, and big gasping sobs at last threw her, blinded and +strengthless, on the edge of the bed. And fortunately an end was put to +the terrible scene by the arrival of the doctor whom Victorine had +fetched. + +Doctor Giordano was a little old man of over sixty, with white curly +hair, and fresh-looking, clean-shaven countenance. By long practice among +Churchmen he had acquired the paternal appearance and manner of an +amiable prelate. And he was said to be a very worthy man, tending the +poor for nothing, and displaying ecclesiastical reserve and discretion in +all delicate cases. For thirty years past the whole Boccanera family, +children, women, and even the most eminent Cardinal himself, had in all +cases of sickness been placed in the hands of this prudent practitioner. +Lighted by Victorine and helped by Pierre, he undressed Dario, who was +roused from his swoon by pain; and after examining the wound he declared +with a smile that it was not at all dangerous. The young Prince would at +the utmost have to spend three weeks in bed, and no complications were to +be feared. Then, like all the doctors of Rome, enamoured of the fine +thrusts and cuts which day by day they have to dress among chance +patients of the lower classes, he complacently lingered over the wound, +doubtless regarding it as a clever piece of work, for he ended by saying +to the Prince in an undertone: “That’s what we call a warning. The man +didn’t want to kill, the blow was dealt downwards so that the knife might +slip through the flesh without touching the bone. Ah! a man really needs +to be skilful to deal such a stab; it was very neatly done.” + +“Yes, yes,” murmured Dario, “he spared me; had he chosen he could have +pierced me through.” + +Benedetta did not hear. Since the doctor had declared the case to be free +from danger, and had explained that the fainting fits were due to nervous +shock, she had fallen in a chair, quite prostrated. Gradually, however, +some gentle tears coursed from her eyes, bringing relief after her +frightful despair, and then, rising to her feet, she came and kissed +Dario with mute and passionate delight. + +“I say, my dear doctor,” resumed the Prince, “it’s useless for people to +know of this. It’s so ridiculous. Nobody has seen anything, it seems, +excepting Monsieur l’Abbé, whom I ask to keep the matter secret. And in +particular I don’t want anybody to alarm the Cardinal or my aunt, or +indeed 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 have +had a fall on the stairs and have dislocated your shoulder. And now that +the wound is dressed you must try to sleep, and don’t get feverish. I +will come back to-morrow morning.” + +That evening of excitement was followed by some very tranquil days, and a +new life began for Pierre, who at first remained indoors, reading and +writing, with no other recreation than that of spending his afternoons in +Dario’s room, where he was certain to find Benedetta. After a somewhat +intense fever lasting for eight and forty hours, cure took its usual +course, and the story of the dislocated shoulder was so generally +believed, that the Cardinal insisted on Donna Serafina departing from her +habits of strict economy, to have a second lantern lighted on the landing +in order that no such accident might occur again. And then the monotonous +peacefulness was only disturbed by a final incident, a threat of trouble, +as it were, with which Pierre found himself mixed up one evening when he +was lingering beside the convalescent patient. + +Benedetta had absented herself for a few minutes, and as Victorine, who +had brought up some broth, was leaning towards the Prince to take the +empty 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 I +thought it best to tell you of it.” + +Unintentionally, Pierre heard her and understood everything. Dario, who +was looking at him, at once guessed his thoughts, and without answering +Victorine exclaimed: “Yes, Abbé, it was that brute Tito! How idiotic, +eh?” At the same time, although the young man protested that he had done +nothing whatever for the girl’s brother to give him such a “warning,” he +smiled in an embarrassed way, as if vexed and even somewhat ashamed of +being mixed up in an affair of the kind. And he was evidently relieved +when the priest promised that he would see the girl, should she come +back, and make her understand that she ought to remain at home. + +“It was such a stupid affair!” the Prince repeated, with an exaggerated +show of anger. “Such things are not of our times.” + +But all at once he ceased speaking, for Benedetta entered the room. She +sat down again beside her dear patient, and the sweet, peaceful evening +then 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 airing +in the district. The Via Giulia interested him, for he knew how splendid +it had been in the time of Julius II, who had dreamt of lining it with +sumptuous palaces. Horse and foot races then took place there during the +carnival, the Palazzo Farnese being the starting-point, and the Piazza of +St. Peter’s the goal. Pierre had also lately read that a French +ambassador, D’Estrée, Marquis de Coure, had resided at the Palazzo +Sacchetti, and in 1638 had given some magnificent entertainments in +honour of the birth of the Dauphin,* when on three successive days there +had been racing from the Ponte Sisto to San Giovanni dei Fiorentini +amidst an extraordinary display of sumptuosity: the street being strewn +with flowers, and rich hangings adorning every window. On the second +evening there had been fireworks on the Tiber, with a machine +representing the ship Argo carrying Jason and his companions to the +recovery of the Golden Fleece; and, on another occasion, the Farnese +fountain, the Mascherone, had flowed with wine. Nowadays, however, all +was changed. The street, bright with sunshine or steeped in shadow +according to the hour, was ever silent and deserted. The heavy, ancient +palatial houses, their old doors studded with plates and nails, their +windows barred with huge iron gratings, always seemed to be asleep, whole +storeys showing nothing but closed shutters as if to keep out the +daylight for evermore. Now and again, when a door was open, you espied +deep vaults, damp, cold courts, green with mildew, and encompassed by +colonnades like cloisters. Then, in the outbuildings of the mansions, the +low structures which had collected more particularly on the side of the +Tiber, various small silent shops had installed themselves. There was a +baker’s, a tailor’s, and a bookbinder’s, some fruiterers’ shops with a +few tomatoes and salad plants set out on boards, and some wine-shops +which claimed to sell the vintages of Frascati and Genzano, but whose +customers 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 the +Farnese palace to the distant vista of trees beyond the river. With its +infrequent traffic the street, even in the daytime, was like some +sepulchral corridor where the past was crumbling into dust, and when +night 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, few +and far between, seemed powerless to pierce the gloom. On either hand the +doors were barred and bolted, and not a sound, not a breath came from +within. 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-hand +lane, and they remained erect and still, coagulated, as it were, in that +dead street. + + * Afterwards Louis XIV.--Trans. + +Pierre’s interest, however, was not merely confined to the Via Giulia; it +extended to the whole district, once so fine and fashionable, but now +fallen into sad decay, far removed from modern life, and exhaling a faint +musty odour of monasticism. Towards San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, where +the new Corso Vittorio Emanuele has ripped up every olden district, the +lofty five-storeyed houses with their dazzling sculptured fronts +contrasted violently with the black sunken dwellings of the neighbouring +lanes. In the evening the globes of the electric lamps on the Corso shone +out with such dazzling whiteness that the gas lamps of the Via Giulia and +other streets looked like smoky lanterns. There were several old and +famous thoroughfares, the Via Banchi Vecchi, the Via del Pellegrino, the +Via di Monserrato, and an infinity of cross-streets which intersected and +connected the others, all going towards the Tiber, and for the most part +so narrow that vehicles scarcely had room to pass. And each street had +its church, a multitude of churches all more or less alike, highly +decorated, gilded, and painted, and open only at service time when they +were full of sunlight and incense. In the Via Giulia, in addition to San +Giovanni dei Fiorentini, San Biagio della Pagnotta, San Eligio degli +Orefici, and three or four others, there was the so-called Church of the +Dead, Santa Maria dell’ Orazione; and this church, which is at the lower +end behind the Farnese palace, was often visited by Pierre, who liked to +dream there of the wild life of Rome, and of the pious brothers of the +Confraternita della Morte, who officiate there, and whose mission is to +search for and bury such poor outcasts as die in the Campagna. One +evening he was present at the funeral of two unknown men, whose bodies, +after remaining unburied for quite a fortnight, had been discovered in a +field near the Appian Way. + +However, Pierre’s favourite promenade soon became the new quay of the +Tiber beyond the Palazzo Boccanera. He had merely to take the narrow lane +skirting the mansion to reach a spot where he found much food for +reflection. Although the quay was not yet finished, the work seemed to be +quite abandoned. There were heaps of rubbish, blocks of stone, broken +fences, and dilapidated tool-sheds all around. To such a height had it +been necessary to carry the quay walls--designed to protect the city from +floods, for the river bed has been rising for centuries past--that the +old terrace of the Boccanera gardens, with its double flight of steps to +which pleasure boats had once been moored, now lay in a hollow, +threatened with annihilation whenever the works should be finished. But +nothing had yet been levelled; the soil, brought thither for making up +the bank, lay as it had fallen from the carts, and on all sides were pits +and mounds interspersed with the abandoned building materials. Wretched +urchins came to play there, workmen without work slept in the sunshine, +and women after washing ragged linen spread it out to dry upon the +stones. Nevertheless the spot proved a happy, peaceful refuge for Pierre, +one fruitful in inexhaustible reveries when for hours at a time he +lingered gazing at the river, the quays, and the city, stretching in +front of him and on either hand. + +At eight in the morning the sun already gilded the vast opening. On +turning 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 San +Giovanni, on the right, the river curved, and on its other bank the +poplars of the Ospedale di Santo Spirito formed a green curtain, while +the castle of Sant’ Angelo showed brightly in the distance. But Pierre’s +eyes dwelt more particularly on the bank just in front of him, for there +he found some lingering vestiges of old Rome. On that side indeed between +the Ponte Sisto and the Ponte Sant’ Angelo, the quays, which were to +imprison the river within high, white, fortress-like walls, had not yet +been raised, and the bank with its remnants of the old papal city +conjured up an extraordinary vision of the middle ages. The houses, +descending to the river brink, were cracked, scorched, rusted by +innumerable burning summers, like so many antique bronzes. Down below +there were black vaults into which the water flowed, piles upholding +walls, and fragments of Roman stone-work plunging into the river bed; +then, rising from the shore, came steep, broken stairways, green with +moisture, tiers of terraces, storeys with tiny windows pierced here and +their in hap-hazard fashion, houses perched atop of other houses, and the +whole jumbled together with a fantastic commingling of balconies and +wooden galleries, footbridges spanning courtyards, clumps of trees +growing apparently on the very roofs, and attics rising from amidst pinky +tiles. The contents of a drain fell noisily into the river from a worn +and soiled gorge of stone; and wherever the houses stood back and the +bank appeared, it was covered with wild vegetation, weeds, shrubs, and +mantling ivy, which trailed like a kingly robe of state. And in the glory +of the sun the wretchedness and dirt vanished, the crooked, jumbled +houses seemed to be of gold, draped with the purple of the red petticoats +and the dazzling white of the shifts which hung drying from their +windows; while higher still, above the district, the Janiculum rose into +all 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 Tiber +for hours at a time. Nothing could convey an idea of the weariness of +those old waters, the mournful slowness of their flow along that +Babylonian trench where they were confined within huge, bare, livid +prison-like walls. In the sunlight their yellowness was gilded, and the +faint quiver of the current brought ripples of green and blue; but as +soon as the shade spread over it the stream became opaque like mud, so +turbid in its venerable old age that it no longer even gave back a +reflection of the houses lining it. And how desolate was its abandonment, +what a stream of silence and solitude it was! After the winter rains it +might roll furiously and threateningly, but during the long months of +bright weather it traversed Rome without a sound, and Pierre could remain +there all day long without seeing either a skiff or a sail. The two or +three little steam-boats which arrived from the coast, the few tartanes +which brought wine from Sicily, never came higher than the Aventine, +beyond which there was only a watery desert in which here and there, at +long intervals, a motionless angler let his line dangle. All that Pierre +ever saw in the way of shipping was a sort of ancient, covered pinnace, a +rotting Noah’s ark, moored on the right beside the old bank, and he +fancied that it might be used as a washhouse, though on no occasion did +he see any one in it. And on a neck of mud there also lay a stranded boat +with one side broken in, a lamentable symbol of the impossibility and the +relinquishment of navigation. Ah! that decay of the river, that decay of +father Tiber, as dead as the famous ruins whose dust he is weary of +laving! And what an evocation! all the centuries of history, so many +things, so many men, that those yellow waters have reflected till, full +of 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 an +abandoned tool-shed. With her neck extended, she was looking fixedly at +the window of Dario’s room, at the corner of the quay and the lane. +Doubtless she had been frightened by Victorine’s severe reception, and +had not dared to return to the mansion; but some servant, possibly, had +told her which was the young Prince’s window, and so she now came to this +spot, where without wearying she waited for a glimpse of the man she +loved, for some sign of life and salvation, the mere hope of which made +her heart leap. Deeply touched by the way in which she hid herself, all +humility and quivering with adoration, the priest approached her, and +instead 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 her +people as though nothing had happened, and at last contriving to mention +Dario’s name in order that she might understand that he would be up and +about again within a fortnight. On perceiving Pierre, La Pierina had +started with timidity and distrust as if anxious to flee; but when she +understood him, tears of happiness gushed from her eyes, and with a +bright smile she kissed her hand to him, calling: “_Grazie, grazie_, +thanks, thanks!” And thereupon she darted away, and he never saw her +again. + +On another morning at an early hour, as Pierre was going to say mass at +Santa Brigida on the Piazza Farnese, he was surprised to meet Benedetta +coming out of the church and carrying a small phial of oil. She evinced +no embarrassment, but frankly told him that every two or three days she +went thither to obtain from the beadle a few drops of the oil used for +the lamp that burnt before an antique wooden statue of the Madonna, in +which she had perfect confidence. She even confessed that she had never +had confidence in any other Madonna, having never obtained anything from +any other, though she had prayed to several of high repute, Madonnas of +marble and even of silver. And so her heart was full of ardent devotion +for the holy image which refused her nothing. And she declared in all +simplicity, as though the matter were quite natural and above discussion, +that the few drops of oil which she applied, morning and evening, to +Dario’s wound, were alone working his cure, so speedy a cure as to be +quite miraculous. Pierre, fairly aghast, distressed indeed to find such +childish, superstitious notions in one so full of sense and grace and +passion, did not even venture to smile. + +In the evenings, when he came back from his strolls and spent an hour or +so in Dario’s room, he would for a time divert the patient by relating +what he had done and seen and thought of during the day. And when he +again ventured to stray beyond the district, and became enamoured of the +lovely gardens of Rome, which he visited as soon as they opened in the +morning in order that he might be virtually alone, he delighted the young +prince and Benedetta with his enthusiasm, his rapturous passion for the +splendid trees, the plashing water, and the spreading terraces whence the +views were so sublime. It was not the most extensive of these gardens +which the more deeply impressed his heart. In the grounds of the Villa +Borghese, the little Roman Bois de Boulogne, there were certainly some +majestic clumps of greenery, some regal avenues where carriages took a +turn in the afternoon before the obligatory drive to the Pincio; but +Pierre was more touched by the reserved garden of the villa--that villa +dazzling with marble and now containing one of the finest museums in the +world. There was a simple lawn of fine grass with a vast central basin +surmounted by a figure of Venus, nude and white; and antique fragments, +vases, statues, columns, and _sarcophagi_ were ranged symmetrically all +around the deserted, sunlit yet melancholy, sward. On returning on one +occasion 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 in +the soft limpid radiance. At the Villa Albani and the Villa Pamphili he +again came upon superb parasol pines, tall, stately, and graceful, and +powerful elm-trees with twisted limbs and dusky foliage. In the Pamphili +grounds, the elm-trees steeped the paths in a delicious half-light, the +lake with its weeping willows and tufts of reeds had a dreamy aspect, +while down below the _parterre_ displayed a fantastic floral mosaic +bright with the various hues of flowers and foliage. That which most +particularly struck Pierre, however, in this, the noblest, most spacious, +and most carefully tended garden of Rome, was the novel and unexpected +view that he suddenly obtained of St. Peter’s, whilst skirting a low +wall: a view whose symbolism for ever clung to him. Rome had completely +vanished, and between the slopes of Monte Mario and another wooded height +which hid the city, there only appeared the colossal dome which seemed to +be poised on an infinity of scattered blocks, now white, now red. These +were the houses of the Borgo, the jumbled piles of the Vatican and the +Basilica which the huge dome surmounted and annihilated, showing greyly +blue in the light blue of the heavens, whilst far away stretched a +delicate, boundless vista of the Campagna, likewise of a bluish tint. + +It was, however, more particularly in the less sumptuous gardens, those +of a more homely grace, that Pierre realised that even things have souls. +Ah! that Villa Mattei on one side of the Cœlius with its terraced +grounds, its sloping alleys edged with laurel, aloe, and spindle tree, +its box-plants forming arbours, its oranges, its roses, and its +fountains! Pierre spent some delicious hours there, and only found a +similar charm on visiting the Aventine, where three churches are +embowered in verdure. The little garden of Santa Sabina, the birthplace +of the Dominican order, is closed on all sides and affords no view: it +slumbers in quiescence, warm and perfumed by its orange-trees, amongst +which that planted by St. Dominic stands huge and gnarled but still laden +with ripe fruit. At the adjoining Priorato, however, the garden, perched +high above the Tiber, overlooks a vast expanse, with the river and the +buildings on either bank as far as the summit of the Janiculum. And in +these gardens of Rome Pierre ever found the same clipped box-shrubs, the +same eucalypti with white trunks and pale leaves long like hair, the same +ilex-trees squat and dusky, the same giant pines, the same black +cypresses, the same marbles whitening amidst tufts of roses, and the same +fountains gurgling under mantling ivy. Never did he enjoy more gentle, +sorrow-tinged delight than at the Villa of Pope Julius, where all the +life of a gay and sensual period is suggested by the semi-circular +porticus opening on the gardens, a porticus decorated with paintings, +golden trellis-work laden with flowers, amidst which flutter flights of +smiling Cupids. Then, on the evening when he returned from the Farnesina, +he declared that he had brought all the dead soul of ancient Rome away +with him, and it was not the paintings executed after Raffaelle’s designs +that had touched him, it was rather the pretty hall on the river side +decorated in soft blue and pink and lilac, with an art devoid of genius +yet so charming and so Roman; and in particular it was the abandoned +garden once stretching down to the Tiber, and now shut off from it by the +new quay, and presenting an aspect of woeful desolation, ravaged, bossy +and weedy like a cemetery, albeit the golden fruit of orange and citron +tree still ripened there. + +And for the last time a shock came to Pierre’s heart on the lovely +evening 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 antique +reverie was that wood of ilex-trees, so old and so sombre, where the sun +in declining cast fiery gleams of red gold amidst the sheeny bronze of +the foliage. You ascend by endless steps, and from the crowning belvedere +on high you embrace all Rome at a glance as though by opening your arms +you could seize it in its entirety. From the villa’s dining-room, +decorated with portraits of all the artists who have successfully +sojourned there, and from the spacious peaceful library one beholds the +same splendid, broad, all-conquering panorama, a panorama of unlimited +ambition, whose infinite ought to set in the hearts of the young men +dwelling there a determination to subjugate the world. Pierre, who came +thither opposed to the principle of the “Prix de Rome,” that traditional, +uniform education so dangerous for originality, was for a moment charmed +by the warm peacefulness, the limpid solitude of the garden, and the +sublime horizon where the wings of genius seemed to flutter. Ah! how +delightful, to be only twenty and to live for three years amidst such +infinite sweetness, encompassed by the finest works of man; to say to +oneself that one is as yet too young to produce, and to reflect, and +seek, and learn how to enjoy, suffer, and love! But Pierre afterwards +reflected that this was not a fit task for youth, and that to appreciate +the divine enjoyment of such a retreat, all art and blue sky, ripe age +was needed, age with victories already gained and weariness following +upon the accomplishment of work. He chatted with some of the young +pensioners, and remarked that if those who were inclined to dreaminess +and 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 pined +with impatience, their eyes ever turned towards Paris, their souls eager +to 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 so +much rapture, awoke within them the memory of the garden of the Villa +Montefiori, now a waste, but once so green, planted with the finest +orange-trees of Rome, a grove of centenarian orange-trees where they had +learnt to love one another. And the memory of their early love brought +thoughts of their present situation and their future prospects. To these +the conversation always reverted, and evening after evening Pierre +witnessed their delight, and heard them talk of coming happiness like +lovers transported to the seventh heaven. The suit for the dissolution of +Benedetta’s marriage was now assuming a more and more favourable aspect. +Guided by a powerful hand, Donna Serafina was apparently acting very +vigorously, for almost every day she had some further good news to +report. She was indeed anxious to finish the affair both for the +continuity and for the honour of the name, for on the one hand Dario +refused to marry any one but his cousin, and on the other this marriage +would explain everything and put an end to an intolerable situation. The +scandalous rumours which circulated both in the white and the black world +quite incensed her, and a victory was the more necessary as Leo XIII, +already so aged, might be snatched away at any moment, and in the +Conclave which would follow she desired that her brother’s name should +shine forth with untarnished, sovereign radiance. Never had the secret +ambition of her life, the hope that her race might give a third pope to +the Church, filled her with so much passion. It was as if she therein +sought a consolation for the harsh abandonment of Advocate Morano. +Invariably clad in sombre garb, ever active and slim, so tightly laced +that from behind one might have taken her for a young girl, she was so to +say the black soul of that old palace; and Pierre, who met her +everywhere, prowling and inspecting like a careful house-keeper, and +jealously watching over her brother the Cardinal, bowed to her in +silence, chilled to the heart by the stern look of her withered wrinkled +face in which was set the large, opiniative nose of her family. However +she barely returned his bows, for she still disdained that paltry foreign +priest, and only tolerated him in order to please Monsignor Nani and +Viscount Philibert de la Choue. + +A witness every evening of the anxious delight and impatience of +Benedetta and Dario, Pierre by degrees became almost as impassioned as +themselves, as desirous for an early solution. Benedetta’s suit was about +to come before the Congregation of the Council once more. Monsignor +Palma, the defender of the marriage, had demanded a supplementary inquiry +after the favourable decision arrived at in the first instance by a bare +majority of one vote--a majority which the Pope would certainly not have +thought sufficient had he been asked for his ratification. So the +question now was to gain votes among the ten cardinals who formed the +Congregation, to persuade and convince them, and if possible ensure an +almost unanimous pronouncement. The task was arduous, for, instead of +facilitating matters, Benedetta’s relationship to Cardinal Boccanera +raised many difficulties, owing to the intriguing spirit rife at the +Vatican, the spite of rivals who, by perpetuating the scandal, hoped to +destroy Boccanera’s chance of ever attaining to the papacy. Every +afternoon, however, Donna Serafina devoted herself to the task of winning +votes under the direction of her confessor, Father Lorenza, whom she saw +daily at the Collegio Germanico, now the last refuge of the Jesuits in +Rome, for they have ceased to be masters of the Gesù. The chief hope of +success lay in Prada’s formal declaration that he would not put in an +appearance. The whole affair wearied and irritated him; the imputations +levelled against him as a man, seemed to him supremely odious and +ridiculous; and he no longer even took the trouble to reply to the +assignations which were sent to him. He acted indeed as if he had never +been married, though deep in his heart the wound dealt to his passion and +his pride still lingered, bleeding afresh whenever one or another of the +scandalous rumours in circulation reached his ears. However, as their +adversary desisted from all action, one can understand that the hopes of +Benedetta and Dario increased, the more so as hardly an evening passed +without Donna Serafina telling them that she believed she had gained the +support of another cardinal. + +But the man who terrified them all was Monsignor Palma, whom the +Congregation had appointed to defend the sacred ties of matrimony. His +rights 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 prove +yet more pitiless, establishing as a fundamental principle of the Church +that it could not annul a marriage whose nonconsummation was purely and +simply due to the action of the wife in refusing obedience to her +husband. In presence of such energy and logic, it was unlikely that the +cardinals, even if sympathetic, would dare to advise the Holy Father to +dissolve the marriage. And so discouragement was once more overcoming +Benedetta when Donna Serafina, on returning from a visit to Monsignor +Nani, calmed her somewhat by telling her that a mutual friend had +undertaken to deal with Monsignor Palma. However, said she, even if they +succeeded, it would doubtless cost them a large sum. + +Monsignor Palma, a theologist expert in all canonical affairs, and a +perfectly honest man in pecuniary matters, had met with a great +misfortune in his life. He had a niece, a poor and lovely girl, for whom, +unhappily, in his declining years he conceived an insensate passion, with +the result that to avoid a scandal he was compelled to marry her to a +rascal who now preyed upon her and even beat her. And the prelate was now +passing through a fearful crisis, weary of reducing himself to beggary, +and indeed no longer having the money necessary to extricate his nephew +by marriage from a very nasty predicament, the result of cheating at +cards. So the idea was to save the young man by a considerable pecuniary +payment, and then to procure him employment without asking aught of his +uncle, who, as if offering complicity, came in tears one evening, when +night 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!” she +said, “he has just left aunt, and vowed eternal gratitude to her. He will +now 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,” replied +Benedetta. “But people say that he is a very honest man.” Nevertheless, +in spite of these words, she herself became uneasy. What if Monsignor +Palma should remain incorruptible in spite of the great service which had +been rendered him? Thenceforth this idea haunted them, and their suspense +began once more. + +Dario, eager to divert his mind, was imprudent enough to get up before he +was perfectly cured, and, his wound reopening, he was obliged to take to +his bed again for a few days. Every evening, as previously, Pierre strove +to enliven him with an account of his strolls. The young priest was now +getting bolder, rambling in turn through all the districts of Rome, and +discovering the many “classical” curiosities catalogued in the +guide-books. One evening he spoke with a kind of affection of the +principal squares of the city which he had first thought commonplace, but +which now seemed to him very varied, each with original features of its +own. There was the noble Piazza del Popolo of such monumental symmetry +and so full of sunlight; there was the Piazza di Spagna, the lively +meeting-place of foreigners, with its double flight of a hundred and +thirty steps gilded by the sun; there was the vast Piazza Colonna, always +swarming with people, and the most Italian of all the Roman squares from +the presence of the idle, careless crowd which ever lounged round the +column of Marcus Aurelius as if waiting for fortune to fall from heaven; +there was also the long and regular Piazza Navona, deserted since the +market was no longer held there, and retaining a melancholy recollection +of its former bustling life; and there was the Campo dei Fiori, which was +invaded each morning by the tumultuous fruit and vegetable markets, quite +a plantation of huge umbrellas sheltering heaps of tomatoes, pimentoes, +and grapes amidst a noisy stream of dealers and housewives. Pierre’s +great surprise, however, was the Piazza del Campidoglio--the “Square of +the Capitol”--which to him suggested a summit, an open spot overlooking +the city and the world, but which he found to be small and square, and on +three sides enclosed by palaces, whilst on the fourth side the view was +of little extent.* There are no passers-by there; visitors usually come +up by a flight of steps bordered by a few palm-trees, only foreigners +making use of the winding carriage-ascent. The vehicles wait, and the +tourists loiter for a while with their eyes raised to the admirable +equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius, in antique bronze, which occupies +the centre of the piazza. Towards four o’clock, when the sun gilds the +left-hand palace, and the slender statues of its entablature show vividly +against the blue sky, you might think yourself in some warm cosy square +of a little provincial town, what with the women of the neighbourhood who +sit knitting under the arcade, and the bands of ragged urchins who +disport 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 his +admiration for the Roman fountains, for in no other city of the world +does water flow so abundantly and magnificently in fountains of bronze +and marble, from the boat-shaped Fontana della Barcaccia on the Piazza di +Spagna, the Triton on the Piazza Barberini, and the Tortoises which give +their name to the Piazza delle Tartarughe, to the three fountains of the +Piazza Navona where Bernini’s vast central composition of rock and +river-gods rises so triumphantly, and to the colossal and pompous +fountain of Trevi, where King Neptune stands on high attended by lofty +figures of Health and Fruitfulness. And on yet another evening Pierre +came home quite pleased, relating that he had at last discovered why it +was that the old streets around the Capitol and along the Tiber seemed to +him 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 of +those old districts with their winding lanes, their tiny squares so +irregular in shape, and their huge square mansions swamped by a +multitudinous jumble of little houses. He found a charm, too, in the +district of the Esquiline, where, besides innumerable flights of +ascending steps, each of grey pebbles edged with white stone, there were +sudden sinuous slopes, tiers of terraces, seminaries and convents, +lifeless, with their windows ever closed, and lofty, blank walls above +which a superb palm-tree would now and again soar into the spotless blue +of the sky. And on yet another evening, having strolled into the Campagna +beside the Tiber and above the Ponte Molle, he came back full of +enthusiasm for a form of classical art which hitherto he had scarcely +appreciated. Along the river bank, however, he had found the very scenery +that Poussin so faithfully depicted: the sluggish, yellow stream fringed +with reeds; low riven cliffs, whose chalky whiteness showed against the +ruddy background of a far-stretching, undulating plain, bounded by blue +hills; a few spare trees with a ruined porticus opening on to space atop +of the bank, and a line of pale-hued sheep descending to drink, whilst +the shepherd, with an elbow resting on the trunk of an ilex-tree, stood +looking on. It was a special kind of beauty, broad and ruddy, made up of +nothing, sometimes simplified into a series of low, horizontal lines, but +ever ennobled by the great memories it evoked: the Roman legions marching +along the paved highways across the bare Campagna; the long slumber of +the middle ages; and then the awakening of antique nature in the midst of +Catholicism, whereby, for the second time, Rome became ruler of the +world. + +One day when Pierre came back from seeing the great modern cemetery, the +Campo Verano, he found Celia, as well as Benedetta, by the side of +Dario’s bed. “What, Monsieur l’Abbé!” exclaimed the little Princess when +she learnt where he had been; “it amuses you to visit the dead?” + +“Oh those Frenchmen,” remarked Dario, to whom the mere idea of a cemetery +was repulsive; “those Frenchmen seem to take a pleasure in making their +lives 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, “when +reality isn’t pleasant I don’t look at it; I try never to think of it +even.” + +In spite of this rejoinder, Pierre, with his smiling, placid air, went on +enumerating the things which had struck him: first, the admirable manner +in which the cemetery was kept, then the festive appearance which it +derived from the bright autumn sun, and the wonderful profusion in which +marble was lavished in slabs, statues, and chapels. The ancient atavism +had surely been at work, the sumptuous mausoleums of the Appian Way had +here sprung up afresh, making death a pretext for the display of pomp and +pride. In the upper part of the cemetery the Roman nobility had a +district of its own, crowded with veritable temples, colossal statues, +groups of several figures; and if at times the taste shown in these +monuments was deplorable, it was none the less certain that millions had +been expended on them. One charming feature of the place, said Pierre, +was that the marbles, standing among yews and cypresses were remarkably +well preserved, white and spotless; for, if the summer sun slowly gilded +them, there were none of those stains of moss and rain which impart an +aspect of melancholy decay to the statues of northern climes. + +Touched by the discomfort of Dario, Benedetta, hitherto silent, ended by +interrupting Pierre. “And was the hunt interesting?” she asked, turning +to Celia. + +The little Princess had been taken by her mother to see a fox-hunt, and +had been speaking of it when the priest entered the room. + +“Yes, it was very interesting, my dear,” she replied; “the meet was at +noon near the tomb of Cæcilia Metella, where a buffet had been arranged +under a tent. And there was such a number of people--the foreign colony, +the young men of the embassies, and some officers, not to mention +ourselves--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 hours +and 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 the +whole hunt had to leap, and then ditches and hedges--a mad race indeed in +the rear of the hounds. There were two accidents, but nothing serious; +one gentleman, who was unseated, sprained his wrist badly, and another +broke 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 is +one of the great pleasures of Rome, and the Campagna, flat and yet +bristling with obstacles, is certainly well adapted to the sport. “Ah!” + said the young Prince in a despairing tone, “how idiotic it is to be +riveted to this room! I shall end by dying of _ennui_!” + +Benedetta contented herself with smiling; neither reproach nor expression +of sadness came from her at this candid display of egotism. Her own +happiness at having him all to herself in the room where she nursed him +was great indeed; still her love, at once full of youth and good sense, +included a maternal element, and she well understood that he hardly +amused himself, deprived as he was of his customary pleasures and severed +from his friends, few of whom he was willing to receive, for he feared +that they might think the story of the dislocated shoulder suspicious. Of +course there were no more _fêtes_, no more evenings at the theatre, no +more flirtations. But above everything else Dario missed the Corso, and +suffered despairingly at no longer seeing or learning anything by +watching the procession of Roman society from four to five each +afternoon. Accordingly, as soon as an intimate called, there were endless +questions: Had the visitor seen so and so? Had such a one reappeared? How +had a certain friend’s love affair ended? Was any new adventure setting +the city agog? And so forth; all the petty frivolities, nine days’ +wonders, and puerile intrigues in which the young Prince had hitherto +expended 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 enigmatical +virgin, and resumed: “How long it takes to set a shoulder right!” + +Had she, child as she was, with love her only business, divined the +truth? 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 stopped +short, surprised and embarrassed that these words should have escaped +her. However, in all bravery she resumed like one who had been a friend +since childhood, sharing many a little love secret: “Yes, a very pretty +person whom you know. Well, she had a bouquet of white roses with her all +the 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 early +days because no young woman ever sent to make inquiries about him. For +his part, he was not displeased with the rupture, for the continuance of +the connection might have proved embarrassing; and so, although his +vanity may have been slightly hurt, the news that he was already replaced +in La Tonietta’s affections was welcome rather than otherwise. “Ah!” he +contented 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’s +pillows: “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 her +anticipation of keeping him always to herself alone, as soon as they +should be wedded. To her great delight, since she had been nursing him he +had become quite childish again, such as he had been when she had learnt +to love him under the orange-trees of the Villa Montefiori. He retained a +sort of puerility, doubtless the outcome of impoverished blood, that +return to childhood which one remarks amongst very ancient races; and he +toyed on his bed with pictures, gazed for hours at photographs, which +made him laugh. Moreover, his inability to endure suffering had yet +increased; he wished Benedetta to be gay and sing, and amused her with +his petty egotism which led him to dream of a life of continual joy with +her. Ah! how pleasant it would be to live together and for ever in the +sunlight, to do nothing and care for nothing, and even if the world +should crumble somewhere to heed it not! + +“One thing which greatly pleases me,” suddenly said the young Prince, “is +that Monsieur l’Abbé 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 for +one to understand and love Rome. If you had only stayed here for a +fortnight you would have gone off with a deplorable idea of us, but now +that you have been here for two full months we are quite at ease, for you +will never think of us without affection.” + +She looked exceedingly charming as she spoke these words, and Pierre +again bowed. However, he had already given thought to the phenomenon, and +fancied he could explain it. When a stranger comes to Rome he brings with +him a Rome of his own, a Rome such as he dreams of, so ennobled by +imagination that the real Rome proves a terrible disenchantment. And so +it is necessary to wait for habituation, for the mediocrity of the +reality to soften, and for the imagination to have time to kindle again, +and only behold things such as they are athwart the prodigious splendour +of the past. + +However, Celia had risen and was taking leave. “Good-bye, dear,” she +said; “I hope the wedding will soon take place. You know, Dario, that I +mean to be betrothed before the end of the month. Oh yes, I intend to +make my father give a grand entertainment. And how nice it would be if +the 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 at +last understand the terrible, melancholy truth about Rome. He had several +times already strolled through the Trastevere, attracted towards its +wretched denizens by his compassion for all who suffered. Ah! that +quagmire of wretchedness and ignorance! He knew of abominable nooks in +the faubourgs of Paris, frightful “rents” and “courts” where people +rotted in heaps, but there was nothing in France to equal the listless, +filthy stagnation of the Trastevere. On the brightest days a dank gloom +chilled the sinuous, cellar-like lanes, and the smell of rotting +vegetables, rank oil, and human animality brought on fits of nausea. +Jumbled together in a confusion which artists of romantic turn would +admire, the antique, irregular houses had black, gaping entrances diving +below ground, outdoor stairways conducting to upper floors, and wooden +balconies which only a miracle upheld. There were crumbling fronts, +shored up with beams; sordid lodgings whose filth and bareness could be +seen through shattered windows; and numerous petty shops, all the +open-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 stinking +oil, and dealers in cooked vegetables displaying huge turnips, celery, +cauliflowers, and spinach, all cold and sticky. The butcher’s meat was +black and clumsily cut up; the necks of the animals bristled with bloody +clots, as though the heads had simply been torn away. The baker’s loaves, +piled on planks, looked like little round paving stones; at the beggarly +greengrocers’ merely a few pimentoes and fir-apples were shown under the +strings of dry tomatoes which festooned the doorways; and the only shops +which were at all attractive were those of the pork butchers with their +salted provisions and their cheese, whose pungent smell slightly +attenuated the pestilential reek of the gutters. Lottery offices, +displaying lists of winning numbers, alternated with wine-shops, of which +latter there was a fresh one every thirty yards with large inscriptions +setting forth that the best wines of Genzano, Marino, and Frascati were +to be found within. And the whole district teemed with ragged, grimy +denizens, 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 the +sidewalks quietly plying their trade, and little donkeys pulled carts +hither and thither, and men drove turkeys along, whip in hand, and hands +of beggars rushed upon the few anxious tourists who had timorously +ventured into the district. At the door of a little tailor’s shop an old +house-pail dangled full of earth, in which a succulent plant was +flowering. And from every window and balcony, as from the many cords +which stretched across the street from house to house, all the household +washing hung like bunting, nameless drooping rags, the symbolical banners +of abominable misery. + +Pierre’s fraternal, soul filled with pity at the sight. Ah! yes, it was +necessary to demolish all those pestilential districts where the populace +had wallowed for centuries as in a poisonous gaol! He was for demolition +and sanitary improvement, even if old Rome were killed and artists +scandalised. Doubtless the Trastevere was already greatly changed, +pierced with several new thoroughfares which let the sun stream in. And +amidst the _abattis_ of rubbish and the spacious clearings, where nothing +new had yet been erected, the remaining portions of the old district +seemed even blacker and more loathsome. Some day, no doubt, it would all +be rebuilt, but how interesting was this phase of the city’s evolution: +old Rome expiring and new Rome just dawning amidst countless +difficulties! To appreciate the change it was necessary to have known the +filthy Rome of the past, swamped by sewage in every form. The recently +levelled Ghetto had, over a course of centuries, so rotted the soil on +which it stood that an awful pestilential odour yet arose from its bare +site. It was only fitting that it should long remain waste, so that it +might dry and become purified in the sun. In all the districts on either +side of the Tiber where extensive improvements have been undertaken you +find the same scenes. You follow some narrow, damp, evil-smelling street +with black house-fronts and overhanging roofs, and suddenly come upon a +clearing as in a forest of ancient leprous hovels. There are squares, +broad footways; lofty white carved buildings yet in the rough, littered +with rubbish and fenced off. On every side you find as it were a huge +building yard, which the financial crisis perpetuates; the city of +to-morrow arrested in its growth, stranded there in its monstrous, +precocious, surprising infancy. Nevertheless, therein lies good and +healthful work, such as was and is absolutely necessary if Rome is to +become a great modern city, instead of being left to rot, to dwindle into +a 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 di +Pettinari and the Via dei Giubbonari, the former so dark and narrow with +a great hospital wall on one side and a row of wretched houses on the +other, and the latter animated by a constant stream of people and +enlivened by the jewellers’ windows, full of big gold chains, and the +displays of the drapers’ shops, where stuffs hung in bright red, blue, +green, and yellow lengths. And the popular district through which he had +roamed and the trading district which he was now crossing reminded him of +the castle fields with their mass of workpeople reduced to mendicity by +lack 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 of +theocracy, so habituated to mental night and bodily suffering that even +to-day they remained apart from the social awakening, simply desirous of +enjoying their pride, indolence, and sunlight in peace! They seemed both +blind and deaf in their decadence, and whilst Rome was being overturned +they continued to lead the stagnant life of former times, realising +nought but the worries of the improvements, the demolition of the old +favourite districts, the consequent change in habits, and the rise in the +cost of food, as if indeed they would rather have gone without light, +cleanliness, and health, since these could only be secured by a great +financial and labour crisis. And yet, at bottom, it was solely for the +people, the populace, that Rome was being cleansed and rebuilt with the +idea of making it a great modern capital, for democracy lies at the end +of these present day transformations; it is the people who will inherit +the cities whence dirt and disease are being expelled, and where the law +of labour will end by prevailing and killing want. And so, though one may +curse the dusting and repairing of the ruins and the stripping of all the +wild flora from the Colosseum, though one may wax indignant at sight of +the hideous fortress like ramparts which imprison the Tiber, and bewail +the old romantic banks with their greenery and their antique dwellings +dipping into the stream, one must at the same time acknowledge that life +springs from death, and that to-morrow must perforce blossom in the dust +of 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 bare +monumental façade of the heavy square Palazzo, its lofty entrance where +hung the tricolour, its rows of windows and its famous cornice sculptured +with such marvellous art. Then he went in. A friend of Narcisse Habert, +one of the _attachés_ of the embassy to the King of Italy, was waiting +for him, having offered to show him over the huge pile, the finest palace +in Rome, which France had leased as a lodging for her ambassador.* Ah! +that colossal, sumptuous, deadly dwelling, with its vast court whose +porticus is so dark and damp, its giant staircase with low steps, its +endless corridors, its immense galleries and halls. All was sovereign +pomp blended with death. An icy, penetrating chill fell from the walls. +With a discreet smile the _attaché_ owned that the embassy was frozen in +winter and baked in summer. The only part of the building which was at +all lively and pleasant was the first storey, overlooking the Tiber, +which the ambassador himself occupied. From the gallery there, containing +the famous frescoes of Annibale Caracci, one can see the Janiculum, the +Corsini gardens, and the Acqua Paola above San Pietro in Montorio. Then, +after a vast drawing-room comes the study, peaceful and pleasant, and +enlivened by sunshine. But the dining-room, the bed-chambers, and other +apartments occupied by the _personnel_ look out on to the mournful gloom +of a side street. All these vast rooms, twenty and four-and-twenty feet +high, have admirable carved or painted ceilings, bare walls, a few of +them decorated with frescoes, and incongruous furniture, superb pier +tables mingling with modern _bric-à-brac_. And things become abominable +when you enter the gala reception-rooms overlooking the piazza, for there +you no longer find an article of furniture, no longer a hanging, nothing +but disaster, a series of magnificent deserted halls given over to rats +and spiders. The embassy occupies but one of them, where it heaps up its +dusty archives. Near by is a huge hall occupying the height of two +floors, and thus sixty feet in elevation. Reserved by the owner of the +palace, the ex-King of Naples, it has become a mere lumber-room where +_maquettes_, unfinished statues, and a very fine sarcophagus are stowed +away amidst all kinds of remnants. And this is but a part of the palace. +The ground floor is altogether uninhabited; the French “École de Rome” + occupies a corner of the second floor; while the embassy huddles in +chilly fashion in the most habitable corner of the first floor, compelled +to abandon everything else and lock the doors to spare itself the useless +trouble 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 by +cardinals; but how cruel the discomfort and how frightful the melancholy +of this huge ruin, three-fourths of whose rooms are dead, useless, +impossible, cut off from life. And the evenings, oh! the evenings, when +porch, court, stairs, and corridors are invaded by dense gloom, against +which a few smoky gas lamps struggle in vain, when a long, long journey +lies before one through the lugubrious desert of stone, before one +reaches 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 other +grand palaces which he had seen during his strolls rose before him, one +and all of them stripped of their splendour, shorn of their princely +establishments, let out in uncomfortable flats! What could be done with +those grandiose galleries and halls now that no fortune could defray the +cost of the pompous life for which they had been built, or even feed the +retinue needed to keep them up? Few indeed were the nobles who, like +Prince Aldobrandini, with his numerous progeny, still occupied their +entire mansions. Almost all of them let the antique dwellings of their +forefathers to companies or individual tenants, reserving only a storey, +and at times a mere lodging in some dark corner, for themselves. The +Palazzo Chigi was let: the ground floor to bankers and the first floor to +the Austrian ambassador, while the Prince and his family divided the +second floor with a cardinal. The Palazzo Sciarra was let: the first +floor to the Minister of Foreign Affairs and the second to a senator, +while the Prince and his mother merely occupied the ground floor. The +Palazzo Barberini was let: its ground floor, first floor, and second +floor to various families, whilst the Prince found a refuge on the third +floor in the rooms which had been occupied by his ancestors’ lackeys. The +Palazzo Borghese was let: the ground floor to a dealer in antiquities, +the first floor to a Lodge of Freemasons, and the rest to various +households, whilst the Prince only retained the use of a small suite of +apartments. And the Palazzo Odescalchi, the Palazzo Colonna, the Palazzo +Doria were let: their Princes reduced to the position of needy landlords +eager to derive as much profit as possible from their property in order +to make both ends meet. A blast of ruin was sweeping over the Roman +patriziato, 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 who +had tried speculation were stripped of their fortunes. The others, +terrified, called upon to pay enormous taxes, amounting to nearly +one-third of their incomes, could henceforth only wait and behold their +last stagnant millions dwindle away till they were exhausted or +distributed according to the succession laws. Such wealth as remained to +these nobles must perish, for, like everything else, wealth perishes when +it lacks a soil in which it may fructify. In all this there was solely a +question of time: eventual ruin was a foregone and irremediable +conclusion, of absolute, historical certainty. Those who resigned +themselves to the course of letting their deserted mansions still +struggled for life, seeking to accommodate themselves to present-day +exigencies; whilst death already dwelt among the others, those stubborn, +proud ones who immured themselves in the tombs of their race, like that +appalling Palazzo Boccanera, which was falling into dust amidst such +chilly gloom and silence, the latter only broken at long intervals when +the Cardinal’s old coach rumbled over the grassy court. + +The point which most struck Pierre, however, was that his visits to the +Trastevere and the Palazzo Farnese shed light one on the other, and led +him to a conclusion which had never previously seemed so manifest. As yet +no “people,” and soon no aristocracy. He had found the people so +wretched, ignorant, and resigned in its long infancy induced by historic +and climatic causes that many years of instruction and culture were +necessary for it to become a strong, healthy, and laborious democracy, +conscious of both its rights and its duties. As for the aristocracy, it +was dwindling to death in its crumbling palaces, no longer aught than a +finished, degenerate race, with such an admixture also of American, +Austrian, Polish, and Spanish blood that pure Roman blood became a rare +exception; and, moreover, it had ceased to belong either to sword or +gown, unwilling to serve constitutional Italy and forsaking the Sacred +College, where only _parvenus_ now donned the purple. And between the +lowly and the aristocracy there was as yet no firmly seated middle class, +with the vigour of fresh sap and sufficient knowledge, and good sense to +act as the transitional educator of the nation. The middle class was made +up in part of the old servants and clients of the princes, the farmers +who rented their lands, the stewards, notaries, and solicitors who +managed their fortunes; in part, too, of all the employees, the +functionaries of every rank and class, the deputies and senators, whom +the new Government had brought from the provinces; and, in particular, of +the voracious hawks who had swooped down upon Rome, the Pradas, the men +of prey from all parts of the kingdom, who with beak and talon devoured +both people and aristocracy. For whom, then, had one laboured? For whom +had those gigantic works of new Rome been undertaken? A shudder of fear +sped by, a crack as of doom was heard, arousing pitiful disquietude in +every fraternal heart. Yes, a threat of doom and annihilation: as yet no +people, 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 an +hour on the river quay beyond the Boccanera mansion. He was very fond of +meditating on that deserted spot in spite of the warnings of Victorine, +who asserted that it was not safe. And, indeed, on such inky nights as +that one, no cutthroat place ever presented a more tragic aspect. Not a +soul, 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 lamp +which stood in a hollow since the river margin had been banked up, and +this lamp cast an uncertain glimmer upon the quay, level with the +latter’s bossy soil. Thus long vague shadows stretched from the various +materials, 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 in +the windows of the hospital of the Santo Spirito. On the left, amidst the +dim recession of the river, the distant districts were blotted out. Then +yonder, across the stream, was the Trastevere, the houses on the bank +looking like vague, pale phantoms, with infrequent window-panes showing a +blurred yellow glimmer, whilst on high only a dark band shadowed the +Janiculum, near whose summit the lamps of some promenade scintillated +like a triangle of stars. But it was the Tiber which impassioned Pierre; +such was its melancholy majesty during those nocturnal hours. Leaning +over the parapet, he watched it gliding between the new walls, which +looked 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 saw +the sluggish water flow by, showing slow, moire-like ripples there where +the quivering reflections endowed it with a mysterious life. And he often +mused on the river’s famous past and evoked the legends which assert that +fabulous wealth lies buried in its muddy bed. At each fresh invasion of +the barbarians, and particularly when Rome was sacked, the treasures of +palaces and temples are said to have been cast into the water to prevent +them from falling into the hands of the conquerors. Might not those +golden bars trembling yonder in the glaucous stream be the branches of +the famous candelabrum which Titus brought from Jerusalem? Might not +those pale patches whose shape remained uncertain amidst the frequent +eddies indicate the white marble of statues and columns? And those deep +moires glittering with little flamelets, were they not promiscuous heaps +of precious metal, cups, vases, ornaments enriched with gems? What a +dream was that of the swarming riches espied athwart the old river’s +bosom, of the hidden life of the treasures which were said to have +slumbered there for centuries; and what a hope for the nation’s pride and +enrichment centred in the miraculous finds which might be made in the +Tiber if one could some day dry it up and search its bed, as had already +been suggested! Therein, perchance, lay Rome’s new fortune. + +However, on that black night, whilst Pierre leant over the parapet, it +was stern reality alone which occupied his mind. He was still pursuing +the train of thought suggested by his visits to the Trastevere and the +Farnese palace, and in presence of that lifeless water was coming to the +conclusion that the selection of Rome for transformation into a modern +capital was the great misfortune to which the sufferings of young Italy +were due. He knew right well that the selection had been inevitable: Rome +being the queen of glory, the antique ruler of the world to whom eternity +had been promised, and without whom the national unity had always seemed +an impossibility. And so the problem was a terrible one, since without +Rome Italy could not exist, and with Rome it seemed difficult for it to +exist. Ah! that dead river, how it symbolised disaster! Not a boat upon +its surface, not a quiver of the commercial and industrial activity of +those 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 the +Aventine; but these were mere delusions; the authorities would scarcely +be able to clear the river mouth, which deposits were continually +choking. And there was that other cause of mortal languishment, the +Campagna--the desert of death which the dead river crossed and which +girdled Rome with sterility. There was talk of draining and planting it; +much futile discussion on the question whether it had been fertile in the +days of the old Romans; and even a few experiments were made; but, all +the same, Rome remained in the midst of a vast cemetery like a city of +other times, for ever separated from the modern world by that _lande_ or +moor where the dust of centuries had accumulated. The geographical +considerations which once gave the city the empire of the world no longer +exist. The centre of civilisation has been displaced. The basin of the +Mediterranean has been divided among powerful nations. In Italy all roads +now lead to Milan, the city of industry and commerce, and Rome is but a +town of passage. And so the most valiant efforts have failed to rouse it +from its invincible slumber. The capital which the newcomers sought to +improvise with such extreme haste has remained unfinished, and has almost +ruined the nation. The Government, legislators, and functionaries only +camp there, fleeing directly the warm weather sets in so as to escape the +pernicious climate. The hotels and shops even put up their shutters, and +the streets and promenades become deserts, the city having failed to +acquire any life of its own, and relapsing into death as soon as the +artificial life instilled into it is withdrawn. So all remains in +suspense in this purely decorative capital, where only a fresh growth of +men and money can finish and people the huge useless piles of the new +districts. If it be true that to-morrow always blooms in the dust of the +past, one ought to force oneself to hope; but Pierre asked himself if the +soil were not exhausted, and since mere buildings could no longer grow on +it, if it were not for ever drained of the sap which makes a race +healthy, a nation powerful. + +As the night advanced the lights in the houses of the Trastevere went out +one by one: yet Pierre for a long time lingered on the quay, leaning over +the blackened river and yielding to hopelessness. There was now no +distance to the gloom; all had become dense; no longer did any +reflections set a moire-like, golden quiver in the water, or reveal +beneath its mystery-concealing current a fantastic, dancing vision of +fabulous wealth. Gone was the legend, gone the seven-branched golden +candelabrum, gone the golden vases, gone the golden jewellery, the whole +dream of antique treasure that had vanished into night, even like the +antique glory of Rome. Not a glimmer, nothing but slumber, disturbed +solely 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 no +longer espied its leaden flow through the darkness, no longer had any +perception of the sluggish senility, the long-dating weariness, the +intense sadness of that ancient and glorious Tiber, whose waters now +rolled nought but death. Only the vast, opulent sky, the eternal, pompous +sky displayed the dazzling life of its milliards of planets above that +river of darkness, bearing away the ruins of wellnigh three thousand +years. + +Before returning to his own chamber that evening Pierre entered Dario’s +room, and found Victorine there preparing things for the night. And as +soon 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, Monsieur +l’Abbé? You want to get a good knife thrust yourself, it seems. Well, for +my part, I certainly wouldn’t take the air at such a late hour in this +dangerous city.” Then, with her wonted familiarity, she turned and spoke +to the Prince, who was lying back in an arm-chair and smiling: “That +girl, La Pierina,” she said, “hasn’t been back here, but all the same +I’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 that +brute Tito coming back to dig his knife into my other shoulder--” + +All at once he paused, for he had just perceived Benedetta standing there +and listening to him; she had slipped into the room a moment previously +in order to wish him good-night. At sight of her his embarrassment was +great indeed; he wished to speak, explain his words, and swear that he +was wholly innocent in the affair. But she, with a smiling face, +contented herself with saying, “I knew all about it, Dario _mio_. I am +not so foolish as not to have thought it all over and understood the +truth. If I ceased questioning you it was because I knew, and loved you +all the same.” + +The young woman looked very happy as she spoke, and for this she had good +cause, for that very evening she had learnt that Monsignor Palma had +shown himself grateful for the service rendered to his nephew by laying a +fresh and favourable memoir on the marriage affair before the +Congregation of the Council. He had been unwilling to recall his previous +opinions so far as to range himself completely on the Contessina’s side, +but the certificates of two doctors whom she had recently seen had +enabled him to conclude that her own declarations were accurate. And +gliding over the question of wifely obedience, on which he had previously +laid stress, he had skilfully set forth the reasons which made a +dissolution of the marriage desirable. No hope of reconciliation could be +entertained, so it was certain that both parties were constantly exposed +to temptation and sin. He discreetly alluded to the fact that the husband +had already succumbed to this danger, and praised the wife’s lofty +morality and piety, all the virtues which she displayed, and which +guaranteed her veracity. Then, without formulating any conclusion of his +own, he left the decision to the wisdom of the Congregation. And as he +virtually repeated Advocate Morano’s arguments, and Prada stubbornly +refused to enter an appearance, it now seemed certain that the +Congregation would by a great majority pronounce itself in favour of +dissolution, a result which would enable the Holy Father to act +benevolently. + +“Ah! Dario _mio_!” said Benedetta, “we are at the end of our worries. But +what a lot of money, what a lot of money it all costs! Aunt says that +they 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 in +itself ruinous; indeed, in principle, it was gratuitous. Still there were +a multitude of petty expenses, payments to subaltern employees, payments +for medical consultations and certificates, copies of documents, and the +memoirs and addresses of counsel. And although the votes of the cardinals +were certainly not bought direct, some of them ended by costing +considerable sums, for it often became necessary to win over dependants, +to induce quite a little world to bring influence to bear upon their +Eminences; without mentioning that large pecuniary gifts, when made with +tact, have a decisive effect in clearing away the greatest difficulties +in that sphere of the Vatican. And, briefly, Monsignor Palma’s nephew by +marriage 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 to +marry. That’s all we ask of them. And if they want more, well, I’ll give +them 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 had +never had it at his pleasure, and simply hoped that he would always live +with his uncle the cardinal, who would certainly not leave him and his +young wife in the streets. Ruined as the family was, one or two hundred +thousand francs represented nothing to his mind, and he had heard that +certain 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 as +well,” said he; “give them everything, my dear, and we shall still be +happy in this old palace even if we have to sell the furniture!” + +His words filled her with enthusiasm; she took his head between both +hands and kissed him madly on the eyes in an extraordinary transport of +passion. Then, suddenly turning to Pierre, she said: “Oh! excuse me, +Monsieur l’Abbé. I was forgetting that I have a commission for you. Yes, +Monsignor Nani, who brought us that good news, bade me tell you that you +are making people forget you too much, and that you ought to set to work +to defend your book.” + +The priest listened in astonishment; then replied: “But it was he who +advised me to disappear.” + +“No doubt--only it seems that the time has now come for you to see people +and plead your cause. And Monsignor Nani has been able to learn that the +reporter appointed to examine your book is Monsignor Fornaro, who lives +on the Piazza Navona.” + +Pierre’s stupefaction was increasing, for a reporter’s name is never +divulged, but kept quite secret, in order to ensure a free exercise of +judgment. Was a new phase of his sojourn in Rome about to begin then? His +mind was all wonderment. However, he simply answered: “Very good, I will +set to work and see everybody.” + + + + + +PART IV. + + + + +X. + + +IN his anxiety to bring things to a finish, Pierre wished to begin his +campaign on the very next day. But on whom should he first call if he +were to steer clear of blunders in that intricate and conceited +ecclesiastical world? The question greatly perplexed him; however, on +opening his door that morning he luckily perceived Don Vigilio in the +passage, and with a sudden inspiration asked him to step inside. He +realised that this thin little man with the saffron face, who always +trembled with fever and displayed such exaggerated, timorous discretion, +was in reality well informed, mixed up in everything. At one period it +had seemed to Pierre that the secretary purposely avoided him, doubtless +for fear of compromising himself; but recently Don Vigilio had proved +less unsociable, as though he were not far from sharing the impatience +which must be consuming the young Frenchman amidst his long enforced +inactivity. And so, on this occasion, he did not seek to avoid the chat +on which Pierre was bent. + +“I must apologise,” said the latter, “for asking you in here when things +are in such disorder. But I have just received some more linen and some +winter 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 nearly +three months, and am no more advanced than I was on the morning of my +arrival.” + +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 for +the defence of his book. But he was much embarrassed, as he did not know +in what order to make his visits so that they might benefit him. For +instance, ought he to call in the first place on Monsignor Fornaro, the +_consultore_ selected to report on his book, and whose name had been +given him? + +“Ah!” exclaimed Don Vigilio, quivering; “has Monsignor Nani gone as far +as that--given you the reporter’s name? That’s even more than I +expected.” Then, forgetting his prudence, yielding to his secret interest +in 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 the +Congregation of the Index--his Eminence Cardinal Sanguinetti; for he +would never forgive you for having offered your first homage to another +should he some day hear of it.” And, after a pause, Don Vigilio added, in +a 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, sympathetic +courage, he took hold of the young Frenchman’s hands. “I swear to you, my +dear Monsieur Froment,” he said, “that I should be very happy to help +you, for you are a man of simple soul, and I really begin to feel worried +for you. But you must not ask me for impossibilities. Ah! if you only +knew--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 my +patron, his Eminence Cardinal Boccanera. He has expressed absolute +disapproval of your book in my presence on several occasions. Only he is +a 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 irritate +him.” + +Pierre was not particularly distressed by this news, for at his first +interview with the Cardinal, and on the few subsequent occasions when he +had respectfully visited him, he had fully understood that his Eminence +would never be other than an adversary. “Well,” said he, “I will wait on +him 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 a +disaster--my position would be compromised. I’ve said nothing, nothing! +See the cardinals to begin with, see all the cardinals. Let it be +understood between us that I’ve said nothing more.” And, on that occasion +at any rate, Don Vigilio would speak no further, but left the room +shuddering and darting fiery, suspicious glances on either side of the +corridor. + +Pierre at once went out to call on Cardinal Sanguinetti. It was ten +o’clock, and there was a chance that he might find him at home. This +cardinal resided on the first floor of a little palazzo in a dark, narrow +street near San Luigi dei Francesi.* There was here none of the giant +ruin full of princely and melancholy grandeur amidst which Cardinal +Boccanera so stubbornly remained. The old regulation gala suite of rooms +had been cut down just like the number of servants. There was no +throne-room, no red hat hanging under a _baldacchino_, no arm-chair +turned to the wall pending a visit from the Pope. A couple of apartments +served as ante-rooms, and then came a _salon_ where the Cardinal +received; and there was no luxury, indeed scarcely any comfort; the +furniture was of mahogany, dating from the empire period, and the +hangings and carpets were dusty and faded by long use. Moreover, Pierre +had to wait a long time for admittance, and when a servant, leisurely +putting on his jacket, at last set the door ajar, it was only to say that +his 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 suburban +bishops. At his see of Frascati he had a villa where he occasionally +spent a few days whenever a desire for rest or some political motive +impelled 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 to +send nobody to worry him.” + +When Pierre reached the street again he felt quite bewildered by this +disappointment. At first he wondered whether he had not better call on +Monsignor Fornaro without more ado, but he recollected Don Vigilio’s +advice to see the cardinals first of all, and, an inspiration coming to +him, he resolved that his next visit should be for Cardinal Sarno, whose +acquaintance he had eventually made at Donna Serafina’s Mondays. In spite +of Cardinal Sarno’s voluntary self-effacement, people looked upon him as +one of the most powerful and redoubtable members of the Sacred College, +albeit his nephew Narcisse Habert declared that he knew no man who showed +more obtuseness in matters which did not pertain to his habitual +occupations. At all events, Pierre thought that the Cardinal, although +not a member of the Congregation of the Index, might well give him some +good advice, and possibly bring his great influence to bear on his +colleagues. + +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 from +the 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 in +a perfect labyrinth of stairs, passages, and halls. At last he luckily +came across the Cardinal’s secretary, an amiable young priest, whom he +had already seen at the Boccanera mansion. “Why, yes,” said the +secretary, “I think that his Eminence will receive you. You did well to +come 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 the +Propaganda, now presided over the commission which controlled the +organisation of worship in those countries of Europe, Africa, America, +and Oceanica where Catholicism had lately gained a footing; and he thus +had a private room of his own with special officers and assistants, +reigning there with the ultra-methodical habits of a functionary who had +grown old in his arm-chair, closely surrounded by nests of drawers, and +knowing nothing of the world save the usual sights of the street below +his window. + +The secretary left Pierre on a bench at the end of a dark passage, which +was lighted by gas even in full daylight. And quite a quarter of an hour +went by before he returned with his eager, affable air. “His Eminence is +conferring 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, where +you can wait for him.” + +As soon as Pierre was alone in the Cardinal’s sanctum he examined it with +curiosity. Fairly spacious, but in no wise luxurious, it had green paper +on its walls, and its furniture was of black wood and green damask. From +two windows overlooking a narrow side street a mournful light reached the +dark wall-paper and faded carpets. There were a couple of pier tables and +a plain black writing-table, which stood near one window, its worn +mole-skin covering littered with all sorts of papers. Pierre drew near to +it for a moment, and glanced at the arm-chair with damaged, sunken seat, +the screen which sheltered it from draughts, and the old inkstand +splotched with ink. And then, in the lifeless and oppressive atmosphere, +the disquieting silence, which only the low rumbles from the street +disturbed, he began to grow impatient. + +However, whilst he was softly walking up and down he suddenly espied a +map affixed to one wall, and the sight of it filled him with such +absorbing thoughts that he soon forgot everything else. It was a coloured +map of the world, the different tints indicating whether the territories +belonged to victorious Catholicism or whether Catholicism was still +warring there against unbelief; these last countries being classified as +vicariates or prefectures, according to the general principles of +organisation. And the whole was a graphic presentment of the long efforts +of Catholicism in striving for the universal dominion which it has sought +so unremittingly since its earliest hour. God has given the world to His +Church, but it is needful that she should secure possession of it since +error so stubbornly abides. From this has sprung the eternal battle, the +fight which is carried on, even in our days, to win nations over from +other religions, as it was in the days when the Apostles quitted Judaea +to spread abroad the tidings of the Gospel. During the middle ages the +great task was to organise conquered Europe, and this was too absorbing +an enterprise to allow of any attempt at reconciliation with the +dissident churches of the East. Then the Reformation burst forth, schism +was added to schism, and the Protestant half of Europe had to be +reconquered as well as all the orthodox East. + +War-like ardour, however, awoke at the discovery of the New World. Rome +was ambitious of securing that other side of the earth, and missions were +organised for the subjection of races of which nobody had known anything +the day before, but which God had, nevertheless, given to His Church, +like all the others. And by degrees the two great divisions of +Christianity were formed, on one hand the Catholic nations, those where +the faith simply had to be kept up, and which the Secretariate of State +installed at the Vatican guided with sovereign authority, and on the +other the schismatical or pagan nations which were to be brought back to +the fold or converted, and over which the Congregation of the Propaganda +sought to reign. Then this Congregation had been obliged to divide itself +into 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 two +forming a vast organisation--a huge, strong, closely meshed net cast over +the whole world in order that not a single soul might escape. + +It was in presence of that map that Pierre for the first time became +clearly conscious of the mechanism which for centuries had been working +to bring about the absorption of humanity. The Propaganda, richly dowered +by the popes, and disposing of a considerable revenue, appeared to him +like a separate force, a papacy within the papacy, and he well understood +that the Prefect of the Congregation should be called the “Red Pope,” for +how limitless were the powers of that man of conquest and domination, +whose hands stretched from one to the other end of the earth. Allowing +that the Cardinal Secretary held Europe, that diminutive portion of the +globe, did not he, the Prefect, hold all the rest--the infinity of space, +the distant countries as yet almost unknown? Besides, statistics showed +that Rome’s uncontested dominion was limited to 200 millions of Apostolic +and Roman Catholics; whereas the schismatics of the East and the +Reformation, if added together, already exceeded that number, and how +small became the minority of the true believers when, besides the +schismatics, one brought into line the 1000 millions of infidels who yet +remained to be converted. The figures struck Pierre with a force which +made him shudder. What! there were 5 million Jews, nearly 200 million +Mahommedans, more than 700 million Brahmanists and Buddhists, without +counting another 100 million pagans of divers creeds, the whole making +1000 millions, and against these the Christians could marshal barely more +than 400 millions, who were divided among themselves, ever in conflict, +one half with Rome and the other half against her?* Was it possible that +in 1800 years Christianity had not proved victorious over even one-third +of mankind, and that Rome, the eternal and all-powerful, only counted a +sixth part of the nations among her subjects? Only one soul saved out of +every six--how fearful was the disproportion! However, the map spoke with +brutal eloquence: the red-tinted empire of Rome was but a speck when +compared with the yellow-hued empire of the other gods--the endless +countries which the Propaganda still had to conquer. And the question +arose: How many centuries must elapse before the promises of the Christ +were realised, before the whole world were gained to Christianity, before +religious society spread over secular society, and there remained but one +kingdom and one belief? And in presence of this question, in presence of +the prodigious labour yet to be accomplished, how great was one’s +astonishment when one thought of Rome’s tranquil serenity, her patient +stubbornness, which has never known doubt or weariness, her bishops and +ministers toiling without cessation in the conviction that she alone will +some day be the mistress of the world! + + * Some readers may question certain of the figures given by M. + Zola, but it must be remembered that all such calculations + (even those of the best “authorities”) are largely guesswork. + I myself think that there are more than 5 million Jews, and + more than 200 millions of Mahommedans, but I regard the alleged + number of Brahmanists and Buddhists as exaggerated. On the + other hand, some statistical tables specify 80 millions of + Confucianists, of whom M. Zola makes no separate mention. + However, as regards the number of Christians in the world, the + figures given above are, within a few millions, probably + accurate.--Trans. + +Narcisse had told Pierre how carefully the embassies at Rome watched the +doings of the Propaganda, for the missions were often the instruments of +one or another nation, and exercised decisive influence in far-away +lands. And so there was a continual struggle, in which the Congregation +did all it could to favour the missionaries of Italy and her allies. It +had always been jealous of its French rival, “L’Œuvre de la Propagation +de la Foi,” installed at Lyons, which is as wealthy in money as itself, +and richer in men of energy and courage. However, not content with +levelling tribute on this French association, the Propaganda thwarted it, +sacrificed it on every occasion when it had reason to think it might +achieve a victory. Not once or twice, but over and over again had the +French missionaries, the French orders, been driven from the scenes of +their labours to make way for Italians or Germans. And Pierre, standing +in that mournful, dusty room, which the sunlight never brightened, +pictured the secret hot-bed of political intrigue masked by the +civilising ardour of faith. Again he shuddered as one shudders when +monstrous, terrifying things are brought home to one. And might not the +most sensible be overcome? Might not the bravest be dismayed by the +thought of that universal engine of conquest and domination, which worked +with the stubbornness of eternity, not merely content with the gain of +souls, but ever seeking to ensure its future sovereignty over the whole +of corporeal humanity, and--pending the time when it might rule the +nations itself--disposing of them, handing them over to the charge of +this or that temporary master, in accordance with its good pleasure. And +then, too, what a prodigious dream! Rome smiling and tranquilly awaiting +the day when she will have united Christians, Mahommedans, Brahmanists, +and Buddhists into one sole nation, of whom she will be both the +spiritual and the temporal queen! + +However, a sound of coughing made Pierre turn, and he started on +perceiving Cardinal Sarno, whom he had not heard enter. Standing in front +of that map, he felt like one caught in the act of prying into a secret, +and a deep flush overspread his face. The Cardinal, however, after +looking at him fixedly with his dim eyes, went to his writing-table, and +let himself drop into the arm-chair without saying a word. With a gesture +he dispensed Pierre of the duty of kissing his ring. + +“I desired to offer my homage to your Eminence,” said the young man. “Is +your Eminence unwell?” + +“No, no, it’s nothing but a dreadful cold which I can’t get rid of. And +then, too, I have so many things to attend to just now.” + +Pierre looked at the Cardinal as he appeared in the livid light from the +window, puny, lopsided, with the left shoulder higher than the right, and +not a sign of life on his worn and ashen countenance. The young priest +was reminded of one of his uncles, who, after thirty years spent in the +offices of a French public department, displayed the same lifeless +glance, parchment-like skin, and weary hebetation. Was it possible that +this withered old man, so lost in his black cassock with red edging, was +really one of the masters of the world, with the map of Christendom so +deeply stamped on his mind, albeit he had never left Rome, that the +Prefect of the Propaganda did not take a decision without asking his +opinion? + +“Sit down, Monsieur l’Abbé,” said the Cardinal. “So you have come to see +me--you have something to ask of me!” And, whilst disposing himself to +listen, he stretched out his thin bony hands to finger the documents +heaped up before him, glancing at each of them like some general, some +strategist, profoundly versed in the science of his profession, who, +although his army is far away, nevertheless directs it to victory from +his private room, never for a moment allowing it to escape his mind. + +Pierre was somewhat embarrassed by such a plain enunciation of the +interested object of his visit; still, he decided to go to the point. +“Yes, indeed,” he answered, “it is a liberty I have taken to come and +appeal to your Eminence’s wisdom for advice. Your Eminence is aware that +I am in Rome for the purpose of defending a book of mine, and I should be +grateful if your Eminence would help and guide me.” Then he gave a brief +account of the present position of the affair, and began to plead his +cause; but as he continued speaking he noticed that the Cardinal gave him +very little attention, as though indeed he were thinking of something +else, and failed to understand. + +“Ah! yes,” the great man at last muttered, “you have written a book. +There was some question of it at Donna Serafina’s one evening. But a +priest ought not to write; it is a mistake for him to do so. What is the +good of it? And the Congregation of the Index must certainly be in the +right if it is prosecuting your book. At all events, what can I do? I +don’t belong to the Congregation, and I know nothing, nothing about the +matter.” + +Pierre, pained at finding him so listless and indifferent, went on trying +to enlighten and move him. But he realised that this man’s mind, so +far-reaching and penetrating in the field in which it had worked for +forty years, closed up as soon as one sought to divert it from its +specialty. It was neither an inquisitive nor a supple mind. All trace of +life faded from the Cardinal’s eyes, and his entire countenance assumed +an expression of mournful imbecility. “I know nothing, nothing,” he +repeated, “and I never recommend anybody.” However, at last he made an +effort: “But Nani is mixed up in this,” said he. “What does Nani advise +you to do?” + +“Monsignor Nani has been kind enough to reveal to me that the reporter is +Monsignor Fornaro, and advises me to see him.” + +At this Cardinal Sarno seemed surprised and somewhat roused. A little +light returned to his eyes. “Ah! really,” he rejoined, “ah! +really--Well, if Nani has done that he must have some idea. Go and see +Monsignor Fornaro.” Then, after rising and dismissing his visitor, who +was compelled to thank him, bowing deeply, he resumed his seat, and a +moment later the only sound in the lifeless room was that of his bony +fingers turning over the documents before him. + +Pierre, in all docility, followed the advice given him, and immediately +betook himself to the Piazza Navona, where, however, he learnt from one +of Monsignor Fornaro’s servants that the prelate had just gone out, and +that to find him at home it was necessary to call in the morning at ten +o’clock. Accordingly it was only on the following day that Pierre was +able to obtain an interview. He had previously made inquiries and knew +what was necessary concerning Monsignor Fornaro. Born at Naples, he had +there begun his studies under the Barnabites, had finished them at the +Seminario Romano, and had subsequently, for many years, been a professor +at the University Gregoriana. Nowadays Consultor to several Congregations +and a Canon of Santa Maria Maggiore, he placed his immediate ambition in +a Canonry at St. Peter’s, and harboured the dream of some day becoming +Secretary of the Consistorial Congregation, a post conducting to the +cardinalate. A theologian of remarkable ability, Monsignor Fornaro +incurred no other reproach than that of occasionally sacrificing to +literature by contributing articles, which he carefully abstained from +signing, to certain religious reviews. He was also said to be very +worldly. + +Pierre was received as soon as he had sent in his card, and perhaps he +would have fancied that his visit was expected had not an appearance of +sincere surprise, blended with a little anxiety, marked his reception. + +“Monsieur l’Abbé Froment, Monsieur l’Abbé Froment,” repeated the prelate, +looking at the card which he still held. “Kindly step in--I was about to +forbid my door, for I have some urgent work to attend to. But no matter, +sit down.” + +Pierre, however, remained standing, quite charmed by the blooming +appearance of this tall, strong, handsome man who, although five and +forty years of age, was quite fresh and rosy, with moist lips, caressing +eyes, and scarcely a grey hair among his curly locks. Nobody more +fascinating and decorative could be found among the whole Roman prelacy. +Careful of his person undoubtedly, and aiming at a simple elegance, he +looked really superb in his black cassock with violet collar. And around +him the spacious room where he received his visitors, gaily lighted as it +was by two large windows facing the Piazza Navona, and furnished with a +taste nowadays seldom met with among the Roman clergy, diffused a +pleasant odour and formed a setting instinct with kindly cheerfulness. + +“Pray sit down, Monsieur l’Abbé Froment,” he resumed, “and tell me to +what I am indebted for the honour of your visit.” + +He had already recovered his self-possession and assumed a _naïf_, purely +obliging air; and Pierre, though the question was only natural, and he +ought to have foreseen it, suddenly felt greatly embarrassed, more +embarrassed indeed than in Cardinal Sarno’s presence. Should he go to the +point at once, confess the delicate motive of his visit? A moment’s +reflection showed him that this would be the best and worthier course. +“Dear me, Monseigneur,” he replied, “I know very well that the step I +have taken in calling on you is not usually taken, but it has been +advised me, and it has seemed to me that among honest folks there can +never be any harm in seeking in all good faith to elucidate the truth.” + +“What is it, what is it, then?” asked the prelate with an expression of +perfect candour, and still continuing to smile. + +“Well, simply this. I have learnt that the Congregation of the Index has +handed you my book ‘New Rome,’ and appointed you to examine it; and I +have ventured to present myself before you in case you should have any +explanations to ask of me.” + +But Monsignor Fornaro seemed unwilling to hear any more. He had carried +both hands to his head and drawn back, albeit still courteous. “No, no,” + said he, “don’t tell me that, don’t continue, you would grieve me +dreadfully. Let us say, if you like, that you have been deceived, for +nothing ought to be known, in fact nothing is known, either by others or +myself. I pray you, do not let us talk of such matters.” + +Pierre, however, had fortunately remarked what a decisive effect was +produced when he had occasion to mention the name of the Assessor of the +Holy Office. So it occurred to him to reply: “I most certainly do not +desire to give you the slightest cause for embarrassment, Monseigneur, +and I repeat to you that I would never have ventured to importune you if +Monsignor Nani himself had not acquainted me with your name and address.” + +This time the effect was immediate, though Monsignor Fornaro, with that +easy grace which he introduced into all things, made some ceremony about +surrendering. He began by a demurrer, speaking archly with subtle shades +of expression. “What! is Monsignor Nani the tattler! But I shall scold +him, I shall get angry with him! And what does he know? He doesn’t belong +to the Congregation; he may have been led into error. You must tell him +that he has made a mistake, and that I have nothing at all to do with +your affair. That will teach him not to reveal needful secrets which +everybody respects!” Then, in a pleasant way, with winning glance and +flowery lips, he went on: “Come, since Monsignor Nani desires it, I am +willing to chat with you for a moment, my dear Monsieur Froment, but on +condition that you shall know nothing of my report or of what may have +been said or done at the Congregation.” + +Pierre in his turn smiled, admiring how easy things became when forms +were respected and appearances saved. And once again he began to explain +his case, the profound astonishment into which the prosecution of his +book had thrown him, and his ignorance of the objections which were taken +to it, and for which he had vainly sought a cause. + +“Really, really,” repeated the prelate, quite amazed at so much +innocence. “The Congregation is a tribunal, and can only act when a case +is brought before it. Proceedings have been taken against your book +simply because it has been denounced.” + +“Yes, I know, denounced.” + +“Of course. Complaint was laid by three French bishops, whose names you +will allow me to keep secret, and it consequently became necessary for +the Congregation to examine the incriminated work.” + +Pierre looked at him quite scared. Denounced by three bishops? Why? With +what object? Then he thought of his protector. “But Cardinal Bergerot,” + said he, “wrote me a letter of approval, which I placed at the beginning +of my work as a preface. Ought not a guarantee like that to have been +sufficient for the French episcopacy?” + +Monsignor Fornaro wagged his head in a knowing way before making up his +mind to reply: “Ah! yes, no doubt, his Eminence’s letter, a very +beautiful letter. I think, however, that it would have been much better +if he had not written it, both for himself and for you especially.” Then +as the priest, whose surprise was increasing, opened his mouth to urge +him to explain himself, he went on: “No, no, I know nothing, I say +nothing. His Eminence Cardinal Bergerot is a saintly man whom everybody +venerates, and if it were possible for him to sin it would only be +through pure goodness of heart.” + +Silence fell. Pierre could divine that an abyss was opening, and dared +not insist. However, he at last resumed with some violence: “But, after +all, why should my book be prosecuted, and the books of others be left +untouched? I have no intention of acting as a denouncer myself, but how +many books there are to which Rome closes her eyes, and which are far +more dangerous than mine can be!” + +This time Monsignor Fornaro seemed glad to be able to support Pierre’s +views. “You are right,” said he, “we cannot deal with every bad book, and +it greatly distresses us. But you must remember what an incalculable +number of works we should be compelled to read. And so we have to content +ourselves with condemning the worst _en bloc_.” + +Then he complacently entered into explanations. In principle, no printer +ought to send any work to press without having previously submitted the +manuscript to the approval of the bishop of the diocese. Nowadays, +however, with the enormous output of the printing trade, one could +understand how terribly embarrassed the bishops would be if the printers +were suddenly to conform to the Church’s regulation. There was neither +the time nor the money, nor were there the men necessary for such +colossal labour. And so the Congregation of the Index condemned _en +masse_, without examination, all works of certain categories: first, +books which were dangerous for morals, all erotic writings, and all +novels; next the various bibles in the vulgar tongue, for the perusal of +Holy Writ without discretion was not allowable; then the books on magic +and sorcery, and all works on science, history, or philosophy that were +in any way contrary to dogma, as well as the writings of heresiarchs or +mere ecclesiastics discussing religion, which should never be discussed. +All these were wise laws made by different popes, and were set forth in +the preface to the catalogue of forbidden books which the Congregation +published, and without them this catalogue, to have been complete, would +in itself have formed a large library. On turning it over one found that +the works singled out for interdiction were chiefly those of priests, the +task being so vast and difficult that Rome’s concern extended but little +beyond the observance of good order within the Church. And Pierre and his +book came within the limit. + +“You will understand,” continued Monsignor Fornaro, “that we have no +desire to advertise a heap of unwholesome writings by honouring them with +special condemnation. Their name is legion in every country, and we +should have neither enough paper nor enough ink to deal with them all. So +we content ourselves with condemning one from time to time, when it bears +a famous name and makes too much noise, or contains disquieting attacks +on the faith. This suffices to remind the world that we exist and defend +ourselves without abandoning aught of our rights or duties.” + +“But my book, my book,” exclaimed Pierre, “why these proceedings against +my book?” + +“I am explaining that to you as far as it is allowable for me to do, my +dear Monsieur Froment. You are a priest, your book is a success, you have +published a cheap edition of it which sells very readily; and I don’t +speak of its literary merit, which is remarkable, for it contains a +breath of real poetry which transported me, and on which I must really +compliment you. However, under the circumstances which I have enumerated, +how could we close our eyes to such a work as yours, in which the +conclusion arrived at is the annihilation of our holy religion and the +destruction of Rome?” + +Pierre remained open-mouthed, suffocating with surprise. “The destruction +of Rome!” he at last exclaimed; “but I desire to see Rome rejuvenated, +eternal, again the queen of the world.” And, once more mastered by his +glowing enthusiasm, he defended himself and confessed his faith: +Catholicism reverting to the principles and practices of the primitive +Church, drawing the blood of regeneration from the fraternal Christianity +of Jesus; the Pope, freed from all terrestrial royalty, governing the +whole of humanity with charity and love, and saving the world from the +frightful social cataclysm that threatens it by leading it to the real +Kingdom of God: the Christian communion of all nations united in one +nation only. “And can the Holy Father disavow me?” he continued. “Are not +these his secret ideas, which people are beginning to divine, and does +not my only offence lie in having expressed them perhaps too soon and too +freely? And if I were allowed to see him should I not at once obtain from +him an order to stop these proceedings?” + +Monsignor Fornaro no longer spoke, but wagged his head without appearing +offended by the priest’s juvenile ardour. On the contrary, he smiled with +increasing amiability, as though highly amused by so much innocence and +imagination. At last he gaily responded, “Oh! speak on, speak on; it +isn’t I who will stop you. I’m forbidden to say anything. But the +temporal power, the temporal power.” + +“Well, what of the temporal power?” asked Pierre. + +The prelate had again become silent, raising his amiable face to heaven +and waving his white hands with a pretty gesture. And when he once more +opened his mouth it was to say: “Then there’s your new religion--for the +expression occurs twice: the new religion, the new religion--ah, _Dio_!” + +Again he became restless, going off into an ecstasy of wonderment, at +sight of which Pierre impatiently exclaimed: “I do not know what your +report will be, Monseigneur, but I declare to you that I have had no +desire to attack dogma. And, candidly now, my whole book shows that I +only sought to write a work of pity and salvation. It is only justice +that some account should be taken of one’s intentions.” + +Monsignor Fornaro had become very calm and paternal again. “Oh! +intentions! intentions!” he said as he rose to dismiss his visitor. “You +may be sure, my dear Monsieur Froment, that I feel much honoured by your +visit. Naturally I cannot tell you what my report will be; as it is, we +have talked too much about it, and, in fact, I ought to have refused to +listen to your defence. At the same time, you will always find me ready +to be of service to you in anything that does not go against my duty. But +I greatly fear that your book will be condemned.” And then, as Pierre +again started, he added: “Well, yes. It is facts that are judged, you +know, not intentions. So all defence is useless; the book is there, and +we take it such as it is. However much you may try to explain it, you +cannot alter it. And this is why the Congregation never calls the accused +parties before it, and never accepts from them aught but retraction pure +and simple. And, indeed, the wisest course would be for you to withdraw +your book and make your submission. No? You won’t? Ah! how young you are, +my friend!” + +He laughed yet more loudly at the gesture of revolt, of indomitable pride +which had just escaped his young friend, as he called him. Then, on +reaching the door, he again threw off some of his reserve, and said in a +low voice, “Come, my dear Abbé, there is something I will do for you. I +will give you some good advice. At bottom, I myself am nothing. I deliver +my report, and it is printed, and the members of the Congregation read +it, but are quite free to pay no attention to it. However, the Secretary +of the Congregation, Father Dangelis, can accomplish everything, even +impossibilities. Go to see him; you will find him at the Dominican +convent behind the Piazza di Spagna. Don’t name me. And for the present +good-bye, my dear fellow, good-bye.” + +Pierre once more found himself on the Piazza Navona, quite dazed, no +longer knowing what to believe or hope. A cowardly idea was coming over +him; why should he continue this struggle, in which his adversaries +remained unknown and indiscernible? Why carry obstinacy any further, why +linger any longer in that impassionating but deceptive Rome? He would +flee that very evening, return to Paris, disappear there, and forget his +bitter disillusion in the practice of humble charity. He was traversing +one of those hours of weakness when the long-dreamt-of task suddenly +seems to be an impossibility. However, amidst his great confusion he was +nevertheless walking on, going towards his destination. And when he found +himself in the Corso, then in the Via dei Condotti, and finally in the +Piazza di Spagna, he resolved that he would at any rate see Father +Dangelis. The Dominican convent is there, just below the Trinity de’ +Monti. + +Ah! those Dominicans! Pierre had never thought of them without a feeling +of respect with which mingled a little fear. What vigorous pillars of the +principle of authority and theocracy they had for centuries proved +themselves to be! To them the Church had been indebted for its greatest +measure of authority; they were the glorious soldiers of its triumph. +Whilst St. Francis won the souls of the humble over to Rome, St. Dominic, +on Rome’s behalf, subjected all the superior souls--those of the +intelligent and powerful. And this he did with passion, amidst a blaze of +faith and determination, making use of all possible means, preachings, +writings, and police and judicial pressure. Though he did not found the +Inquisition, its principles were his, and it was with fire and sword that +his fraternal, loving heart waged war on schism. Living like his monks, +in poverty, chastity, and obedience--the great virtues of those times of +pride and licentiousness--he went from city to city, exhorting the +impious, striving to bring them back to the Church and arraigning them +before the ecclesiastical courts when his preachings did not suffice. He +also laid siege to science, sought to make it his own, dreamt of +defending God with the weapons of reason and human knowledge like a true +forerunner of the angelic St. Thomas, that light of the middle ages, who +joined the Dominican order and set everything in his “Summa Theologiae,” + psychology, logic, policy, and morals. And thus it was that the +Dominicans filled the world, upholding the doctrines of Rome in the most +famous pulpits of every nation, and contending almost everywhere against +the free sprit of the Universities, like the vigilant guardians of dogma +that they were, the unwearying artisans of the fortunes of the popes, the +most powerful amongst all the artistic, scientific, and literary workers +who raised the huge edifice of Catholicism such as it exists to-day. + +However, Pierre, who could feel that this edifice was even now tottering, +though it had been built, people fancied, so substantially as to last +through all eternity, asked himself what could be the present use of the +Dominicans, those toilers of another age, whose police system and whose +tribunals had perished beneath universal execration, whose voices were no +longer listened to, whose books were but seldom read, and whose _rôle_ as +_savants_ and civilisers had come to an end in presence of latter-day +science, the truths of which were rending dogma on all sides. Certainly +the Dominicans still form an influential and prosperous order; but how +far one is from the times when their general reigned in Rome, Master of +the Holy Palace, with convents and schools, and subjects throughout +Europe! Of all their vast inheritance, so far as the Roman curia is +concerned, only a few posts now remain to them, and among others the +Secretaryship of the Congregation of the Index, a former dependency of +the Holy Office where they once despotically ruled. + +Pierre was immediately ushered into the presence of Father Dangelis. The +convent parlour was vast, bare, and white, flooded with bright sunshine. +The only furniture was a table and some stools; and a large brass +crucifix hung from the wall. Near the table stood the Father, a very thin +man of about fifty, severely draped in his ample white habit and black +mantle. From his long ascetic face, with thin lips, thin nose, and +pointed, obstinate chin, his grey eyes shone out with a fixity that +embarrassed one. And, moreover, he showed himself very plain and simple +of speech, and frigidly polite in manner. + +“Monsieur l’Abbé Froment--the author of ‘New Rome,’ I suppose?” Then +seating himself on one stool and pointing to another, he added: “Pray +acquaint me with the object of your visit, Monsieur l’Abbé.” + +Thereupon Pierre had to begin his explanation, his defence, all over +again; and the task soon became the more painful as his words fell from +his lips amidst death-like silence and frigidity. Father Dangelis did not +stir; with his hands crossed upon his knees he kept his sharp, +penetrating eyes fixed upon those of the priest. And when the latter had +at last ceased speaking, he slowly said: “I did not like to interrupt +you, Monsieur l’Abbé, but it was not for me to hear all this. Process +against your book has begun, and no power in the world can stay or impede +its course. I do not therefore realise what it is that you apparently +expect of me.” + +In a quivering voice Pierre was bold enough to answer: “I look for some +kindness and justice.” + +A pale smile, instinct with proud humility, arose to the Dominican’s +lips. “Be without fear,” he replied, “God has ever deigned to enlighten +me in the discharge of my modest duties. Personally, be it said, I have +no justice to render; I am but an employee whose duty is to classify +matters and draw up documents concerning them. Their Eminences, the +members of the Congregation, will alone pronounce judgment on your book. +And assuredly they will do so with the help of the Holy Spirit. You will +only have to bow to their sentence when it shall have been ratified by +his Holiness.” + +Then he broke off the interview by rising, and Pierre was obliged to do +the same. The Dominican’s words were virtually identical with those that +had fallen from Monsignor Fornaro, but they were spoken with cutting +frankness, a sort of tranquil bravery. On all sides Pierre came into +collision with the same anonymous force, the same powerful engine whose +component parts sought to ignore one another. For a long time yet, no +doubt, he would be sent from one to the other, without ever finding the +volitional element which reasoned and acted. And the only thing that he +could do was to bow to it all. + +However, before going off, it occurred to him once more to mention the +name of Monsignor Nani, the powerful effect of which he had begun to +realise. “I ask your pardon,” he said, “for having disturbed you to no +purpose, but I simply deferred to the kind advice of Monsignor Nani, who +has condescended to show me some interest.” + +The effect of these words was unexpected. Again did Father Dangelis’s +thin face brighten into a smile, but with a twist of the lips, sharp with +ironical contempt. He had become yet paler, and his keen intelligent eyes +were 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 any +other 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: the +advice to go back to the man who had sent him. At this he felt that he +was losing ground, and he resolved to return home in order to reflect on +things and try to understand them before taking any further steps. The +idea of questioning Don Vigilio at once occurred to him, and that same +evening after supper he luckily met the secretary in the corridor, just +as, 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 to +him. “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 Abbé Paparelli on the first floor? He was following us, +I’m sure.” + +Pierre often saw the train-bearer roaming about the house, and greatly +disliked his stealthy, prying ways. However, he had hitherto attached no +importance to him, and was therefore much surprised by Don Vigilio’s +question. The other, without awaiting his reply, had returned to the end +of the corridor, where for a long while he remained listening. Then he +came back on tip-toe, blew out his candle, and darted into Pierre’s +sitting-room. “There--that’s done,” he murmured directly the door was +shut. “But if it is all the same to you, we won’t stop in this +sitting-room. Let us go into your bed-room. Two walls are better than +one.” + +When the lamp had been placed on the table and they found themselves +seated face to face in that bare, faded bed-chamber, Pierre noticed that +the secretary was suffering from a more violent attack of fever than +usual. His thin puny figure was shivering from head to foot, and his +ardent eyes had never before blazed so blackly in his ravaged, yellow +face. “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 any +longer. One always has to relieve oneself some day or other.” + +Was it his complaint that he desired to relieve; or was he anxious to +break his long silence in order that it might not stifle him? This at +first remained uncertain. He immediately asked for an account of the +steps that Pierre had lately taken, and became yet more restless when he +heard how the other had been received by Cardinal Sarno, Monsignor +Fornaro, and Father Dangelis. “Yes, that’s quite it,” he repeated, +“nothing astonishes me nowadays, and yet I feel indignant on your +account. 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 Cardinal +Sarno, remember, for he is always elsewhere, with his mind far away, and +has 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 soften +his report.” + +“He! Why, the gentler he was with you the more grievously he will saddle +you! He will devour you, fatten himself with such easy prey. Ah! you +don’t know him, _dilizioso_ that he is, ever on the watch to rear his own +fortune on the troubles of poor devils whose defeat is bound to please +the powerful. I prefer the other one, Father Dangelis, a terrible man, no +doubt, 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. And +ah! if I could tell you everything, if I could show you the frightful +under-side of this world of ours, the monstrous, ravenous ambition, the +abominable network of intrigues, venality, cowardice, treachery, and even +crime!” + +On seeing Don Vigilio so excited, in such a blaze of spite, Pierre +thought of extracting from him some of the many items of information +which he had hitherto sought in vain. “Well, tell me merely what is the +position of my affair,” he responded. “When I questioned you on my +arrival here you said that nothing had yet reached Cardinal Boccanera. +But all information must now have been collected, and you must know of +it. And, by the way, Monsignor Fornaro told me that three French bishops +had asked that my book should be prosecuted. Three bishops, is it +possible?” + +Don Vigilio shrugged his shoulders. “Ah!” said he, “yours is an innocent +soul! I’m surprised that there were _only_ three! Yes, several documents +relating to your affair are in our hands; and, moreover, things have +turned out much as I suspected. The three bishops are first the Bishop of +Tarbes, who evidently carries out the vengeance of the Fathers of +Lourdes; and then the Bishops of Poitiers and Evreux, who are both known +as uncompromising Ultramontanists and passionate adversaries of Cardinal +Bergerot. The Cardinal, you know, is regarded with disfavour at the +Vatican, where his Gallican ideas and broad liberal mind provoke perfect +anger. And don’t seek for anything else. The whole affair lies in that: +an execution which the powerful Fathers of Lourdes demand of his +Holiness, and a desire to reach and strike Cardinal Bergerot through your +book, by means of the letter of approval which he imprudently wrote to +you and which you published by way of preface. For a long time past the +condemnations of the Index have largely been secret knock-down blows +levelled at Churchmen. Denunciation reigns supreme, and the law applied +is that of good pleasure. I could tell you some almost incredible things, +how perfectly innocent books have been selected among a hundred for the +sole object of killing an idea or a man; for the blow is almost always +levelled at some one behind the author, some one higher than he is. And +there is such a hot-bed of intrigue, such a source of abuses in this +institution of the Index, that it is tottering, and even among those who +surround the Pope it is felt that it must soon be freshly regulated if it +is not to fall into complete discredit. I well understand that the Church +should endeavour to retain universal power, and govern by every fit +weapon, but the weapons must be such as one can use without their +injustice leading to revolt, or their antique childishness provoking +merriment!” + +Pierre listened with dolorous astonishment in his heart. Since he had +been at Rome and had seen the Fathers of the Grotto saluted and feared +there, holding an authoritative position, thanks to the large alms which +they contributed to the Peter’s Pence, he had felt that they were behind +the proceedings instituted against him, and realised that he would have +to pay for a certain page of his book in which he had called attention to +an iniquitous displacement of fortune at Lourdes, a frightful spectacle +which made one doubt the very existence of the Divinity, a continual +cause of battle and conflict which would disappear in the truly Christian +society of to-morrow. And he could also now understand that his delight +at the loss of the temporal power must have caused a scandal, and +especially that the unfortunate expression “a new religion” had alone +been sufficient to arm _delatores_ against him. But that which amazed and +grieved him was to learn that Cardinal Bergerot’s letter was looked upon +as a crime, and that his (Pierre’s) book was denounced and condemned in +order that adversaries who dared not attack the venerable pastor face to +face might, deal him a cowardly blow from behind. The thought of +afflicting that saintly man, of serving as the implement to strike him in +his ardent charity, cruelly grieved Pierre. And how bitter and +disheartening it was to find the most hideous questions of pride and +money, ambition and appetite, running riot with the most ferocious +egotism, beneath the quarrels of those leaders of the Church who ought +only to have contended together in love for the poor! + +And then Pierre’s mind revolted against that supremely odious and idiotic +Index. He now understood how it worked, from the arrival of the +denunciations to the public posting of the titles of the condemned works. +He had just seen the Secretary of the Congregation, Father Dangelis, to +whom the denunciations came, and who then investigated the affair, +collecting all documents and information concerning it with the passion +of a cultivated authoritarian monk, who dreamt of ruling minds and +consciences as in the heroic days of the Inquisition. Then, too, Pierre +had visited one of the consultive prelates, Monsignor Fornaro, who was so +ambitious and affable, and so subtle a theologian that he would have +discovered attacks against the faith in a treatise on algebra, had his +interests required it. Next there were the infrequent meetings of the +cardinals, who at long intervals voted for the interdiction of some +hostile book, deeply regretting that they could not suppress them all; +and finally came the Pope, approving and signing the decrees, which was a +mere formality, for were not all books guilty? But what an extraordinary +wretched Bastille of the past was that aged Index, that senile +institution now sunk into second childhood. One realised that it must +have been a formidable power when books were rare and the Church had +tribunals of blood and fire to enforce her edicts. But books had so +greatly multiplied, the written, printed thoughts of mankind had swollen +into such a deep broad river, that they had swept all opposition away, +and now the Index was swamped and reduced to powerlessness, compelled +more and more to limit its field of action, to confine itself to the +examination of the writings of ecclesiastics, and even in this respect it +was becoming corrupt, fouled by the worst passions and changed into an +instrument of intrigue, hatred, and vengeance. Ah! that confession of +decay, of paralysis which grew more and more complete amidst the scornful +indifference of the nations. To think that Catholicism, the once glorious +agent of civilisation, had come to such a pass that it cast books into +hell-fire by the heap; and what books they were, almost the entire +literature, history, philosophy, and science of the past and the present! +Few works, indeed, are published nowadays that would not fall under the +ban of the Church. If she seems to close her eyes, it is in order to +avoid the impossible task of hunting out and destroying everything. Yet +she stubbornly insists on retaining a semblance of sovereign authority +over human intelligence, just as some very aged queen, dispossessed of +her states and henceforth without judges or executioners, might continue +to deliver vain sentences to which only an infinitesimal minority would +pay heed. But imagine the Church momentarily victorious, miraculously +mastering the modern world, and ask yourself what she, with her tribunals +to condemn and her gendarmes to enforce, would do with human thought. +Imagine a strict application of the Index regulations: no printer able to +put anything whatever to press without the approval of his bishop, and +even then every book laid before the Congregation, the past expunged, the +present throttled, subjected to an intellectual Reign of Terror! Would +not the closing of every library perforce ensue, would not the long +heritage of written thought be cast into prison, would not the future be +barred, would not all progress, all conquest of knowledge, be totally +arrested? Rome herself is nowadays a terrible example of such a +disastrous experiment--Rome with her congealed soil, her dead sap, killed +by centuries of papal government, Rome which has become so barren that +not a man, not a work has sprung from her midst even after five and +twenty years of awakening and liberty! And who would accept such a state +of things, not among people of revolutionary mind, but among those of +religious 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 a +gesture of despair whilst glancing at Don Vigilio, who sat speechless in +front of him. For a moment longer, amidst the death-like quiescence of +that old sleeping mansion, both continued silent, seated face to face in +the closed chamber which the lamp illumined with a peaceful glow. But at +last Don Vigilio leant forward, his eyes sparkling, and with a feverish +shiver murmured: “It is they, you know, always they, at the bottom of +everything.” + +Pierre, who did not understand, felt astonished, indeed somewhat anxious +at 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 the +concentrated rage of his exploding passion. Ah! so much the worse if he +had 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. And +then he relieved his mind at length, with a flow of words which gushed +forth 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’t +even an idea of their abominable actions and incalculable power. They it +is whom one always comes upon, everywhere, in every circumstance. +Remember _that_ whenever you fail to understand anything, if you wish to +understand it. Whenever grief or trouble comes upon you, whenever you +suffer, whenever you weep, say to yourself at once: ‘It is they; they are +there!’ Why, for all I know, there may be one of them under that bed, +inside that cupboard. Ah! the Jesuits, the Jesuits! They have devoured +me, 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, beginning +with his youth, which had opened so hopefully. He belonged to the petty +provincial nobility, and had been dowered with a fairly large income, +besides a keen, supple intelligence, which looked smilingly towards the +future. Nowadays, he would assuredly have been a prelate, on the road to +high dignities, but he had been foolish enough to speak ill of the +Jesuits and to thwart them in two or three circumstances. And from that +moment, if he were to be believed, they had caused every imaginable +misfortune to rain upon him: his father and mother had died, his banker +had robbed him and fled, good positions had escaped him at the very +moment when he was about to occupy them, the most awful misadventures had +pursued him amidst the duties of his ministry to such a point indeed, +that he had narrowly escaped interdiction. It was only since Cardinal +Boccanera, compassionating his bad luck, had taken him into his house and +attached him to his person, that he had enjoyed a little repose. “Here I +have a refuge, an asylum,” he continued. “They execrate his Eminence, who +has never been on their side, but they haven’t yet dared to attack him or +his servants. Oh! I have no illusions, they will end by catching me +again, all the same. Perhaps they will even hear of our conversation this +evening, and make me pay dearly for it; for I do wrong to speak, I speak +in spite of myself. They have stolen all my happiness, and brought all +possible misfortune on me, everything that was possible, everything--you +hear me!” + +Increasing discomfort was taking possession of Pierre, who, seeking to +relieve himself by a jest, exclaimed: “Come, come, at any rate it wasn’t +the Jesuits who gave you the fever.” + +“Yes, yes, it was!” Don Vigilio violently declared. “I caught it on the +bank of the Tiber one evening, when I went to weep there in my grief at +having been driven from the little church where I officiated.” + +Pierre, hitherto, had never believed in the terrible legend of the +Jesuits. He belonged to a generation which laughed at the idea of +wehr-wolves, and considered the _bourgeois_ fear of the famous black men, +who hid themselves in walls and terrorised families, to be a trifle +ridiculous. To him all such things seemed to be nursery tales, +exaggerated by religious and political passion. And so it was with +amazement that he examined Don Vigilio, suddenly fearing that he might +have to deal with a maniac. + +Nevertheless he could not help recalling the extraordinary story of the +Jesuits. If St. Francis of Assisi and St. Dominic are the very soul and +spirit of the middle ages, its masters and teachers, the former a living +expression of all the ardent, charitable faith of the humble, and the +other defending dogma and fixing doctrines for the intelligent and the +powerful, on the other hand Ignatius de Loyola appeared on the threshold +of modern times to save the tottering heritage by accommodating religion +to the new developments of society, thereby ensuring it the empire of the +world which was about to appear. + +At the advent of the modern era it seemed as if the Deity were to be +vanquished in the uncompromising struggle with sin, for it was certain +that the old determination to suppress Nature, to kill the man within +man, with his appetites, passions, heart, and blood, could only result in +a disastrous defeat, in which, indeed, the Church found herself on the +very eve of sinking; and it was the Jesuits who came to extricate her +from this peril and reinvigorate her by deciding that it was she who now +ought to go to the world, since the world seemed unwilling to go any +longer to her. All lay in that; you find the Jesuits declaring that one +can enter into arrangements with heaven; they bend and adjust themselves +to the customs, prejudices, and even vices of the times; they smile, all +condescension, cast rigourism aside, and practice the diplomacy of +amiability, ever ready to turn the most awful abominations “to the +greater glory of God.” That is their motto, their battle-cry, and thence +springs the moral principle which many regard as their crime: that all +means are good to attain one’s end, especially when that end is the +furtherance of the Deity’s interests as represented by those of the +Church. And what overwhelming success attends the efforts of the Jesuits! +they swarm and before long cover the earth, on all sides becoming +uncontested masters. They shrive kings, they acquire immense wealth, they +display such victorious power of invasion that, however humbly they may +set foot in any country, they soon wholly possess it: souls, bodies, +power, and fortune alike falling to them. And they are particularly +zealous in founding schools, they show themselves to be incomparable +moulders of the human brain, well understanding that power always belongs +to the morrow, to the generations which are growing up and whose master +one 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 the +Council of Trent, they transform the very spirit of Catholicism, +penetrate it, identify it with themselves and become the indispensable +soldiers of the papacy which lives by them and for them. And from that +moment Rome is theirs, Rome where their general so long commands, whence +so long go forth the directions for the obscure tactics which are blindly +followed by their innumerable army, whose skilful organisation covers the +globe as with an iron network hidden by the velvet of hands expert in +dealing gently with poor suffering humanity. But, after all, the most +prodigious feature is the stupefying vitality of the Jesuits who are +incessantly tracked, condemned, executed, and yet still and ever erect. +As soon as their power asserts itself, their unpopularity begins and +gradually becomes universal. Hoots of execration arise around them, +abominable accusations, scandalous law cases in which they appear as +corruptors and felons. Pascal devotes them to public contempt, +parliaments condemn their books to be burnt, universities denounce their +system of morals and their teaching as poisonous. They foment such +disturbances, such struggles in every kingdom, that organised persecution +sets in, and they are soon driven from everywhere. During more than a +century they become wanderers, expelled, then recalled, passing and +repassing frontiers, leaving a country amidst cries of hatred to return +to it as soon as quiet has been restored. Finally, for supreme disaster, +they are suppressed by one pope, but another re-establishes them, and +since then they have been virtually tolerated everywhere. And in the +diplomatic self-effacement, the shade in which they have the prudence to +sequester themselves, they are none the less triumphant, quietly +confident of their victory like soldiers who have once and for ever +subdued the earth. + +Pierre was aware that, judging by mere appearances, the Jesuits were +nowadays dispossessed of all influence in Rome. They no longer officiated +at the Gesù, they no longer directed the Collegio Romano, where they +formerly fashioned so many souls; and with no abode of their own, reduced +to accept foreign hospitality, they had modestly sought a refuge at the +Collegio Germanico, where there is a little chapel. There they taught and +there they still confessed, but without the slightest bustle or display. +Was one to believe, however, that this effacement was but masterly +cunning, a feigned disappearance in order that they might really remain +secret, all-powerful masters, the hidden hand which directs and guides +everything? People certainly said that the proclamation of papal +Infallibility had been their work, a weapon with which they had armed +themselves whilst feigning to bestow it on the papacy, in readiness for +the coming decisive task which their genius foresaw in the approaching +social upheavals. And thus there might perhaps be some truth in what Don +Vigilio, with a shiver of mystery, related about their occult +sovereignty, a seizin, as it were, of the government of the Church, a +royalty ignored but nevertheless complete. + +As this idea occurred to Pierre, a dim connection between certain of his +experiences arose in his mind and he all at once inquired: “Is Monsignor +Nani a Jesuit, then?” + +These words seemed to revive all Don Vigilio’s anxious passion. He waved +his trembling hand, and replied: “He? Oh, he’s too clever, too skilful by +far to have taken the robe. But he comes from that Collegio Romano where +his generation grew up, and he there imbibed that Jesuit genius which +adapted itself so well to his own. Whilst fully realising the danger of +wearing an unpopular and embarrassing livery, and wishing to be free, he +is 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 utilising +the passions of mankind, and withal he is very fond of the Church, very +pious at bottom, a very good priest, serving God without weakness in +gratitude for the absolute power which God gives to His ministers. And +besides, he is so charming, incapable of any brutal action, full of the +good breeding of his noble Venetian ancestors, and deeply versed in +knowledge of the world, thanks to his experiences at the nunciatures of +Paris, Vienna, and other places, without mentioning that he knows +everything that goes on by reason of the delicate functions which he has +discharged for ten years past as Assessor of the Holy Office. Yes, he is +powerful, all-powerful, and in him you do not have the furtive Jesuit +whose robe glides past amidst suspicion, but the head, the brain, the +leader whom no uniform designates.” + +This reply made Pierre grave, for he was quite willing to admit that an +opportunist code of morals, like that of the Jesuits, was inoculable and +now predominated throughout the Church. Indeed, the Jesuits might +disappear, but their doctrine would survive them, since it was the one +weapon of combat, the one system of strategy which might again place the +nations under the dominion of Rome. And in reality the struggle which +continued lay precisely in the attempts to accommodate religion to the +century, and the century to religion. Such being the case, Pierre +realised that such men as Monsignor Nani might acquire vast and even +decisive 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 happened +here, among the Boccaneras, but I’ve found him at the bottom of it, +tangling or untangling the threads according to necessities with which he +alone is acquainted.” + +Then, in the unquenchable fever for confiding things which was now +consuming him, the secretary related how Monsignor Nani had most +certainly brought on Benedetta’s divorce case. The Jesuits, in spite of +their conciliatory spirit, have always taken up a hostile position with +regard to Italy, either because they do not despair of reconquering Rome, +or because they wait to treat in due season with the ultimate and real +victor, whether King or Pope. And so Nani, who had long been one of Donna +Serafina’s intimates, had helped to precipitate the rupture with Prada as +soon as Benedetta’s mother was dead. Again, it was he who, to prevent any +interference on the part of the patriotic Abbé Pisoni, the young woman’s +confessor and the artisan of her marriage, had urged her to take the same +spiritual director as her aunt, Father Lorenza, a handsome Jesuit with +clear and kindly eyes, whose confessional in the chapel of the Collegio +Germanico was incessantly besieged by penitents. And it seemed certain +that this manœuvre had brought about everything; what one cleric working +for Italy had done, was to be undone by another working against Italy. +Why was it, however, that Nani, after bringing about the rupture, had +momentarily ceased to show all interest in the affair to the point even +of jeopardising the suit for the dissolution of the marriage? And why was +he now again busying himself with it, setting Donna Serafina in action, +prompting her to buy Monsignor Palma’s support, and bringing his own +influence to bear on the cardinals of the Congregation? There was mystery +in all this, as there was in everything he did, for his schemes were +always complicated and distant in their effects. However, one might +suppose that he now wished to hasten the marriage of Benedetta and Dario, +in order to stop all the abominable rumours which were circulating in the +white world; unless, indeed, this divorce secured by pecuniary payments +and the pressure of notorious influences were an intentional scandal at +first spun out and now hastened, in order to harm Cardinal Boccanera, +whom the Jesuits might desire to brush aside in certain eventualities +which were possibly near at hand. + +“To tell the truth, I rather incline to the latter view,” said Don +Vigilio, “the more so indeed as I learnt this evening that the Pope is +not 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 the +prelacies are all agog, stirred by sudden ambitious rivalries. Now, the +Jesuits have always opposed Cardinal Boccanera’s candidature. They ought +to be on his side, on account of his rank, and his uncompromising +attitude towards Italy, but the idea of giving themselves such a master +disquiets them, for they consider him unseasonably rough and stern, too +violent in his faith, which unbending as it is would prove dangerous in +these diplomatic times through which the Church is passing. And so I +should in no wise be astonished if there were an attempt to discredit him +and render his candidature impossible, by employing the most underhand +and shameful means.” + +A little quiver of fear was coming over Pierre. The contagion of the +unknown, of the black intrigues plotted in the dark, was spreading amidst +the 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 young +man’s mind reverted to himself, to his own affair. “But what is my part +in all this?” he asked: “why does Monsignor Nani seem to take an interest +in 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 affair +when the denunciations of the three bishops were already in the hands of +Father Dangelis; and I have also learnt that he then tried to stop the +proceedings, which he no doubt thought both useless and impolitic. But +when a matter is once before the Congregation it is almost impossible for +it to be withdrawn, and Monsignor Nani must also have come into collision +with Father Dangelis who, like a faithful Dominican, is the passionate +adversary of the Jesuits. It was then that he caused the Contessina to +write to Monsieur de la Choue, requesting him to tell you to hasten here +in order to defend yourself, and to arrange for your acceptance of +hospitality in this mansion, during your stay.” + +This revelation brought Pierre’s emotion to a climax. “You are sure of +that?” he asked. + +“Oh! quite sure. I heard Nani speak of you one Monday, and some time ago +I told you that he seemed to know all about you, as if he had made most +minute inquiries. My belief is that he had already read your book, and +was extremely preoccupied about it.” + +“Do you think that he shares my ideas, then? Is he sincere, is he +defending himself while striving to defend me?” + +“Oh! no, no, not at all. Your ideas, why he certainly hates them, and +your book and yourself as well. You have no idea what contempt for the +weak, what hatred of the poor, and love of authority and domination he +conceals under his caressing amiability. Lourdes he might abandon to you, +though it embodies a marvellous weapon of government; but he will never +forgive you for being on the side of the little ones of the world, and +for pronouncing against the temporal power. If you only heard with what +gentle ferocity he derides Monsieur de la Choue, whom he calls the +weeping willow of Neo-Catholicism!” + +Pierre carried his hands to his temples and pressed his head +despairingly. “Then why, why, tell me I beg of you, why has he brought me +here and kept me here in this house at his disposal? Why has he +promenaded me up and down Rome for three long months, throwing me against +obstacles and wearying me, when it was so easy for him to let the Index +condemn my book if it embarrassed him? It’s true, of course, that things +would not have gone quietly, for I was disposed to refuse submission and +openly confess my new faith, even against the decisions of Rome.” + +Don Vigilio’s black eyes flared in his yellow face: “Perhaps it was that +which he wished to prevent. He knows you to be very intelligent and +enthusiastic, and I have often heard him say that intelligence and +enthusiasm should not be fought openly.” + +Pierre, however, had risen to his feet, and instead of listening, was +striding up and down the room as though carried away by the whirlwind of +his thoughts. “Come, come,” he said at last, “it is necessary that I +should know and understand things if I am to continue the struggle. You +must be kind enough to give me some detailed particulars about each of +the persons mixed up in my affair. Jesuits, Jesuits everywhere? _Mon +Dieu_, it may be so, you are perhaps right! But all the same you must +point out the different shades to me. Now, for instance, what of that +Fornaro?” + +“Monsignor Fornaro, oh! he’s whatever you like. Still he also was brought +up at the Collegio Romano, so you may be certain that he is a Jesuit, a +Jesuit by education, position, and ambition. He is longing to become a +cardinal, 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 as +he 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 every +influence. It was long thought that he was in favour of conciliation +between the Holy See and Italy; but things drifted into a bad way, and he +violently took part against the usurpers. In the same style he has +frequently fallen out with Leo XIII and then made his peace. To-day at +the Vatican, he keeps on a footing of diplomatic reserve. Briefly he only +has one object, the tiara, and even shows it too plainly, which is a +mistake, for it uses up a candidate. Still, just at present the struggle +seems to be between him and Cardinal Boccanera. And that’s why he has +gone over to the Jesuits again, utilising their hatred of his rival, and +anticipating that they will be forced to support _him_ in order to defeat +the other. But I doubt it, they are too shrewd, they will hesitate to +patronise a candidate who is already so compromised. He, blunder-head, +passionate and proud as he is, doubts nothing, and since you say that he +is now at Frascati, I’m certain that he made all haste to shut himself up +there with some grand strategical object in view, as soon as he heard of +the Pope’s illness.” + +“Well, and the Pope himself, Leo XIII?” asked Pierre. + +This time Don Vigilio slightly hesitated, his eyes blinking. Then he +said: “Leo XIII? He is a Jesuit, a Jesuit! Oh! I know it is said that he +sides with the Dominicans, and this is in a measure true, for he fancies +that he is animated with their spirit and he has brought St. Thomas into +favour again, and has restored all the ecclesiastical teaching of +doctrine. But there is also the Jesuit, remember, who is one +involuntarily and without knowing it, and of this category the present +Pope will prove the most famous example. Study his acts, investigate his +policy, and you will find that everything in it emanates from the Jesuit +spirit. The fact is that he has unwittingly become impregnated with that +spirit, and that all the influence, directly or indirectly brought to +bear on him comes from a Jesuit centre. Ah! why don’t you believe me? I +repeat that the Jesuits have conquered and absorbed everything, that all +Rome belongs to them from the most insignificant cleric to his Holiness +in person.” + +Then he continued, replying to each fresh name that Pierre gave with the +same obstinate, maniacal cry: “Jesuit, Jesuit!” It seemed as if a +Churchman could be nothing else, as if each answer were a confirmation of +the proposition that the clergy must compound with the modern world if it +desired to preserve its Deity. The heroic age of Catholicism was +accomplished, henceforth it could only live by dint of diplomacy and +ruses, concessions and arrangements. “And that Paparelli, he’s a Jesuit +too, a Jesuit!” Don Vigilio went on, instinctively lowering his voice. +“Yes, the humble but terrible Jesuit, the Jesuit in his most abominable +_rôle_ as a spy and a perverter! I could swear that he has merely been +placed here in order to keep watch on his Eminence! And you should see +with what supple talent and craft he has performed his task, to such a +point indeed that it is now he alone who wills and orders things. He +opens the door to whomsoever he pleases, uses his master like something +belonging to him, weighs on each of his resolutions, and holds him in his +power by dint of his stealthy unremitting efforts. Yes! it’s the lion +conquered by the insect; the infinitesimally small disposing of the +infinitely great; the train-bearer--whose proper part is to sit at his +cardinal’s feet like a faithful hound--in reality reigning over him, and +impelling him in whatsoever direction he chooses. Ah! the Jesuit! the +Jesuit! Mistrust him when you see him gliding by in his shabby old +cassock, with the flabby wrinkled face of a devout old maid. And make +sure that he isn’t behind the doors, or in the cupboards, or under the +beds. Ah! I tell you that they’ll devour you as they’ve devoured me; and +they’ll give you the fever too, perhaps even the plague if you are not +careful!” + +Pierre suddenly halted in front of his companion. He was losing all +assurance, both fear and rage were penetrating him. And, after all, why +not? These extraordinary stories must be true. “But in that case give me +some advice,” he exclaimed, “I asked you to come in here this evening +precisely because I no longer know what to do, and need to be set in the +right path--” Then he broke off and again paced to and fro, as if urged +into motion by his exploding passion. “Or rather no, tell me nothing!” he +abruptly resumed. “It’s all over; I prefer to go away. The thought +occurred to me before, but it was in a moment of cowardice and with the +idea 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 aloud +to all the world from Paris, to proclaim what I have seen in Rome, what +men have done there with the Christianity of Jesus, the Vatican falling +into dust, the corpse-like odour which comes from it, the idiotic +illusions of those who hope that they will one day see a renascence of +the modern soul arise from a sepulchre where the remnants of dead +centuries rot and slumber. Oh! I will not yield, I will not make my +submission, I will defend my book by a fresh one. And that book, I +promise you, will make some noise in the world, for it will sound the +last agony of a dying religion, which one must make all haste to bury +lest its remains should poison the nations!” + +All this was beyond Don Vigilio’s mind. The Italian priest, with narrow +belief and ignorant terror of the new ideas, awoke within him. He clasped +his hands, affrighted. “Be quiet, be quiet! You are blaspheming! And, +besides, you cannot go off like that without again trying to see his +Holiness. 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 can +be given: Go back to see Monsignor Nani, for he alone will open the door +of the Vatican for you.” + +Again did Pierre give a start of anger: “What! It was with Monsignor Nani +that I began, from him that I set out; and I am to go back to him? What +game is that? Can I consent to be a shuttlecock sent flying hither and +thither by every battledore? People are having a game with me!” + +Then, harassed and distracted, the young man fell on his chair in front +of Don Vigilio, who with his face drawn by his prolonged vigil, and his +hands still and ever faintly trembling, remained for some time silent. At +last he explained that he had another idea. He was slightly acquainted +with the Pope’s confessor, a Franciscan father, a man of great +simplicity, to whom he might recommend Pierre. This Franciscan, despite +his self-effacement, would perhaps prove of service to him. At all events +he might be tried. Then, once more, silence fell, and Pierre, whose +dreamy eyes were turned towards the wall, ended by distinguishing the old +picture which had touched him so deeply on the day of his arrival. In the +pale glow of the lamp it gradually showed forth and lived, like an +incarnation of his own case, his own futile despair before the sternly +closed portal of truth and justice. Ah! that outcast woman, that stubborn +victim of love, weeping amidst her streaming hair, her visage hidden +whilst with pain and grief she sank upon the steps of that palace whose +door was so pitilessly shut--how she resembled him! Draped with a mere +strip of linen, she was shivering, and amidst the overpowering distress +of her abandonment she did not reveal her secret, misfortune, or +transgression, whichever it might be. But he, behind her close-pressed +hands, endowed her with a face akin to his own: she became his sister, as +were all the poor creatures without roof or certainty who weep because +they are naked and alone, and wear out their strength in seeking to force +the wicked thresholds of men. He could never gaze at her without pitying +her, 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 he +suddenly began to question his companion. + +“Tell me,” said he, “do you know who painted that old picture? It stirs +me to the soul like a masterpiece.” + +Stupefied by this unexpected question, the secretary raised his head and +looked, 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 in +this room?” + +“Oh!” replied Don Vigilio, with a gesture of indifference, “it’s nothing. +There are heaps of valueless old paintings everywhere. That one, no +doubt, has always been here. But I don’t know; I never noticed it +before.” + +Whilst speaking he had at last risen to his feet, and this simple action +had 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 me +out,” he stammered, “keep the lamp here. And to conclude: the best course +is for you to leave yourself in the hands of Monsignor Nani, for he, at +all events, is a superior man. I told you on your arrival that, whether +you would or not, you would end by doing as he desired. And so what’s the +use of struggling? And mind, not a word of our conversation to-night; it +would mean my death.” + +Then he noiselessly opened the doors, glanced distrustfully into the +darkness of the passage, and at last ventured out and disappeared, +regaining his own room with such soft steps that not the faintest +footfall 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 very +end, got Don Vigilio to recommend him to the Pope’s confessor, the +Franciscan 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, and +absolute lack of influence in order that he might not abuse his position +with respect to the Holy Father. And doubtless there was an affectation +of humility on the latter’s part in taking for confessor a member of the +humblest of the regular orders, a friend of the poor, a holy beggar of +the roads. At the same time the friar certainly enjoyed a reputation for +oratory; and hidden by a veil the Pope at times listened to his sermons; +for although as infallible Sovereign Pontiff Leo XIII could not receive +lessons from any priest, it was admitted that as a man he might reap +profit by listening to good discourse. Nevertheless apart from his +natural eloquence, the worthy friar was really a mere washer of souls, a +confessor who listens and absolves without even remembering the +impurities which he removes in the waters of penitence. And Pierre, +finding him really so poor and such a cipher, did not insist on an +intervention which he realised would be futile. + +All that day the young priest was haunted by the figure of that ingenuous +lover of poverty, that delicious St. Francis, as Narcisse Habert was wont +to say. Pierre had often wondered how such an apostle, so gentle towards +both animate and inanimate creation, and so full of ardent charity for +the wretched, could have arisen in a country of egotism and enjoyment +like Italy, where the love of beauty alone has remained queen. Doubtless +the times have changed; yet what a strong sap of love must have been +needed 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 and +preach the gift of self to others, the renunciation of wealth, the horror +of brutal force, the equality and obedience which would ensure the peace +of the world. St. Francis trod the roads clad as one of the poorest, a +rope girdling his grey gown and his bare feet shod with sandals, and he +carried with him neither purse nor staff. And he and his brethren spoke +aloud and freely, with sovereign florescence of poetry and boldness of +truth, attacking the rich and the powerful, and daring even to denounce +the priests of evil life, the debauched, simoniacal, and perjured +bishops. A long cry of relief greeted the Franciscans, the people +followed them in crowds--they were the friends, the liberators of all the +humble ones who suffered. And thus, like revolutionaries, they at first +so alarmed Rome, that the popes hesitated to authorise their Order. When +they at last gave way it was assuredly with the hope of using this new +force for their own profit, by conquering the whole vague mass of the +lowly whose covert threats have ever growled through the ages, even in +the most despotic times. And thenceforward in the sons of St. Francis the +Church possessed an ever victorious army--a wandering army which spread +over the roads, in the villages and through the towns, penetrating to the +firesides of artisan and peasant, and gaining possession of all simple +hearts. How great the democratic power of such an Order which had sprung +from the very entrails of the people! And thence its rapid prosperity, +its teeming growth in a few years, friaries arising upon all sides, and +the third Order* so invading the secular population as to impregnate and +absorb it. And that there was here a genuine growth of the soil, a +vigorous vegetation of the plebeian stock was shown by an entire national +art arising from it--the precursors of the Renascence in painting and +even 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 been +coming into contact with those great Orders of the past. The Franciscans +and the Dominicans were there face to face in their vast convents of +prosperous aspect. But it seemed as if the humility of the Franciscans +had in the long run deprived them of influence. Perhaps, too, their +_rôle_ as friends and liberators of the people was ended since the people +now undertook to liberate itself. And so the only real remaining battle +was between the Dominicans and the Jesuits, both of whom still claimed to +mould the world according to their particular views. Warfare between them +was incessant, and Rome--the supreme power at the Vatican--was ever the +prize for which they contended. But, although the Dominicans had St. +Thomas on their side, they must have felt that their old dogmatic science +was crumbling, compelled as they were each day to surrender a little +ground to the Jesuits whose principles accorded better with the spirit of +the century. And, in addition to these, there were the white-robed +Carthusians, those very holy, pure, and silent meditators who fled from +the world into quiet cells and cloisters, those despairing and consoled +ones whose numbers may decrease but whose Order will live for ever, even +as grief and desire for solitude will live. And then there were the +Benedictines whose admirable rules have sanctified labour, passionate +toilers in literature and science, once powerful instruments of +civilisation, enlarging universal knowledge by their immense historical +and critical works. These Pierre loved, and with them would have sought a +refuge two centuries earlier, yet he was astonished to find them building +on the Aventine a huge dwelling, for which Leo XIII has already given +millions, as if the science of to-day and to-morrow were yet a field +where they might garner harvests. But _cui bono_, when the workmen have +changed, and dogmas are there to bar the road--dogmas which totter, no +doubt, 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, the +Lazzarists, the Eudists, the Mission Fathers, the Servites, the Brothers +of the Christian Doctrine; there were the Bernadines, the Augustinians, +the Theatines, the Observants, the Passionists, the Célestines, and the +Capuchins, without counting the corresponding Orders of women or the Poor +Clares, or the innumerable nuns like those of the Visitation and the +Calvary. Each community had its modest or sumptuous dwelling, certain +districts of Rome were entirely composed of convents, and behind the +silent lifeless façades all those people buzzed, intrigued, and waged the +everlasting warfare of rival interests and passions. The social evolution +which produced them had long since ceased, still they obstinately sought +to prolong their life, growing weaker and more useless day by day, +destined to a slow agony until the time shall come when the new +development of society will leave them neither foothold nor breathing +space. + +And it was not only with the regulars that Pierre came in contact during +his peregrinations through Rome; indeed, he more particularly had to deal +with the secular clergy, and learnt to know them well. A hierarchical +system which was still vigorously enforced maintained them in various +ranks and classes. Up above, around the Pope, reigned the pontifical +family, the high and noble cardinals and prelates whose conceit was great +in spite of their apparent familiarity. Below them the parish clergy +formed a very worthy middle class of wise and moderate minds; and here +patriot priests were not rare. Moreover, the Italian occupation of a +quarter of a century, by installing in the city a world of functionaries +who saw everything that went on, had, curiously enough, greatly purified +the private life of the Roman priesthood, in which under the popes women, +beyond all question, played a supreme part. And finally one came to the +plebeian clergy whom Pierre studied with curiosity, a collection of +wretched, grimy, half-naked priests who like famished animals prowled +around in search of masses, and drifted into disreputable taverns in the +company of beggars and thieves. However, he was more interested by the +floating population of foreign priests from all parts of Christendom--the +adventurers, the ambitious ones, the believers, the madmen whom Rome +attracted just as a lamp at night time attracts the insects of the gloom. +Among these were men of every nationality, position, and age, all lashed +on by their appetites and scrambling from morn till eve around the +Vatican, in order to snap at the prey which they hoped to secure. He +found them everywhere, and told himself with some shame that he was one +of them, that the unit of his own personality served to increase the +incredible number of cassocks that one encountered in the streets. Ah! +that ebb and flow, that ceaseless tide of black gowns and frocks of every +hue! With their processions of students ever walking abroad, the +seminaries of the different nations would alone have sufficed to drape +and decorate the streets, for there were the French and the English all +in black, the South Americans in black with blue sashes, the North +Americans 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 Romans +in black or violet or purple, the Bohemians with chocolate sashes, the +Irish with red lappets, the Spaniards with blue cords, to say nothing of +all the others with broidery and bindings and buttons in a hundred +different styles. And in addition there were the confraternities, the +penitents, white, black, blue, and grey, with sleeveless frocks and capes +of different hue, grey, blue, black, or white. And thus even nowadays +Papal Rome at times seemed to resuscitate, and one could realise how +tenaciously and vivaciously she struggled on in order that she might not +disappear in the cosmopolitan Rome of the new era. However, Pierre, +whilst running about from one prelate to another, frequenting priests and +crossing churches, could not accustom himself to the worship, the Roman +piety which astonished him when it did not wound him. One rainy Sunday +morning, on entering Santa Maria Maggiore, he fancied himself in some +waiting-room, a very splendid one, no doubt, but where God seemed to have +no habitation. There was not a bench, not a chair in the nave, across +which 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 as +in railway stations one sees people sitting and waiting for their trains +during the great crushes of the holiday season. And for this tramping +throng of folks of small degree, who had looked in _en passant_, a priest +was saying a low mass in a side chapel, before which a narrow file of +standing people had gathered, extending across the nave, and recalling +the 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 why +linger? The mass was said. Pierre everywhere found the same form of +attendance, peculiar to the countries of the sun; the worshippers were in +a hurry and only favoured the Deity with short familiar visits, unless it +were a question of some gala scene at San Paolo or San Giovanni in +Laterano or some other of the old basilicas. It was only at the Gesù, on +another Sunday morning, that the young priest came upon a high-mass +congregation, which reminded him of the devout throngs of the North. Here +there were benches and women seated, a worldly warmth and cosiness under +the luxurious, gilded, carved, and painted roof, whose tawny splendour is +very fine now that time has toned down the eccentricities of the +decoration. But how many of the churches were empty, among them some of +the most ancient and venerable, San Clemente, Sant’ Agnese, Santa Croce +in Gerusalemme, where during the offices one saw but a few believers of +the neighbourhood. Four hundred churches were a good many for even Rome +to people; and, indeed, some were merely attended on fixed ceremonial +occasions, and a good many merely opened their doors once every year--on +the feast day, that is, of their patron saint. Some also subsisted on the +lucky 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 “Madonna +del Parto,” who grants a happy delivery to mothers. Then others were +renowned for the holy water of their fonts, the oil of their lamps, the +power of some wooden saint or marble virgin. Others again seemed +forsaken, given up to tourists and the perquisites of beadles, like mere +museums peopled with dead gods: Finally others disturbed one’s faith by +the suggestiveness of their aspects, as, for instance, that Santa Maria +Rotonda, which is located in the Pantheon, a circular hall recalling a +circus, where the Virgin remains the evident tenant of the Olympian +deities. + +Pierre took no little interest in the churches of the poor districts, but +did not find there the keen faith and the throngs he had hoped for. One +afternoon, 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 sound +in such a desert. Then, another day, on entering San Crisogono, he found +it draped, probably in readiness for some festival on the morrow. The +columns were cased with red damask, and between them were hangings and +curtains alternately yellow and blue, white and red; and the young man +fled 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 and +prayed! On all sides he found the same type of church, the antique +basilica accommodated to the taste of eighteenth-century Rome. Though the +style of San Luigi dei Francesi is better, more soberly elegant, the only +thing that touched him even there was the thought of the heroic or +saintly Frenchmen, who sleep in foreign soil beneath the flags. And as he +sought for something Gothic, he ended by going to see Santa Maria sopra +Minerva,* which, he was told, was the only example of the Gothic style in +Rome. Here his stupefaction attained a climax at sight of the clustering +columns cased in stucco imitating marble, the ogives which dared not +soar, the rounded vaults condemned to the heavy majesty of the dome +style. No, no, thought he, the faith whose cooling cinders lingered there +was no longer that whose brazier had invaded and set all Christendom +aglow! However, Monsignor Fornaro whom he chanced to meet as he was +leaving 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 the +Gothic cathedral was the real Christian house of prayer, for Gothic +embodied the hateful Anglo-Saxon spirit, the rebellious genius of Luther. +At this a passionate reply rose to Pierre’s lips, but he said nothing for +fear that he might say too much. However, he asked himself whether in all +this there was not a decisive proof that Catholicism was the very +vegetation of Rome, Paganism modified by Christianity. Elsewhere +Christianity has grown up in quite a different spirit, to such a point +that it has risen in rebellion and schismatically turned against the +mother-city. And the breach has ever gone on widening, the dissemblance +has become more and more marked; and amidst the evolution of new +societies, yet a fresh schism appears inevitable and proximate in spite +of 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 his +efforts to gain support in the matter of his book, his irritation tending +to such stubbornness, that if in the first instance he failed to obtain +an interview, he went back again and again to secure one, steadfastly +keeping his promise to call in turn upon each cardinal of the +Congregation of the Index. And as a cardinal may belong to several +Congregations, it resulted that he gradually found himself roaming +through 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 consultative +prelates, and its numerous employees. Pierre repeatedly had to return to +the Cancelleria, where the Congregation of the Index meets, and lost +himself in its world of staircases, corridors, and halls. From the moment +he passed under the porticus he was overcome by the icy shiver which fell +from the old walls, and was quite unable to appreciate the bare, frigid +beauty of the palace, Bramante’s masterpiece though it be, so purely +typical of the Roman Renascence. He also knew the Propaganda where he had +seen Cardinal Sarno; and, sent as he was hither and thither, in his +efforts to gain over influential prelates, chance made him acquainted +with the other Congregations, that of the Bishops and Regulars, that of +the Rites and that of the Council. He even obtained a glimpse of the +Consistorial, the Dataria,* and the sacred Penitentiary. All these formed +part of the administrative mechanism of the Church under its several +aspects--the government of the Catholic world, the enlargement of the +Church’s conquests, the administration of its affairs in conquered +countries, the decision of all questions touching faith, morals, and +individuals, the investigation and punishment of offences, the grant of +dispensations and the sale of favours. One can scarcely imagine what a +fearful number of affairs are each morning submitted to the Vatican, +questions of the greatest gravity, delicacy, and intricacy, the solution +of which gives rise to endless study and research. It is necessary to +reply to the innumerable visitors who flock to Rome from all parts, and +to the letters, the petitions, and the batches of documents which are +submitted and require to be distributed among the various offices. And +Pierre was struck by the deep and discreet silence in which all this +colossal labour was accomplished; not a sound reaching the streets from +the tribunals, parliaments, and factories for the manufacture of saints +and nobles, whose mechanism was so well greased, that in spite of the +rust of centuries and the deep and irremediable wear and tear, the whole +continued working without clank or creak to denote its presence behind +the walls. And did not that silence embody the whole policy of the +Church, which is to remain mute and await developments? Nevertheless what +a prodigious mechanism it was, antiquated no doubt, but still so +powerful! And amidst those Congregations how keenly Pierre felt himself +to be in the grip of the most absolute power ever devised for the +domination of mankind. However much he might notice signs of decay and +coming ruin he was none the less seized, crushed, and carried off by that +huge engine made up of vanity and venality, corruption and ambition, +meanness and greatness. And how far, too, he now was from the Rome that +he had dreamt of, and what anger at times filled him amidst his +weariness, 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 explained +to him. One day, when he returned to the Propaganda, Cardinal Sarno spoke +to him of Freemasonry with such icy rage that he was abruptly +enlightened. Freemasonry had hitherto made him smile; he had believed in +it no more than he had believed in the Jesuits. Indeed, he had looked +upon the ridiculous stories which were current--the stories of +mysterious, shadowy men who governed the world with secret incalculable +power--as mere childish legends. In particular he had been amazed by the +blind hatred which maddened certain people as soon as Freemasonry was +mentioned. However, a very distinguished and intelligent prelate had +declared to him, with an air of profound conviction, that at least on one +occasion every year each masonic Lodge was presided over by the Devil in +person, incarnate in a visible shape! And now, by Cardinal Sarno’s +remarks, he understood the rivalry, the furious struggle of the Roman +Catholic Church against that other Church, the Church of over the way.* +Although the former counted on her own triumph, she none the less felt +that the other, the Church of Freemasonry, was a competitor, a very +ancient enemy, who indeed claimed to be more ancient than herself, and +whose victory always remained a possibility. And the friction between +them was largely due to the circumstance that they both aimed at +universal sovereignty, and had a similar international organisation, a +similar net thrown over the nations, and in a like way mysteries, dogmas, +and rites. It was deity against deity, faith against faith, conquest +against conquest: and so, like competing tradesmen in the same street, +they were a source of mutual embarrassment, and one of them was bound to +kill the other. But if Roman Catholicism seemed to Pierre to be worn out +and threatened with ruin, he remained quite as sceptical with regard to +the power of Freemasonry. He had made inquiries as to the reality of that +power in Rome, where both Grand Master and Pope were enthroned, one in +front of the other. He was certainly told that the last Roman princes had +thought themselves compelled to become Freemasons in order to render +their own difficult position somewhat easier and facilitate the future of +their sons. But was this true? had they not simply yielded to the force +of the present social evolution? And would not Freemasonry eventually be +submerged by its own triumph--that of the ideas of justice, reason, and +truth, which it had defended through the dark and violent ages of +history? It is a thing which constantly happens; the victory of an idea +kills the sect which has propagated it, and renders the apparatus with +which the members of the sect surrounded themselves, in order to fire +imaginations, both useless and somewhat ridiculous. Carbonarism did not +survive the conquest of the political liberties which it demanded; and on +the day when the Catholic Church crumbles, having accomplished its work +of civilisation, the other Church, the Freemasons’ Church of across the +road, will in a like way disappear, its task of liberation ended. +Nowadays the famous power of the Lodges, hampered by traditions, weakened +by a ceremonial which provokes laughter, and reduced to a simple bond of +brotherly agreement and mutual assistance, would be but a sorry weapon of +conquest for humanity, were it not that the vigorous breath of science +impels 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 no +certainty; and, while stubbornly clinging to Rome, intent on fighting to +the very end, like a soldier who will not believe in the possibility of +defeat, he remained as anxious as ever. He had seen all the cardinals +whose 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 Navy +Estimates, without dealing in the slightest degree with the incriminated +book. He had also seen the Grand Penitentiary, that tall old man, with +fleshless, ascetic face, of whom he had previously caught a glimpse at +the Boccanera mansion, and from whom he now only drew a long and severe +sermon on the wickedness of young priests, whom the century had perverted +and who wrote most abominable books. Finally, at the Vatican, he had seen +the Cardinal Secretary, in some wise his Holiness’s Minister of Foreign +Affairs, the great power of the Holy See, whom he had hitherto been +prevented from approaching by terrifying warnings as to the possible +result of an unfavourable reception. However, whilst apologising for +calling at such a late stage, he had found himself in presence of a most +amiable man, whose somewhat rough appearance was softened by diplomatic +affability, and who, after making him sit down, questioned him with an +air of interest, listened to him, and even spoke some words of comfort. +Nevertheless, on again reaching the Piazza of St. Peter’s, Pierre well +understood that his affair had not made the slightest progress, and that +if he ever managed to force the Pope’s door, it would not be by way of +the Secretariate of State. And that evening he returned home quite +exhausted by so many visits, in such distraction at feeling that little +by little he had been wholly caught in that huge mechanism with its +hundred wheels, that he asked himself in terror what he should do on the +morrow now that there remained nothing for him to do--unless, indeed, it +were to go mad. + +However, meeting Don Vigilio in a passage of the house, he again wished +to ask him for some good advice. But the secretary, who had a gleam of +terror in his eyes, silenced him, he knew not why, with an anxious +gesture. And then in a whisper, in Pierre’s ear, he said: “Have you seen +Monsignor Nani? No! Well, go to see him, go to see him. I repeat that you +have nothing else to do!” + +Pierre yielded. And indeed why should he have resisted? Apart from the +motives of ardent charity which had brought him to Rome to defend his +book, was he not there for a self-educating, experimental purpose? It was +necessary that he should carry his attempts to the very end. + +On the morrow, when he reached the colonnade of St. Peter’s, the hour was +so early that he had to wait there awhile. He had never better realised +the enormity of those four curving rows of columns, forming a forest of +gigantic stone trunks among which nobody ever promenades. In fact, the +spot is a grandiose and dreary desert, and one asks oneself the why and +wherefore of such a majestic porticus. Doubtless, however, it was for its +sole majesty, for the mere pomp of decoration, that this colonnade was +reared; and therein, again, one finds the whole Roman spirit. However, +Pierre at last turned into the Via di Sant’ Offizio, and passing the +sacristy of St. Peter’s, found himself before the Palace of the Holy +Office in a solitary silent district, which the footfall of pedestrians +or the rumble of wheels but seldom disturbs. The sun alone lives there, +in sheets of light which spread slowly over the small, white paving. You +divine 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 corner +the Palace of the Holy Office rises up with heavy, disquieting bareness, +only a single row of windows piercing its lofty, yellow front. The wall +which skirts a side street looks yet more suspicious with its row of even +smaller casements, mere peep-holes with glaucous panes. In the bright +sunlight this huge cube of mud-coloured masonry ever seems asleep, +mysterious, and closed like a prison, with scarcely an aperture for +communication with the outer world. + +Pierre shivered, but then smiled as at an act of childishness, for he +reflected that the Holy Roman and Universal Inquisition, nowadays the +Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office, was no longer the institution it +had been, the purveyor of heretics for the stake, the occult tribunal +beyond appeal which had right of life and death over all mankind. True, +it still laboured in secrecy, meeting every Wednesday, and judging and +condemning without a sound issuing from within its walls. But on the +other hand if it still continued to strike at the crime of heresy, if it +smote men as well as their works, it no longer possessed either weapons +or dungeons, steel or fire to do its bidding, but was reduced to a mere +_rôle_ of protest, unable to inflict aught but disciplinary penalties +even upon the ecclesiastics of its own Church. + +When Pierre on entering was ushered into the reception-room of Monsignor +Nani who, as assessor, lived in the palace, he experienced an agreeable +surprise. The apartment faced the south, and was spacious and flooded +with sunshine. And stiff as was the furniture, dark as were the hangings, +an exquisite sweetness pervaded the room, as though a woman had lived in +it and accomplished the prodigy of imparting some of her own grace to all +those stern-looking things. There were no flowers, yet there was a +pleasant smell. A charm expanded and conquered every heart from the very +threshold. + +Monsignor Nani at once came forward, with a smile on his rosy face, his +blue eyes keenly glittering, and his fine light hair powdered by age. +With hands outstretched, he exclaimed: “Ah! how kind of you to have come +to see me, my dear son! Come, sit down, let us have a friendly chat.” + Then with an extraordinary display of affection, he began to question +Pierre: “How are you getting on? Tell me all about it, exactly what you +have done.” + +Touched in spite of Don Vigilio’s revelations, won over by the sympathy +which he fancied he could detect, Pierre thereupon confessed himself, +relating his visits to Cardinal Sarno, Monsignor Fornaro and Father +Dangelis, his applications to all the influential cardinals, those of the +Index, the Grand Penitentiary, the Cardinal Vicar, and the Cardinal +Secretary; and dwelling on his endless journeys from door to door through +all the Congregations and all the clergy, that huge, active, silent +bee-hive amidst which he had wearied his feet, exhausted his limbs, and +bewildered his poor brain. And at each successive Station of this Calvary +of entreaty, Monsignor Nani, who seemed to listen with an air of rapture, +exclaimed: “But that’s very good, that’s capital! Oh! your affair is +progressing. Yes, yes, it’s progressing marvellously well.” + +He was exultant, though he allowed no unseemly irony to appear, while his +pleasant, penetrating eyes fathomed the young priest, to ascertain if he +had been brought to the requisite degree of obedience. Had he been +sufficiently wearied, disillusioned and instructed in the reality of +things, for one to finish with him? Had three months’ sojourn in Rome +sufficed to turn the somewhat mad enthusiast of the first days into an +unimpassioned or at least resigned being? + +However, all at once Monsignor Nani remarked: “But, my dear son, you tell +me nothing of his Eminence Cardinal Sanguinetti.” + +“The fact is, Monseigneur, that his Eminence is at Frascati, so I have +been unable to see him.” + +Thereupon the prelate, as if once more postponing the _dénouement_ with +the secret enjoyment of an artistic _diplomate_, began to protest, +raising his little plump hands with the anxious air of a man who +considers everything lost: “Oh! but you must see his Eminence; it is +absolutely necessary! Think of it! The Prefect of the Index! We can only +act after your visit to him, for as you have not seen _him_ it is as if +you 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 Sanguinetti +before eleven o’clock, he nevertheless availed himself of an early train, +so that it was barely nine when he alighted at the little station of +Frascati. He had already visited the place during his enforced idleness, +when he had made the classical excursion to the Roman castles which +extend from Frascati to Rocco di Papa, and from Rocco di Papa to Monte +Cavo, and he was now delighted with the prospect of strolling for a +couple of hours along those first slopes of the Alban hills, where, +amidst rushes, olives, and vines, Frascati, like a promontory, overlooks +the immense ruddy sea of the Campagna even as far as Rome, which, six +full leagues away, wears the whitish aspect of a marble isle. + +Ah! that charming Frascati, on its greeny knoll at the foot of the wooded +Tusculan heights, with its famous terrace whence one enjoys the finest +view in the world, its old patrician villas with proud and elegant +Renascence façades and magnificent parks, which, planted with cypress, +pine, and ilex, are for ever green! There was a sweetness, a delight, a +fascination about the spot, of which Pierre would have never wearied. And +for more than an hour he had wandered blissfully along roads edged with +ancient, knotty olive-trees, along dingle ways shaded by the spreading +foliage of neighbouring estates, and along perfumed paths, at each turn +of which the Campagna was seen stretching far away, when all at once he +was 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, some +old vineyards where a number of new houses had been built of recent +years, and suddenly saw a stylish pair-horse victoria, coming from the +direction of Rome, draw up close by, whilst its occupant called to him: +“What! Monsieur l’Abbé Froment, are you taking a walk here, at this early +hour?” + +Thereupon Pierre recognised Count Luigi Prada, who alighted, shook hands +with him and began to walk beside him, whilst the empty carriage went on +in advance. And forthwith the Count explained his tastes: “I seldom take +the train,” he said, “I drive over. It gives my horses an outing. I have +interests over here as you may know, a big building enterprise which is +unfortunately not progressing very well. And so, although the season is +advanced, I’m obliged to come rather more frequently than I care to do.” + +As Prada suggested, Pierre was acquainted with the story. The Boccaneras +had been obliged to sell a sumptuous villa which a cardinal of their +family had built at Frascati in accordance with the plans of Giacomo +della Porta, during the latter part of the sixteenth century: a regal +summer-residence it had been, finely wooded, with groves and basins and +cascades, and in particular a famous terrace projecting like a cape above +the Roman Campagna whose expanse stretches from the Sabine mountains to +the Mediterranean sands. Through the division of the property, Benedetta +had inherited from her mother some very extensive vineyards below +Frascati, and these she had brought as dowry to Prada at the very moment +when the building mania was extending from Rome into the provinces. And +thereupon Prada had conceived the idea of erecting on the spot a number +of middle-class villas like those which litter the suburbs of Paris. Few +purchasers, however, had come forward, the financial crash had +supervened, and he was now with difficulty liquidating this unlucky +business, having indemnified his wife at the time of their separation. + +“And then,” he continued, addressing Pierre, “one can come and go as one +likes with a carriage, whereas, on taking the train, one is at the mercy +of the time table. This morning, for instance, I have appointments with +contractors, experts, and lawyers, and I have no notion how long they +will keep me. It’s a wonderful country, isn’t it? And we are quite right +to be proud of it in Rome. Although I may have some worries just now, I +can never set foot here without my heart beating with delight.” + +A circumstance which he did not mention, was that his _amica_, Lisbeth +Kauffmann, had spent the summer in one of the newly erected villas, where +she had installed her studio and had been visited by all the foreign +colony, which tolerated her irregular position on account of her gay +spirits and artistic talent. Indeed, people had even ended by accepting +the outcome of her connection with Prada, and a fortnight previously she +had returned to Rome, and there given birth to a son--an event which had +again revived all the scandalous tittle-tattle respecting Benedetta’s +divorce suit. And Prada’s attachment to Frascati doubtless sprang from +the recollection of the happy hours he had spent there, and the joyful +pride with which the birth of the boy inspired him. + +Pierre, for his part, felt ill at ease in the young Count’s presence, for +he had an instinctive hatred of money-mongers and men of prey. +Nevertheless, he desired to respond to his amiability, and so inquired +after his father, old Orlando, the hero of the Liberation. + +“Oh!” replied Prada, “excepting for his legs he’s in wonderfully good +health. He’ll live a hundred years. Poor father! I should so much have +liked to install him in one of these little houses, last summer. But I +could not get him to consent; he’s determined not to leave Rome; he’s +afraid, perhaps, that it might be taken away from him during his +absence.” Then the young Count burst into a laugh, quite merry at the +thought of jeering at the heroic but no longer fashionable age of +independence. And afterwards he said, “My father was speaking of you +again only yesterday, Monsieur l’Abbé. He is astonished that he has not +seen you lately.” + +This distressed Pierre, for he had begun to regard Orlando with +respectful affection. Since his first visit, he had twice called on the +old hero, but the latter had refused to broach the subject of Rome so +long as his young friend should not have seen, felt, and understood +everything. There would be time for a talk later on, said he, when they +were both in a position to formulate their conclusions. + +“Pray tell Count Orlando,” responded Pierre, “that I have not forgotten +him, and that, if I have deferred a fresh visit, it is because I desire +to satisfy him. However, I certainly will not leave Rome without going to +tell him how deeply his kind greeting has touched me.” + +Whilst talking, the two men slowly followed the ascending road past the +newly erected villas, several of which were not yet finished. And when +Prada learned that the priest had come to call on Cardinal Sanguinetti, +he again laughed, with the laugh of a good-natured wolf, showing his +white fangs. “True,” he exclaimed, “the Cardinal has been here since the +Pope 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 I +left 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 antique +chapel, a little church of solitary, mournful grace of aspect, on the +verge of an olive grove. Beside it stood a ruinous building, the old +parsonage, no doubt, whence there suddenly emerged a tall, knotty priest +with coarse and earthy face, who, after roughly locking the door, went +off in the direction of the town. + +“Ah!” resumed the Count in a tone of raillery, “that fellow’s heart also +must be beating violently; he’s surely gone to your Cardinal in search of +news.” + +Pierre had looked at the priest. “I know him,” he replied; “I saw him, I +remember, on the day after my arrival at Cardinal Boccanera’s. He brought +the Cardinal a basket of figs and asked him for a certificate in favour +of his young brother, who had been sent to prison for some deed of +violence--a knife thrust if I recollect rightly. However, the Cardinal +absolutely refused him the certificate.” + +“It’s the same man,” said Prada, “you may depend on it. He was often at +the Villa Boccanera formerly; for his young brother was gardener there. +But he’s now the client, the creature of Cardinal Sanguinetti. Santobono +his name is, and he’s a curious character, such as you wouldn’t find in +France, I fancy. He lives all alone in that falling hovel, and officiates +at that old chapel of St. Mary in the Fields, where people don’t go to +hear mass three times in a year. Yes, it’s a perfect sinecure, which with +its stipend of a thousand francs enables him to live there like a peasant +philosopher, cultivating the somewhat extensive garden whose big walls +you see yonder.” + +The close to which he called attention stretched down the slope behind +the parsonage, without an aperture, like some savage place of refuge into +which not even the eye could penetrate. And all that could be seen above +the left-hand wall was a superb, gigantic fig-tree, whose big leaves +showed blackly against the clear sky. Prada had moved on again, and +continued to speak of Santobono, who evidently interested him. Fancy, a +patriot priest, a Garibaldian! Born at Nemi, in that yet savage nook +among the Alban hills, he belonged to the people and was still near to +the soil. However, he had studied, and knew sufficient history to realise +the past greatness of Rome, and dream of the re-establishment of Roman +dominion as represented by young Italy. And he had come to believe, with +passionate fervour, that only a great pope could realise his dream by +seizing upon power, and then conquering all the other nations. And what +could be easier, since the Pope commanded millions of Catholics? Did not +half Europe belong to him? France, Spain, and Austria would give way as +soon as they should see him powerful, dictating laws to the world. +Germany and Great Britain, indeed all the Protestant countries, would +also inevitably be conquered, for the papacy was the only dike that could +be opposed to error, which must some day fatally succumb in its efforts +against such a barrier. Politically, however, Santobono had declared +himself for Germany, for he considered that France needed to be crushed +before she would throw herself into the arms of the Holy Father. And thus +contradictions and fancies clashed in his foggy brain, whose burning +ideas swiftly turned to violence under the influence of primitive, racial +fierceness. Briefly, the priest was a barbarian upholder of the Gospel, a +friend of the humble and woeful, a sectarian of that school which is +capable alike of great virtues and great crimes. + +“Yes,” concluded Prada, “he is now devoted to Cardinal Sanguinetti +because he believes that the latter will prove the great pope of +to-morrow, who is to make Rome the one capital of the nations. At the +same time he doubtless harbours a lower personal ambition, that of +attaining to a canonry or of gaining assistance in the little worries of +life, as when he wished to extricate his brother from trouble. Here, you +know, people stake their luck on a cardinal just as they nurse a ‘trey’ +in the lottery, and if their cardinal proves the winning number and +becomes pope they gain a fortune. And that’s why you now see Santobono +striding along yonder, all anxiety to know if Leo XIII will die and +Sanguinetti don the tiara.” + +“Do you think the Pope so very ill, then?” asked Pierre, both anxious and +interested. + +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 believe +that the Pope is this time really indisposed; a complaint of the bowels, +it is said; and at his age, you know, the slightest indisposition may +prove fatal.” + +The two men took a few steps in silence, then the priest again asked a +question: “Would Cardinal Sanguinetti have a great chance if the Holy See +were vacant?” + +“A great chance! Ah! that’s another of those things which one never +knows. The truth is people class Sanguinetti among the acceptable +candidates, and if personal desire sufficed he would certainly be the +next pope, for ambition consumes him to the marrow, and he displays +extraordinary passion and determination in his efforts to succeed. But +therein 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 this +critical time, it is in order that he may the better direct his +operations from a distance, whilst at the same time feigning a retreat, a +disinterestedness 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 become +acquainted with him on his return from the nunciature at Vienna, when he +had already resolved to win the tiara. That ambition explained +everything, his quarrels and reconciliations with the reigning pope, his +affection for Germany, followed by a sudden evolution in the direction of +France, his varying attitude with regard to Italy, at first a desire for +agreement, and then absolute rejection of all compromises, a refusal to +grant any concession, so long as Rome should not be evacuated. This, +indeed, seemed to be Sanguinetti’s definite position; he made a show of +disliking the wavering sway of Leo XIII, and of retaining a fervent +admiration 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, would +again make kindliness exempt from weakness, the rule of the Church, and +would steer clear of the dangerous compounding of politics. At bottom, +however, politics were his only dream, and he had even formulated a +complete programme of intentional vagueness, which his clients and +creatures spread abroad with an air of rapturous mystery. However, since +a previous indisposition of the Pope’s, during the spring, he had been +living in mortal disquietude, for it had then been rumoured that the +Jesuits would resign themselves to support Cardinal Pio Boccanera, +although the latter scarcely favoured them. He was rough and stern, no +doubt, and his extreme bigotry might be a source of danger in this +tolerant age; but, on the other hand, was he not a patrician, and would +not his election imply that the papacy would never cease to claim the +temporal power? From that moment Boccanera had been the one man whom +Sanguinetti feared, for he beheld himself despoiled of his prize, and +spent his time in devising plans to rid himself of such a powerful rival, +repeating abominable stories of Cardinal Pio’s alleged complaisance with +regard to Benedetta and Dario, and incessantly representing him as +Antichrist, the man of sin, whose reign would consummate the ruin of the +papacy. Finally, to regain the support of the Jesuits, Sanguinetti’s last +idea was to repeat through his familiars that for his part he would not +merely maintain the principle of the temporal power intact, but would +even undertake to regain that power. And he had a full plan on the +subject, which folks confided to one another in whispers, a plan which, +in spite of its apparent concessions, would lead to the overwhelming +victory of the Church. It was to raise the prohibition which prevented +Catholics from voting or becoming candidates at the Italian elections; to +send a hundred, then two hundred, and then three hundred deputies to the +Chamber, and in that wise to overthrow the House of Savoy, and establish +a Federation of the Italian provinces, whereof the Holy Father, once more +placed in possession of Rome, would become the august and sovereign +President. + +As Prada finished he again laughed, showing his white teeth--teeth which +would never readily relinquish the prey they held. “So you see,” he +added, “we need to defend ourselves, since it’s a question of turning us +out. Fortunately, there are some little obstacles in the way of that. +Nevertheless, such dreams naturally have great influence on excited +minds, such as that of Santobono, for instance. He’s a man whom one word +from Sanguinetti would lead far indeed. Ah! he has good legs. Look at him +up yonder, he has already reached the Cardinal’s little palace--that +white villa with the sculptured balconies.” + +Pierre raised his eyes and perceived the episcopal residence, which was +one of the first houses of Frascati. Of modern construction and +Renascence style, it overlooked the immensity of the Roman Campagna. + +It was now eleven o’clock, and as the young priest, before going up to +pay his own visit, bade the Count good-bye, the latter for a moment kept +hold of his hand. “Do you know,” said he, “it would be very kind of you +to lunch with me--will you? Come and join me at that restaurant yonder +with the pink front as soon as you are at liberty. I shall have settled +my own business in an hour’s time, and I shall be delighted to have your +company at table.” + +Pierre began by declining, but he could offer no possible excuse, and at +last surrendered, won over, despite himself, by Prada’s real charm of +manner. When they had parted, the young priest only had to climb a street +in order to reach the Cardinal’s door. With his natural expansiveness and +craving for popularity, Sanguinetti was easy of access, and at Frascati +in particular his doors were flung open even to the most humble cassocks. +So Pierre was at once ushered in, a circumstance which somewhat surprised +him, for he remembered the bad humour of the servant whom he had seen on +calling at the Cardinal’s residence in Rome, when he had been advised to +forego the journey, as his Eminence did not like to be disturbed when he +was ill. However, nothing spoke of illness in that pleasant villa, +flooded with sunshine. True, the waiting-room, where he was momentarily +left alone, displayed neither luxury nor comfort; but it was brightened +by the finest light in the world, and overlooked that extraordinary +Campagna, so flat, so bare, and so unique in its beauty, for in front of +it 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-away +whiteness of Rome, above which rose the dome of St. Peter’s, at that +distance a mere sparkling speck, barely as large as the nail of one’s +little finger. + +However, the young man had scarcely taken up this position when he was +surprised to hear some people talking, their words reaching him with +great distinctness. And on leaning forward he realised that his Eminence +in person was standing on another balcony close by, and conversing with a +priest, only a portion of whose cassock could be seen. Still, this +sufficed for Pierre to recognise Santobono. His first impulse, dictated +by natural discretion, was to withdraw from the window, but the words he +next 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 any +confidence. And see, there is the train bringing him back.” + +A train, still as small as a plaything, could in fact be seen approaching +over the vast plain, and doubtless it was to watch for its arrival that +Sanguinetti had stationed himself on the balcony. And there he lingered, +with his eyes fixed on distant Rome. Then Santobono, in a passionate +voice, spoke some words which Pierre imperfectly understood, but the +Cardinal with clear articulation rejoined, “Yes, yes, my dear fellow, a +catastrophe would be a great misfortune. Ah! may his Holiness long be +preserved to us.” Then he paused, and as he was no hypocrite, gave full +expression to the thoughts which were in his mind: “At least, I hope that +he will be preserved just now, for the times are bad, and I am in +frightful anguish. The partisans of Antichrist have lately gained much +ground.” + +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 the +disposal of my friends, those who are willing to believe in me, with the +sole object of ensuring the victory of the Holy See. It is they who ought +to act, it is they--each according to the measure of his means--who ought +to 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 he +suddenly remembered what the Count had told him: Antichrist was Cardinal +Boccanera. + +“Think of that, my dear fellow,” continued Sanguinetti. “Picture +Antichrist at the Vatican, consummating the ruin of religion by his +implacable pride, his iron will, his gloomy passion for nihility; for +there can be no doubt of it, he is the Beast of Death announced by the +prophecies, the Beast who will expose one and all to the danger of being +swallowed up with him in his furious rush into abysmal darkness. I know +him; he only dreams of obstinacy and destruction, he will seize the +pillars of the temple and shake them in order that he may sink beneath +the ruins, he and the whole Catholic world! In less than six months he +will be driven from Rome, at strife with all the nations, execrated by +Italy, and roaming the world like the phantom of the last pope!” + +It was with a low growl, suggestive of a stifled oath, that Santobono +responded to this frightful prediction. But the train had now reached the +station, and among the few passengers who had alighted, Pierre could +distinguish a little Abbé, who was walking so fast that his cassock +flapped against his hips. It was Abbé Eufemio, the Cardinal’s secretary, +and when he had perceived his Eminence on the balcony he lost all +self-respect, and broke into a run, in order that he might the sooner +ascend 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 the +stairs with such rapidity that almost immediately afterwards Pierre saw +him rush breathlessly across the waiting-room, and vanish into the +Cardinal’s sanctum. Sanguinetti had quitted the balcony to meet his +messenger, but soon afterwards he returned to it asking questions, +venting exclamations, raising, in fact, quite a tumult over the news +which 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 be +worse at his age; it might carry him off in a couple of hours. And the +doctors, what do they say?” + +The answer did not reach Pierre, but he understood its purport as the +Cardinal in his naturally loud voice resumed: “Oh! the doctors never +know. 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 more +travelling towards Rome, gazing with ambitious anguish at the dome of St. +Peter’s, that little, sparkling speck above the vast, ruddy plain. What a +commotion, what agitation if the Pope were dead! And he wished that it +had merely been necessary for him to stretch forth his arm in order to +take and hold the Eternal City, the Holy City, which, yonder on the +horizon, occupied no more space than a heap of gravel cast there by a +child’s spade. And he was already dreaming of the coming Conclave, when +the canopy of each other cardinal would fall, and his own, motionless and +sovereign, would crown him with purple. + +“But you are right, my friend!” he suddenly exclaimed, addressing +Santobono, “one must act, the salvation of the Church is at stake. And, +besides, it is impossible that Heaven should not be with us, since our +sole desire is its triumph. If necessary, at the supreme moment, Heaven +will 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 Heaven +is tardy it shall be helped.” + +That was all; the young man heard nothing further save a confused murmur +of voices. The speakers quitted the balcony, and his spell of waiting +began afresh in the sunlit _salon_ so peaceful and delightful in its +brightness. But all at once the door of his Eminence’s private room was +thrown wide open and a servant ushered him in; and he was surprised to +find the Cardinal alone, for he had not witnessed the departure of the +two priests, who had gone off by another door. The Cardinal, with his +highly coloured face, big nose, thick lips, square-set, vigorous figure, +which still looked young despite his sixty years, was standing near a +window in the bright golden light. He had put on the paternal smile with +which he greeted even the humblest from motives of good policy, and as +soon 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 that +unfortunate affair of your book. I am very pleased indeed to be able to +speak with you about it.” + +He himself then took a chair in front of that window overlooking Rome +whence he seemed unable to drag himself. And the young priest, whilst +apologising for coming to disturb his rest, perceived that he scarcely +listened, for his eyes again sought the prey which he so ardently +coveted. Yet the semblance of good-natured attention was perfect, and +Pierre marvelled at the force of will which this man must possess to +appear so calm, so interested in the affairs of others, when such a +tempest was raging in him. + +“Your Eminence will, I hope, kindly forgive me,” continued the young +priest. + +“But you have done right to come, since I am kept here by my failing +health,” said the Cardinal. “Besides, I am somewhat better, and it is +only natural that you should wish to give me some explanations and defend +your work and enlighten my judgment. In fact, I was astonished at not yet +having seen you, for I know that your faith in your cause is great and +that you spare no steps to convert your judges. So speak, my dear son, I +am listening and shall be pleased indeed if I can absolve you.” + +Pierre was caught by these kind words, and a hope returned to him, that +of winning the support of the all-powerful Prefect of the Index. He +already regarded this ex-nuncio--who at Brussels and Vienna had acquired +the worldly art of sending people away satisfied with indefinite promises +though he meant to grant them nothing--as a man of rare intelligence and +exquisite cordiality. And so once more he regained the fervour of his +apostolate to express his views respecting the future Rome, the Rome he +dreamt of, which was destined yet again to become the mistress of the +world if she would return to the Christianity of Jesus, to an ardent love +for 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 must +agree with you.” And then, said he, the poetic side deeply touched him. +Like Leo XIII--and doubtless in a spirit of rivalry--he courted the +reputation of being a very distinguished Latinist, and professed a +special and boundless affection for Virgil. “I know, I know,” he +exclaimed, “I remember your page on the return of spring, which consoles +the poor whom winter has frozen. Oh! I read it three times over! And are +you aware that your writing is full of Latin turns of style. I noticed +more than fifty expressions which could be found in the ‘Bucolics.’ Your +book is a charm, a perfect charm!” + +As he was no fool, and realised that the little priest before him was a +man of high intelligence, he ended by interesting himself, not in Pierre +personally, but in the profit which he might possibly derive from him. +Amidst his feverish intrigues, he unceasingly sought to utilise all the +qualities possessed by those whom God sent to him that might in any way +be conducive to his own triumph. So, for a moment, he turned away from +Rome and looked his companion in the face, listening to him and asking +himself in what way he might employ him--either at once in the crisis +through which he was passing, or later on when he should be pope. But the +young priest again made the mistake of attacking the temporal power, and +of employing that unfortunate expression, “a new religion.” Thereupon the +Cardinal stopped him with a gesture, still smiling, still retaining all +his amiability, although the resolution which he had long since formed +became from that moment definitive. “You are certainly in the right on +many points, my dear son,” he said, “and I often share your views--share +them completely. But come, you are doubtless not aware that I am the +protector of Lourdes here at Rome. And so, after the page which you have +written about the Grotto, how can I possibly pronounce in your favour and +against the Fathers?” + +Pierre was utterly overcome by this announcement, for he was indeed +unaware of the Cardinal’s position with respect to Lourdes, nobody having +taken the precaution to warn him. However, each of the Catholic +enterprises distributed throughout the world has a protector at Rome, a +cardinal 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 have +caused them great grief, and really our hands are tied, we cannot add to +their sorrow. If you only knew what a number of masses they send us! I +know more than one of our poor priests who would die of hunger if it were +not for them.” + +Pierre could only bow beneath the blow. Once more he found himself in +presence of the pecuniary question, the necessity in which the Holy See +is placed to secure the revenue it requires one year with another. And +thus the Pope was ever in servitude, for if the loss of Rome had freed +him of the cares of state, his enforced gratitude for the alms he +received still riveted him to earth. So great, indeed, were the +requirements, that money was the ruler, the sovereign power, before which +all 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 I +promise you that I will take into account the excellent explanations +which you have just given me. And who can tell? If God be with you, He +will save you even in spite of all!” This speech formed part of the +Cardinal’s usual tactics; for one of his principles was never to drive +people to extremes by sending them away hopeless. What good, indeed, +would it do to tell this one that the condemnation of his book was a +foregone conclusion, and that his only prudent course would be to disavow +it? Only a savage like Boccanera breathed anger upon fiery souls and +plunged them into rebellion. “You must hope, hope!” repeated Sanguinetti +with a smile, as if implying a multitude of fortunate things which he +could not plainly express. + +Thereupon Pierre, who was deeply touched, felt born anew. He even forgot +the conversation he had surprised, the Cardinal’s keen ambition and +covert rage with his redoubtable rival. Besides, might not intelligence +take the place of heart among the powerful? If this man should some day +become pope, and had understood him, might he not prove the pope who was +awaited, the pope who would accept the task of reorganising the Church of +the United States of Europe, and making it the spiritual sovereign of the +world? 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, in +the splendour of the autumn sun. + +It was nearly one o’clock when Pierre and Count Prada were at last able +to sit down to _déjeuner_ in the little restaurant where they had agreed +to meet. They had both been delayed by their affairs. However, the Count, +having settled some worrying matters to his own advantage, was very +lively, whilst the priest on his side was again hopeful, and yielded to +the delightful charm of that last fine day. And so the meal proved a very +pleasant one in the large, bright room, which, as usual at that season of +the year, was quite deserted. Pink and blue predominated in the +decoration, but Cupids fluttered on the ceiling, and landscapes, vaguely +recalling the Roman castles, adorned the walls. The things they ate were +fresh, and they drank the wine of Frascati, to which the soil imparts a +kind of burnt flavour as if the old volcanoes of the region had left some +little of their fire behind. + +For a long while the conversation ranged over those wild and graceful +Alban hills, which, fortunately for the pleasure of the eye, overlook the +flat Roman Campagna. Pierre, who had made the customary carriage +excursion from Frascati to Nemi, still felt its charm and spoke of it in +glowing language. First came the lovely road from Frascati to Albano, +ascending and descending hillsides planted with reeds, vines, and +olive-trees, amongst which one obtained frequent glimpses of the +Campagna’s wavy immensity. On the right-hand the village of Rocca di Papa +arose in amphitheatrical fashion, showing whitely on a knoll below Monte +Cavo, which was crowned by lofty and ancient trees. And from this point +of the road, on looking back towards Frascati, one saw high up, on the +verge of a pine wood the ruins of Tusculum, large ruddy ruins, baked by +centuries of sunshine, and whence the boundless panorama must have been +superb. Next one passed through Marino, with its sloping streets, its +large cathedral, and its black decaying palace belonging to the Colonnas. +Then, beyond a wood of ilex-trees, the lake of Albano was skirted with +scenery which has no parallel in the world. In front, beyond the clear +mirror of motionless water, were the ruins of Alba Longa; on the left +rose Monte Cavo with Rocca di Papa and Palazzuolo; whilst on the right +Castel Gandolfo overlooked the lake as from the summit of a cliff. Down +below in the extinct crater, as in the depths of a gigantic cup of +verdure, the lake slept heavy and lifeless: a sheet of molten metal, +which the sun on one side streaked with gold, whilst the other was black +with 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 the +sea. 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 loved +to spend hours of indolence, and whither Leo XIII has never come. And +next the road dipped down, and the ilex-trees appeared again, ilex-trees +famous for their size, a double row of monsters with twisted limbs, two +and three hundred years old. Then one at last reached Albano, a small +town less modernised and less cleansed than Frascati, a patch of the old +land which has retained some of its ancient wildness; and afterwards +there was Ariccia with the Palazzo Chigi, and hills covered with forests +and viaducts spanning ravines which overflowed with foliage; and there +was yet Genzano, and yet Nemi, growing still wilder and more remote, lost +in the midst of rocks and trees. + +Ah! how ineffaceable was the recollection which Pierre had retained of +Nemi, Nemi on the shore of its lake, Nemi so delicious and fascinating +from afar, conjuring up all the ancient legends of fairy towns springing +from amidst the greenery of mysterious waters, but so repulsively filthy +when one at last reaches it, crumbling on all sides but yet dominated by +the Orsini tower, as by the evil genius of the middle ages, which there +seems to perpetuate the ferocious habits, the violent passions, the knife +thrusts 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 round +like an extinguished moon fallen into the depths of a former crater, a +deeper and less open cup than that of the lake of Albano, a cup rimmed +with trees of wondrous vigour and density! Pines, elms, and willows +descend to the very margin, with a green mass of tangled branches which +weigh each other down. This formidable fecundity springs from the vapour +which constantly arises from the water under the parching action of the +sun, whose rays accumulate in this hollow till it becomes like a furnace. +There is a warm, heavy dampness, the paths of the adjacent gardens grow +green with moss, and in the morning dense mists often fill the large cup +with white vapour, as with the steaming milk of some sorceress of +malevolent craft. And Pierre well remembered how uncomfortable he had +felt before that lake where ancient atrocities, a mysterious religion +with abominable rites, seemed to slumber amidst the superb scenery. He +had seen it at the approach of evening, looking, in the shade of its +forest girdle, like a plate of dull metal, black and silver, motionless +by reason of its weight. And that water, clear and yet so deep, that +water deserted, without a bark upon its surface, that water august, +lifeless, and sepulchral, had left him a feeling of inexpressible +sadness, of mortal melancholy, the hopelessness of great solitary +passion, earth and water alike swollen by the mute spasms of germs, +troublous in their fecundity. Ah! those black and plunging banks, and +that 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 I +have seen the lake looking like lead, and even the full sunshine scarcely +animates it. For my part, I know I should die of _ennui_ if I had to live +face to face with that bare water. But it is admired by poets and +romantic women, those who adore great tragedies of passion.” + +Then, as he and Pierre rose from the table to go and take coffee on the +terrace of the restaurant, the conversation changed: “Do you mean to +attend Prince Buongiovanni’s reception this evening?” the Count inquired. +“It will be a curious sight, especially for a foreigner, and I advise you +not to miss it.” + +“Yes, I have an invitation,” Pierre replied. “A friend of mine, Monsieur +Narcisse Habert, an _attaché_ at our embassy, procured it for me, and I +am going with him.” + +That evening, indeed, there was to be a _fête_ at the Palazzo +Buongiovanni on the Corso, one of the few galas that take place in Rome +each winter. People said that this one would surpass all others in +magnificence, for it was to be given in honour of the betrothal of little +Princess Celia. The Prince, her father, after boxing her ears, it was +rumoured, and narrowly escaping an attack of apoplexy as the result of a +frightful fit of anger, had, all at once, yielded to her quiet, gentle +stubbornness, and consented to her marriage with Lieutenant Attilio, the +son of Minister Sacco. And all the drawing-rooms of Rome, those of the +white world quite as much as those of the black, were thoroughly upset by +the tidings. + +Count Prada made merry over the affair. “Ah! you’ll see a fine sight!” he +exclaimed. “Personally, I’m delighted with it all for the sake of my good +cousin Attilio, who is really a very nice and worthy fellow. And nothing +in the world would keep me from going to see my dear uncle Sacco make his +entry into the ancient _salons_ of the Buongiovanni. It will be something +extraordinary and superb. He has at last become Minister of Agriculture, +you know. My father, who always takes things so seriously, told me this +morning that the affair so worried him he hadn’t closed his eyes all +night.” + +The Count paused, but almost immediately added: “I say, it is half-past +two and you won’t have a train before five o’clock. Do you know what you +ought 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 dine +with 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 and +reach Rome before five o’clock. There can’t be a more pleasant promenade +when the light falls; and, come, I promise you a splendid sunset.” + +He was so pressing that the young priest had to accept, quite subjugated +by so much amiability and good humour. They spent another half-hour very +pleasantly 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 a +contractor, and just as three o’clock was striking they started off, +seated side by side on the soft cushions and gently rocked by the motion +of the victoria as the two horses broke into a light trot. As Prada had +predicted, that return to Rome across the bare Campagna under the vast +limpid heavens at the close of such a mild autumn day proved most +delightful. First of all, however, the victoria had to descend the slopes +of Frascati between vineyards and olive-trees. The paved road snaked, and +was but little frequented; they merely saw a few peasants in old felt +hats, a white mule, and a cart drawn by a donkey, for it is only upon +Sundays that the _osterie_ or wine-shops are filled and that artisans in +easy circumstances come to eat a dish of kid at the surrounding +_bastides_. However, at one turn of the road they passed a monumental +fountain. Then a flock of sheep momentarily barred the way before +defiling past. And beyond the gentle undulations of the ruddy Campagna +Rome appeared amidst the violet vapours of evening, sinking by degrees as +the carriage itself descended to a lower and lower level. There came a +moment when the city was a mere thin grey streak, speckled whitely here +and there by a few sunlit house-fronts. And then it seemed to plunge +below the ground--to be submerged by the swell of the far-spreading +fields. + +The victoria was now rolling over the plain, leaving the Alban hills +behind, whilst before it and on either hand came the expanse of meadows +and 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 he +walks! 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 a +bill-hook. Robed in a long black cassock, he showed like a vigorous +splotch of ink amidst the bright sunshine streaming around him; and he +was walking on at such a fast, stern, regular pace that he suggested +Destiny 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 to +slacken speed, and then entered into conversation. + +“Good-day, Abbé; 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’t +frighten 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, Abbé, you had better get in here; there’s +room 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’s +shoe leather.” + +Then he got in and installed himself on the bracket-seat, declining with +abrupt humility the place which Pierre politely offered him beside the +Count. The young priest and the latter now saw that the object he was +carrying was a little basket of fresh figs, nicely arranged and covered +with leaves. + +The horses set off again at a faster trot, and the carriage rolled on and +on over the superb, flat plain. “So you are going to Rome?” the Count +resumed in order to make Santobono talk. + +“Yes,” the other replied, “I am taking his Eminence Cardinal Boccanera +these few figs, the last of the season: a little present which I had +promised him.” He had placed the basket on his knees and was holding it +between 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 quite +true, they are like honey. But why don’t you rid yourself of them. You +surely don’t mean to keep them on your knees all the way to Rome. Give +them to me, I’ll put them in the hood.” + +However, Santobono became quite agitated, and vigorously declined the +offer. “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 accident +will 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 he +spent the summer at the villa, he would never touch the figs from other +trees. And so, you see, knowing his tastes, it costs me very little to +gratify him.” + +Whilst making this reply Santobono had shot such a keen glance in the +direction of Pierre that the Count felt it necessary to introduce them to +one another. This he did saying: “As it happens, Monsieur l’Abbé Froment +is stopping at the Palazzo Boccanera; he has been there for three months +or so.” + +“Yes, I’m aware of it,” Santobono quietly replied; “I found Monsieur +l’Abbé 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 the +little basket a complacent glance, and seemed to press it yet more +closely between his huge and hairy fingers. + +Then came a spell of silence, whilst on either hand the Campagna spread +out 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 expanse +whose sparse, short herbage was, with the approach of winter, beginning +to turn green once more. A tower, a half-fallen ruin which came into +sight 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 were +seen 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 final +look round for the night. Now and again the road became peopled. A +_biroccino_, an extremely light vehicle with two huge wheels and a small +seat perched upon the springs, whisked by like a gust of wind. From time +to time also the victoria passed a _carrotino_, one of the low carts in +which peasants, sheltered by a kind of bright-hued tent, bring the wine, +vegetables, and fruit of the castle-lands to Rome. The shrill tinkling of +horses’ bells was heard afar off as the animals followed the well-known +road of their own accord, their peasant drivers usually being sound +asleep. Women with bare, black hair, scarlet neckerchiefs, and skirts +caught up, were seen going home in groups of three and four. And then the +road again emptied, and the solitude became more and more complete, +without a wayfarer or an animal appearing for miles and miles, whilst +yonder, at the far end of the lifeless sea, so grandiose and mournful in +its monotony, the sun continued to descend from the infinite vault of +heaven. + +“And the Pope, Abbé, 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 of +the 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 been +seen, then? In his haste he had failed to notice the two men following +the road behind him. However, he at once regained self-possession, and +replied: “Oh! one can never tell exactly whether news is good or bad. It +seems that his Holiness passed a somewhat painful night, but I devoutly +hope that the next will be a better one.” Then he seemed to meditate for +a moment, and added: “Moreover, if God should have deemed it time to call +his Holiness to Himself, He would not leave His flock without a shepherd. +He would have already chosen and designated the Sovereign Pontiff of +to-morrow.” + +This superb answer increased Prada’s gaiety. “You are really +extraordinary, Abbé,” he said. “So you think that popes are solely +created by the grace of the Divinity! The pope of to-morrow is chosen up +in heaven, eh, and simply waits? Well, I fancied that men had something +to do with the matter. But perhaps you already know which cardinal it is +that the divine favour has thus elected in advance?” + +Then, like the unbeliever he was, he went on with his facile jests, which +left the priest unruffled. In fact, the latter also ended by laughing +when the Count, after alluding to the gambling passion which at each +fresh Conclave sets wellnigh the whole population of Rome betting for or +against this or that candidate, told him that he might easily make his +fortune if he were in the divine secret. Next the talk turned on the +three white cassocks of different sizes which are always kept in +readiness in a cupboard at the Vatican. Which of them would be required +on this occasion?--the short one, the long one, or the one of medium +size? Each time that the reigning pope falls somewhat seriously ill there +is in this wise an extraordinary outburst of emotion, a keen awakening of +all ambitions and intrigues, to such a point that not merely in the black +world, but throughout the city, people have no other subject of +curiosity, conversation, and occupation than that of discussing the +relative claims of the cardinals and predicting which of them will be +elected. + +“Come, come,” Prada resumed, “since you know the truth, I’m determined +that you shall tell me. Will it be Cardinal Moretta?” + +Santobono, in spite of his evident desire to remain dignified and +disinterested, like a good, pious priest, was gradually growing +impassioned, yielding to the hidden fire which consumed him. And this +interrogatory finished him off; he could no longer restrain himself, but +replied: “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 for +everything and getting nothing.” + +“Will it be Cardinal Dozio, then?” + +“Dozio, Dozio! Why, if Dozio were to win one might altogether despair of +our Holy Church, for no man can have a baser mind than he!” + +Prada raised his hands, as if he had exhausted the serious candidates. In +order to increase the priest’s exasperation he maliciously refrained from +naming Cardinal Sanguinetti, who was certainly Santobono’s nominee. All +at 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 his +rancour and his patriotic faith. His terrible mouth was already opening, +and he was about to shout “No! no!” with all his strength, but he managed +to restrain the cry, compelled as he was to silence by the present on his +knees--that little basket of figs which he pressed so convulsively with +both hands; and the effort which he was obliged to make left him +quivering to such a point that he had to wait some time before he could +reply in a calm voice: “His most reverend Eminence Cardinal Boccanera is +a saintly man, well worthy of the throne, and my only fear is that, with +his 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 of +success. And I really think that we have arrived at the truth, for +everybody is convinced that the Conclave’s choice cannot fall elsewhere. +Come, come; Boccanera is a very tall man, so it’s the long white cassock +which 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 his +sentence unfinished. Pierre, listening in silence, marvelled at the man’s +self-restraint, for he remembered the conversation which he had overheard +at Cardinal Sanguinetti’s. Those figs were evidently a mere pretext for +gaining admission to the Boccanera mansion, where some friend--Abbé +Paparelli, no doubt--could alone supply certain positive information +which was needed. But how great was the command which the hot-blooded +priest exercised over himself amidst the riotous impulses of his soul! + +On either side of the road the Campagna still and ever spread its expanse +of verdure, and Prada, who had become grave and dreamy, gazed before him +without seeing anything. At last, however, he gave expression to his +thoughts. “You know, Abbé, what will be said if the Pope should die this +time. That sudden illness, those colics, those refusals to make any +information public, mean nothing good--Yes, yes, poison, just as for the +others!” + +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 the +Borgias, as on the stage in a romanticist melodrama! To him the idea +appeared both monstrous and ridiculous. + +Santobono, whose features had become motionless and impenetrable, made no +reply. But Prada nodded, and the conversation was henceforth confined to +him and the young priest. “Why, yes, poison,” he replied. “The fear of it +has remained very great in Rome. Whenever a death seems inexplicable, +either by reason of its suddenness or the tragic circumstances which +attend it, the unanimous thought is poison. And remark this: in no city, +I believe, are sudden deaths so frequent. The causes I don’t exactly +know, but some doctors put everything down to the fevers. Among the +people, however, the one thought is poison, poison with all its legends, +poison which kills like lightning and leaves no trace, the famous recipe +bequeathed from age to age, through the emperors and the popes, down to +these present times of middle-class democracy.” + +As he spoke he ended by smiling, for he was inclined to be somewhat +sceptical on the point, despite the covert terror with which he was +inspired by racial and educational causes. However, he quoted instances. +The Roman matrons had rid themselves of their husbands and lovers by +employing the venom of red toads. Locusta, in a more practical spirit, +sought poison in plants, one of which, probably aconite, she was wont to +boil. Then, long afterwards, came the age of the Borgias, and +subsequently, at Naples, La Toffana sold a famous water, doubtless some +preparation of arsenic, in phials decorated with a representation of St. +Nicholas of Bari. There were also extraordinary stories of pins, a prick +from which killed one like lightning, of cups of wine poisoned by the +infusion 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 that +half was killed. “I myself, in my younger days,” continued Prada, “had a +friend whose bride fell dead in church during the marriage service +through simply inhaling a bouquet of flowers. And so isn’t it possible +that the famous recipe may really have been handed down, and have +remained known to a few adepts?” + +“But chemistry has made too much progress,” Pierre replied. “If +mysterious poisons were believed in by the ancients and remained +undetected 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 employ +it straight to the Assizes. Such stories are mere nonsense, and at the +present day people scarcely tolerate them in newspaper serials and +shockers.” + +“Perhaps so,” resumed the Count with his uneasy smile. “You are right, no +doubt--only go and tell that to your host, for instance, Cardinal +Boccanera, who last summer held in his arms an old and deeply-loved +friend, Monsignor Gallo, who died after a seizure of a couple of hours.” + +“But apoplexy may kill one in two hours, and aneurism only takes two +minutes.” + +“True, but ask the Cardinal what he thought of his friend’s prolonged +shudders, the leaden hue which overcame his face, the sinking of his +eyes, and the expression of terror which made him quite unrecognisable. +The Cardinal is convinced that Monsignor Gallo was poisoned, because he +was his dearest confidant, the counsellor to whom he always listened, and +whose wise advice was a guarantee of success.” + +Pierre’s bewilderment was increasing, and, irritated by the impassibility +of Santobono, he addressed him direct. “It’s idiotic, it’s awful! Does +your reverence also believe in these frightful stories?” + +But the priest of Frascati gave no sign. His thick, passionate lips +remained closed while his black glowing eyes never ceased to gaze at +Prada. The latter, moreover, was quoting other instances. There was the +case of Monsignor Nazzarelli, who had been found in bed, shrunken and +calcined like carbon. And there was that of Monsignor Brando, struck down +in 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 myself +shall end by trembling, and sha’n’t dare to eat anything but boiled eggs +as 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 a +terrible aspect, for it conjured up the Eternal City of Crime, the city +of poison and the knife, where for more than two thousand years, ever +since the raising of the first bit of wall, the lust of power, the +frantic hunger for possession and enjoyment, had armed men’s hands, +ensanguined the pavements, and cast victims into the river and the +ground. Assassinations and poisonings under the emperors, poisonings and +assassinations under the popes, ever did the same torrent of abominations +strew that tragic soil with death amidst the sovereign glory of the sun. + +“All the same,” said the Count, “those who take precautions are perhaps +not ill advised. It is said that more than one cardinal shudders and +mistrusts people. One whom I know will never eat anything that has not +been bought and prepared by his own cook. And as for the Pope, if he is +anxious--” + +Pierre again raised a cry of stupefaction. “What, the Pope himself! The +Pope afraid of being poisoned!” + +“Well, my dear Abbé, people commonly assert it. There are certainly days +when he considers himself more menaced than anybody else. And are you not +aware of the old Roman view that a pope ought never to live till too +great an age, and that when he is so obstinate as not to die at the right +time he ought to be assisted? As soon as a pope begins to fall into +second childhood, and by reason of his senility becomes a source of +embarrassment, and possibly even danger, to the Church, his right place +is heaven. Moreover, matters are managed in a discreet manner; a slight +cold becomes a decent pretext to prevent him from tarrying any longer on +the throne of St. Peter.” + +Prada then gave some curious details. One prelate, it was said, wishing +to dispel his Holiness’s fears, had devised an elaborate precautionary +system which, among other things, was to comprise a little padlocked +vehicle, in which the food destined for the frugal pontifical table was +to be securely placed before leaving the kitchen, so that it might not be +tampered with on its way to the Pope’s apartments. However, this project +had not yet been carried into effect. + +“After all,” the Count concluded with a laugh, “every pope has to die +some day, especially when his death is needful for the welfare of the +Church. Isn’t that so, Abbé?” + +Santobono, whom he addressed, had a moment previously lowered his eyes as +if to contemplate the little basket of figs which he held on his lap with +as much care as if it had been the Blessed Sacrament. On being questioned +in such a direct, sharp fashion he could not do otherwise than look up. +However, he did not depart from his prolonged silence, but limited his +answer to a slow nod. + +“And it is God alone, and not poison, who causes one to die. Is that not +so, Abbé?” repeated Prada. “It is said that those were the last words of +poor Monsignor Gallo before he expired in the arms of his friend Cardinal +Boccanera.” + +For the second time Santobono nodded without speaking. And then silence +fell, all three sinking into a dreamy mood. + +Meantime, without a pause, the carriage rolled on across the immensity of +the Campagna. The road, straight as an arrow, seemed to extend into the +infinite. As the sun descended towards the horizon the play of light and +shade became more marked on the broad undulations of the ground which +stretched away, alternately of a pinky green and a violet grey, till they +reached the distant fringe of the sky. At the roadside on either hand +there were still and ever tall withered thistles and giant fennel with +yellow umbels. Then, after a time, came a team of four oxen, that had +been kept ploughing until late, and stood forth black and huge in the +pale atmosphere and mournful solitude. Farther on some flocks of sheep, +whence the breeze wafted a tallowy odour, set patches of brown amidst the +herbage, which once more was becoming verdant; whilst at intervals a dog +was heard to bark, his voice the only distinct sound amidst the low +quivering of that silent desert where the sovereign peacefulness of death +seemed to reign. But all at once a light melody arose and some larks flew +up, one of them soaring into the limpid golden heavens. And ahead, at the +far extremity of the pure sky, Rome, with her towers and domes, grew +larger and larger, like a city of white marble springing from a mirage +amidst 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 I +can 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 the +road stood a primitive sort of inn, bearing the proud and sonorous name +of “Antica Osteria Romana.” It had now become a mere house of call for +carters and chance sportsmen, who ventured to drink a flagon of white +wine whilst eating an omelet and a slice of ham. Occasionally, on +Sundays, some of the humble classes would walk over from Rome and make +merry there; but the week days often went by without a soul entering the +place, such was its isolation amidst the bare Campagna. + +The Count was already springing from the carriage. “I shall only be a +minute,” said he as he turned away. + +The _osteria_ was a long, low pile with a ground floor and one upper +storey, the last being reached by an outdoor stairway built of large +blocks of stone which had been scorched by the hot suns. The entire +place, indeed, was corroded, tinged with the hue of old gold. On the +ground floor one found a common room, a cart-house, and a stable with +adjoining sheds. At one side, near a cluster of parasol pines--the only +trees that could grow in that ungrateful soil--there was an arbour of +reeds where five or six rough wooden tables were set out. And, as a +background to this sorry, mournful nook of life, there arose a fragment +of 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, addressing +Santobono, exclaimed: “I say, Abbé, you’ll surely accept a glass of white +wine. I know that you are a bit of a vine grower, and they have a little +white wine here which you ought to make acquaintance with.” + +Santobono again required no pressing, but quietly alighted. “Oh! I know +it,” said he; “it’s a wine from Marino; it’s grown in a lighter soil than +ours at Frascati.” + +Then, as he would not relax his hold on his basket of figs, but even now +carried it along with him, the Count lost patience. “Come, you don’t want +that basket,” said he; “leave it in the carriage.” + +The priest gave no reply, but walked ahead, whilst Pierre also made up +his 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, had +at once presented herself. On the last occasion when the Count had called +she had managed to find half a dozen eggs. This time she said she would +go to see, but could promise nothing, for the hens laid here and there +all 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 of +innumerable flies immediately one reached the threshold, and a pungent +odour of acidulous wine and rancid oil caught one at the throat. As soon +as their eyes became accustomed to the dimness they were able to +distinguish the spacious, blackened, malodorous chamber, whose only +furniture consisted of some roughly made tables and benches. It seemed to +be quite empty, so complete was the silence, apart from the buzz of the +flies. However, two men were seated there, two wayfarers who remained +mute and motionless before their untouched, brimming glasses. Moreover, +on a low chair near the door, in the little light which penetrated from +without, 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 that +they 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 mended +a wheel in an adjacent shed, the daughter was obliged to get up shivering +to carry the flagon of wine and the three glasses to the arbour, where +she placed them on one of the tables. And, having pocketed the price of +the wine--threepence--in silence, she went back to her seat with a sullen +look, 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 the +glasses, although Pierre declared that he was quite unable to drink wine +between his meals. “Pooh, pooh,” said the Count, “you can always clink +glasses with us. And now, Abbé, 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. With +gentle, paternal care he had deposited his basket on the ground beside +him: and, taking off his hat, he drew a long breath. The evening was +really delightful. A superb sky of a soft golden hue stretched over that +endless sea of the Campagna which was soon to fall asleep with sovereign +quiescence. And the light breeze which went by amidst the deep silence +brought 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 second +time, made no reply; he was silently amusing himself with an occurrence +which at first he was the only one to observe. However, with a merry +expression of complicity, he gave the young priest a wink, and then they +both watched the dramatic incidents of the affair. Some scraggy fowls +were wandering round them searching the yellow turf for grasshoppers; and +one of these birds, a little shiny black hen with an impudent manner, had +caught sight of the basket of figs and was boldly approaching it. When +she got near, however, she took fright, and retreated somewhat, with neck +stiffened and head turned, so as to cast suspicious glances at the basket +with her round sparkling eye. But at last covetousness gained the +victory, for she could see one of the figs between the leaves, and so she +slowly advanced, lifting her feet very high at each step; and, all at +once, stretching out her neck, she gave the fig a formidable peck, which +ripped it open and made the juice exude. + +Prada, who felt as happy as a child, was then able to give vent to the +laughter which he had scarcely been able to restrain: “Look out, Abbé,” + he called, “mind your figs!” + +At that very moment Santobono was finishing his second glass of wine with +his head thrown back and his eyes blissfully raised to heaven. He gave a +start, looked round, and on seeing the hen at once understood the +position. And then came a terrible outburst of anger, with sweeping +gestures 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 as +well, laughed till tears came into their eyes, their merriment increasing +at sight of the impotent fury of Santobono, who, for a moment, pursued +the thief, threatening her with his fist. + +“Ah!” said the Count, “that’s what comes of not leaving the basket in the +carriage. If I hadn’t warned you the hen would have eaten all the figs.” + +The priest did not reply, but, growling out vague imprecations, placed +the basket on the table, where he raised the leaves and artistically +rearranged the fruit so as to fill up the void. Then, the harm having +been 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 sinking +towards the horizon, and night would soon fall. Thus the Count ended by +getting impatient. “Well, and those eggs?” he called. + +Then, as the woman did not return, he went to seek her. He entered the +stable, and afterwards the cart-house, but she was neither here nor +there. Next he went towards the rear of the _osteria_ in order to look in +the sheds. But all at once an unexpected spectacle made him stop short. +The little black hen was lying on the ground, dead, killed as by +lightning. She showed no sign of hurt; there was nothing but a little +streamlet of violet blood still trickling from her beak. Prada was at +first merely astonished. He stooped and touched the hen. She was still +warm and soft like a rag. Doubtless some apoplectic stroke had killed +her. But immediately afterwards he became fearfully pale; the truth +appeared to him, and turned him as cold as ice. In a moment he conjured +up everything: Leo XIII attacked by illness, Santobono hurrying to +Cardinal Sanguinetti for tidings, and then starting for Rome to present a +basket of figs to Cardinal Boccanera. And Prada also remembered the +conversation in the carriage: the possibility of the Pope’s demise, the +candidates for the tiara, the legendary stories of poison which still +fostered terror in and around the Vatican; and he once more saw the +priest, with his little basket on his knees, lavishing paternal attention +on it, and he saw the little black hen pecking at the fruit and fleeing +with a fig on her beak. And now that little black hen lay there, suddenly +struck down, dead! + +His conviction was immediate and absolute. But he did not have time to +decide 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 the +carriage alone, had in his turn come round to the rear of the house in +order to obtain a better view of the ruined aqueduct among the parasol +pines. + +Prada, who shuddered as if he himself were the culprit, answered him with +a lie, a lie which he did not premeditate, but to which he was impelled +by 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, which +you see yonder, sprang upon this one to get the fig, which she was still +holding, and with a thrust of the beak split her head open.... The +blood’s flowing, as you can see yourself.” + +Why did he say these things? He himself was astonished at them whilst he +went on inventing them. Was it then that he wished to remain master of +the situation, keep the abominable secret entirely to himself, in order +that he might afterwards act in accordance with his own desires? +Certainly his feelings partook of shame and embarrassment in presence of +that foreigner, whilst his personal inclination for violence set some +admiration amidst the revolt of his conscience, and a covert desire arose +within him to examine the matter from the standpoint of his interests +before he came to a decision. But, on the other hand, he claimed to be a +man of integrity, and would assuredly not allow people to be poisoned. + +Pierre, who was compassionately inclined towards all creation, looked at +the hen with the emotion which he always felt at the sudden severance of +life. However, he at once accepted Prada’s story. “Ah! those fowls!” said +he. “They treat one another with an idiotic ferocity which even men can +scarcely equal. I kept fowls at home at one time, and one of the hens no +sooner 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 the +bone.” + +Prada, however, did not listen, but at once went off; and it so happened +that the woman was, on her side, looking for him in order to hand him +four eggs which, after a deal of searching, she had discovered in odd +corners about the house. The Count made haste to pay for them, and called +to Pierre, who was lingering behind: “We must look sharp! We sha’n’t +reach Rome now until it is quite dark.” + +They found Santobono quietly waiting in the carriage, where he had again +installed himself on the bracket with his spine resting against the +box-seat and his long legs drawn back under him, and he again had the +little basket of figs on his knees, and clasped it with his big knotty +hands as though it were something fragile and rare which the slightest +jolting might damage. His cassock showed like a huge blot, and in his +coarse ashen face, that of a peasant yet near to the wild soil and but +slightly polished by a few years of theological studies, his eyes alone +seemed to live, glowing with the dark flame of a devouring passion. On +seeing him seated there in such composure Prada could not restrain a +slight shudder. Then, as soon as the victoria was again rolling along the +road, he exclaimed: “Well, Abbé, that glass of wine will guarantee us +against the malaria. The Pope would soon be cured if he could imitate our +example.” + +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 slowly +falling. And Prada in his turn ceased to speak, and, with his eyes still +fixed upon the other, reflected on the course that he should follow. + +The road turned, and then the carriage rolled on and on over another +interminable straight highway with white paving, whose brilliancy made +the road look like a ribbon of snow stretching across the Campagna, where +delicate shadows were slowly falling. Gloom gathered in the hollows of +the broad undulations whence a tide of violet hue seemed to spread over +the short herbage until all mingled and the expanse became an indistinct +swell of neutral hue from one to the other horizon. And the solitude was +now yet more complete; a last indolent cart had gone by and a last +tinkling of horses’ bells had subsided in the distance. There was no +longer a passer-by, no longer a beast of the fields to be seen, colour +and sound died away, all forms of life sank into slumber, into the serene +stillness of nihility. Some fragments of an aqueduct were still to be +seen at intervals on the right hand, where they looked like portions of +gigantic millepeds severed by the scythe of time; next, on the left, came +another tower, whose dark and ruined pile barred the sky as with a huge +black stake; and then the remains of another aqueduct spanned the road, +assuming yet greater dimensions against the sunset glow. Ah! that unique +hour, the hour of twilight in the Campagna, when all is blotted out and +simplified, the hour of bare immensity, of the infinite in its simplest +expression! There is nothing, nothing all around you, but the flat line +of the horizon with the one splotch of an isolated tower, and yet that +nothing is instinct with sovereign majesty. + +However, on the left, towards the sea, the sun was setting, descending in +the limpid sky like a globe of fire of blinding redness. It slowly +plunged beneath the horizon, and the only sign of cloud was some fiery +vapour, as if indeed the distant sea had seethed at contact with that +royal and flaming visit. And directly the sun had disappeared the heavens +above it purpled and became a lake of blood, whilst the Campagna turned +to grey. At the far end of the fading plain there remained only that +purple lake whose brasier slowly died out behind the black arches of the +aqueduct, while in the opposite direction the scattered arches remained +bright and rosy against a pewter-like sky. Then the fiery vapour was +dissipated, and the sunset ended by fading away. One by one the stars +came out in the pacified vault, now of an ashen blue, while the lights of +Rome, still far away on the verge of the horizon, scintillated like the +lamps of light-houses. + +And Prada, amidst the dreamy silence of his companions and the infinite +melancholy of the evening and the inexpressible distress which even he +experienced, continued to ask himself what course he should adopt. Again +and again he mentally repeated that he could not allow people to be +poisoned. The figs were certainly intended for Cardinal Boccanera, and on +the whole it mattered little to him whether there were a cardinal the +more or the fewer in the world. Moreover, it had always seemed to him +best to let Destiny follow its course; and, infidel that he was, he saw +no harm in one priest devouring another. Again, it might be dangerous for +him to intervene in that abominable affair, to mix himself up in the +base, fathomless intrigues of the black world. But on the other hand the +Cardinal was not the only person who lived in the Boccanera mansion, and +might not the figs go to others, might they not be eaten by people to +whom 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 up +before him, returned and imposed themselves on him though he again and +again sought to banish them from his mind. What if Benedetta, what if +Dario should partake of that fruit? For Benedetta he felt no fear, for he +knew that she and her aunt ate their meals by themselves, and that their +cuisine and the Cardinal’s had nothing in common. But Dario sat at his +uncle’s table every day, and for a moment Prada, pictured the young +Prince suddenly seized with a spasm, then falling, like poor Monsignor +Gallo, into the Cardinal’s arms with livid face and receding eyes, and +dying within two hours. + +But no, no! That would be frightful, he could not suffer such an +abomination. And thereupon he made up his mind. He would wait till the +night had completely gathered round and would then simply take the basket +from Santobono’s lap and fling it into some dark hollow without saying a +word. The priest would understand him. The other one, the young +Frenchman, would perhaps not even notice the incident. Besides, that +mattered little, for he would not even attempt to explain his action. And +he felt quite calm again when the idea occurred to him to throw the +basket away while the carriage passed through the Porta Furba, a couple +of miles or so before reaching Rome. That would suit him exactly; in the +darkness 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 without +awaiting the young man’s reply he said to Santobono: “Your figs will +arrive very late, Abbé.” + +“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 in +the evening. They will be for to-morrow morning.” And thereupon he again +relapsed into silence. + +“For to-morrow morning--yes, yes, no doubt,” repeated Prada. “And the +Cardinal will be able to thoroughly regale himself if nobody helps him to +eat the fruit.” + +Thereupon Pierre, without pausing to reflect, exclaimed: “He will no +doubt eat it by himself, for his nephew, Prince Dario, must have started +to-day for Naples on a little convalescence trip to rid himself of the +effects 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 Monsieur +Froment,” said he, “you don’t offend me. It’s an old affair now. So that +young man has left, you say?” + +“Yes, unless he has postponed his departure. However, I don’t expect to +find him at the palazzo when I get there.” + +For a moment the only sound was that of the continuous rumble of the +wheels. Prada again felt worried, a prey to the discomfort of +uncertainty. Why should he mix himself up in the affair if Dario were +really absent? All the ideas which came to him tired his brain, and he +ended by thinking aloud: “If he has gone away it must be for propriety’s +sake, so as to avoid attending the Buongiovanni reception, for the +Congregation of the Council met this morning to give its decision in the +suit which the Countess has brought against me. Yes, I shall know by and +by whether our marriage is to be dissolved.” + +It was in a somewhat hoarse voice that he spoke these words, and one +could realise that the old wound was again bleeding within him. Although +Lisbeth had borne him a son, the charge levelled against him in his +wife’s petition for divorce still filled him with blind fury each time +that he thought of it. And all at once he shuddered violently, as if an +icy blast had darted through his frame. Then, turning the conversation, +he added: “It’s not at all warm this evening. This is the dangerous hour +of the Roman climate, the twilight hour when it’s easy to catch a +terrible 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, more +profound, like the slumber which was invincibly spreading over the +Campagna, now steeped in night. And at last, in the bright starlight, +appeared the gate, an arch of the Acqua Felice, under which the road +passed. From a distance, this fragment seemed to bar the way with its +mass of ancient half-fallen walls. But afterwards the gigantic arch where +all was black opened like a gaping porch. And the carriage passed under +it in darkness whilst the wheels rumbled with increased sonority. + +When the victoria emerged on the other side, Santobono still had the +little basket of figs upon his knees and Prada looked at it, quite +overcome, asking himself what sudden paralysis of the hands had prevented +him from seizing it and throwing it into the darkness. Such had still +been 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 the +better realise what movements he should make. What had taken place within +him then? At present he was yielding to increasing irresolution, +henceforth incapable of decisive action, feeling a need of delay in order +that he might, before everything else, fully satisfy himself as to what +was likely to happen. And as Dario had doubtless gone away and the figs +would certainly not be eaten until the following morning, what reason was +there for him to hurry? He would know that evening if the Congregation of +the Council had annulled his marriage, he would know how far the +so-called “Justice of God” was venal and mendacious! Certainly he would +suffer nobody to be poisoned, not even Cardinal Boccanera, though the +latter’s life was of little account to him personally. But had not that +little basket, ever since leaving Frascati, been like Destiny on the +march? And was it not enjoyment, the enjoyment of omnipotence, to be able +to say to himself that he was the master who could stay that basket’s +course, or allow it to go onward and accomplish its deadly purpose? +Moreover, he yielded to the dimmest of mental struggles, ceasing to +reason, unable to raise his hand, and yet convinced that he would drop a +warning 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 interest +directed 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 his +thoughts, by reverting to the Buongiovanni reception, and giving +particulars of the splendours which would be witnessed at it: his words +fell sparsely in an embarrassed and absent-minded way. Then he sought to +inspirit Pierre by speaking to him of Cardinal Sanguinetti’s amiable +manner and fair words, but although the young priest was returning home +well pleased with his journey, in the idea that with a little help he +might yet triumph, he scarcely answered the Count, so wrapt he was in his +reverie. And Santobono, on his side, neither spoke nor moved. Black like +the night itself, he seemed to have vanished. However, the lights of Rome +were increasing in number, and houses again appeared on either hand, at +first at long intervals, and then in close succession. They were suburban +houses, and there were yet more fields of reeds, quickset hedges, +olive-trees overtopping long walls, and big gateways with vase-surmounted +pillars; 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 and +rumours of battle. + +Prada insisted on setting his companions down in the Via Giulia, at fifty +paces from the palazzo. “It doesn’t inconvenience me at all,” said he to +Pierre. “Besides, with the little time you have before you, it would +never do for you to go on foot.” + +The Via Giulia was already steeped in slumber, and wore a melancholy +aspect of abandonment in the dreary light of the gas lamps standing on +either hand. And as soon as Santobono had alighted from the carriage, he +took himself off without waiting for Pierre, who, moreover, always went +in by the little door in the side lane. + +“Good-bye, Abbé,” exclaimed Prada. + +“Good-bye, Count, a thousand thanks,” was Santobono’s response. + +Then the two others stood watching him as he went towards the Boccanera +mansion, whose old, monumental entrance, full of gloom, was still wide +open. For a moment they saw his tall, rugged figure erect against that +gloom. 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 di +Roma, where they had long lingered chatting, at last walked down the +Corso towards the Palazzo Buongiovanni. They had the greatest difficulty +to reach its entrance, for carriages were coming up in serried files, and +the inquisitive crowd of on-lookers, who pressed even into the roadway, +in spite of the injunctions of the police, was growing so compact that +even the horses could no longer approach. The ten lofty windows on the +first floor of the long monumental façade shone with an intense white +radiance, the radiance of electric lamps, which illumined the street like +sunshine, spreading over the equipages aground in that human sea, whose +billows of eager, excited faces rolled to and fro amidst an extraordinary +tumult. + +And in all this there was not merely the usual curiosity to see uniforms +go by and ladies in rich attire alight from their carriages, for Pierre +soon gathered from what he heard that the crowd had come to witness the +arrival of the King and Queen, who had promised to appear at the ball +given by Prince Buongiovanni, in celebration of the betrothal of his +daughter Celia to Lieutenant Attilio Sacco, the son of one of his +Majesty’s ministers. Moreover, people were enraptured with this marriage, +the happy ending of a love story which had impassioned the whole city: to +begin with, love at first sight, with the suddenness of a +lightning-flash, and then stubborn fidelity triumphing over all +obstacles, amidst romantic circumstances whose story sped from lip to +lip, moistening every eye and stirring every heart. + +It was this story that Narcisse had related at dessert to Pierre, who +already knew some portion of it. People asserted that if the Prince had +ended by yielding after a final terrible scene, it was only from fear of +seeing Celia elope from the palace with her lover. She did not threaten +to do so, but, amidst her virginal calmness, there was so much contempt +for everything foreign to her love, that her father felt her to be +capable of acting with the greatest folly in all ingenuousness. Only +indifference was manifested by the Prince’s wife, a phlegmatic and still +beautiful Englishwoman, who considered that she had done quite enough for +the household by bringing her husband a dowry of five millions, and +bearing him five children. The Prince, anxious and weak despite his +violence, in which one found a trace of the old Roman blood, already +spoilt by mixture with that of a foreign race, was nowadays ever +influenced in his actions by the fear that his house and fortune--which +hitherto 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 _régime_ +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 of +such low folks as the Saccos. But then Sacco was a minister, and had sped +so quickly from success to success that it seemed likely he would rise +yet higher, and, after the portfolio of Agriculture, secure that of +Finances, which he had long coveted. And an alliance with Sacco meant the +certain favour of the King, an assured retreat in that direction should +the papacy some day collapse. Then, too, the Prince had made inquiries +respecting the son, and was somewhat disarmed by the good looks, bravery, +and rectitude of young Attilio, who represented the future, and possibly +the glorious Italy of to-morrow. He was a soldier, and could be helped +forward to the highest rank. And people spitefully added that the last +reason which had influenced the Prince, who was very avaricious, and +greatly worried by the thought that his fortune must be divided among his +five children,* was that an opportunity presented itself for him to +bestow a ridiculously small dowry on Celia. However, having consented to +the marriage, he resolved to give a splendid _fête_, such as was now +seldom witnessed in Rome, throwing his doors open to all the rival +sections of society, inviting the sovereigns, and setting the palazzo +ablaze as in the grand days of old. In doing this he would necessarily +have to expend some of the money to which he clung, but a boastful spirit +incited him to show the world that he at any rate had not been vanquished +by the financial crisis, and that the Buongiovannis had nothing to hide +and nothing to blush for. To tell the truth, some people asserted that +this bravado had not originated with himself, but had been instilled into +him without his knowledge by the quiet and innocent Celia, who wished to +exhibit 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. “We +shall never get in. Why, they seem to have invited the whole city.” And +then, as Pierre seemed surprised to see a prelate drive up in his +carriage, the _attaché_ added: “Oh! you will elbow more than one of them +upstairs. The cardinals won’t like to come on account of the presence of +the 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 can +fraternise. And then too, there are so few _fêtes_ that people rush on +them.” + +He went on to explain that there were two grand balls at Court every +winter, 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 little +dances among intimates replaced the pompous entertainments of former +times. Some princesses moreover merely had their day. And as for the few +white _salons_ that existed, these likewise retained the same character +of intimacy, more or less mixed, for no lady had yet become the +undisputed queen of the new society. + +“Well, here we are at last,” resumed Narcisse as they eventually climbed +the stairs. + +“Let us keep together,” Pierre somewhat anxiously replied. “My only +acquaintance is with the _fiancée_, and I want you to introduce me.” + +However, a considerable effort was needed even to climb the monumental +staircase, so great was the crush of arriving guests. Never, in the old +days of wax candles and oil lamps, had this staircase offered such a +blaze of light. Electric lamps, burning in clusters in superb bronze +candelabra on the landings, steeped everything in a white radiance. The +cold stucco of the walls was hidden by a series of lofty tapestries +depicting the story of Cupid and Psyche, marvels which had remained in +the family since the days of the Renascence. And a thick carpet covered +the worn marble steps, whilst clumps of evergreens and tall spreading +palms decorated every corner. An affluence of new blood warmed the +antique mansion that evening; there was a resurrection of life, so to +say, 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 perceived +Prince and Princess Buongiovanni, standing side by side and receiving +their guests. The Prince, a tall, slim man with fair complexion and hair +turning grey, had the pale northern eyes of his American mother in an +energetic face such as became a former captain of the popes. The +Princess, with small, delicate, and rounded features, looked barely +thirty, though she had really passed her fortieth year. And still pretty, +displaying a smiling serenity which nothing could disconcert, she purely +and simply basked in self-adoration. Her gown was of pink satin, and a +marvellous parure of large rubies set flamelets about her dainty neck and +in her fine, fair hair. Of her five children, her son, the eldest, was +travelling, 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 and +her candid lips, and retaining to the very end of her love story the +semblance of a closed lily of impenetrable, virginal mysteriousness. The +Saccos had but just arrived, and Attilio, in his simple lieutenant’s +uniform, had remained near his betrothed, so naïvely and openly delighted +with his great happiness that his handsome face, with its caressing mouth +and brave eyes, was quite resplendent with youth and strength. Standing +there, near one another, in the triumph of their passion they appeared +like life’s very joy and health, like the personification of hope in the +morrow’s promises; and the entering guests who saw them could not refrain +from smiling and feeling moved, momentarily forgetting their loquacious +and malicious curiosity to give their hearts to those chosen ones of love +who looked so handsome and so enraptured. + +Narcisse stepped forward in order to present Pierre, but Celia +anticipated him. Going to meet the young priest she led him to her father +and mother, saying: “Monsieur l’Abbé Pierre Froment, a friend of my dear +Benedetta.” Ceremonious salutations followed. Then the young girl, whose +graciousness greatly touched Pierre, said to him: “Benedetta is coming +with her aunt and Dario. She must be very happy this evening! And you +will also see how beautiful she will be.” + +Pierre and Narcisse next began to congratulate her, but they could not +remain there, the throng was ever jostling them; and the Prince and +Princess, quite lost in the crush, had barely time to answer the many +salutations with amiable, continuous nods. And Celia, after conducting +the two friends to Attilio, was obliged to return to her parents so as to +take her place beside them as the little queen of the _fête_. + +Narcisse was already slightly acquainted with Attilio, and so fresh +congratulations ensued. Then the two friends manœuvred to find a spot +where they might momentarily tarry and contemplate the spectacle which +this first _salon_ presented. It was a vast hall, hung with green velvet +broidered with golden flowers, and contained a very remarkable collection +of weapons and armour, breast-plates, battle-axes, and swords, almost all +of which had belonged to the Buongiovannis of the fifteenth and sixteenth +centuries. And amidst those stern implements of war there was a lovely +sedan-chair of the last century, gilded and decorated with delicate +paintings. It was in this chair that the Prince’s great-grandmother, the +celebrated Bettina, whose beauty was historical, had usually been carried +to mass. On the walls, moreover, there were numerous historical +paintings: battles, peace congresses, and royal receptions in which the +Buongiovannis had taken part, without counting the many family portraits, +tall and proud figures of sea-captains, commanders in the field, great +dignitaries of the Church, prelates and cardinals, amongst whom, in the +place of honour, appeared the family pope, the white-robed Buongiovanni +whose accession to the pontifical throne had enriched a long line of +descendants. And it was among those armours, near that coquettish sedan, +and below those antique portraits, that the Saccos, husband and wife, had +in their turn just halted, at a few steps from the master and mistress of +the house, in order to secure their share of congratulations and bows. + +“Look over there!” Narcisse whispered to Pierre, “those are the Saccos in +front 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 in +her husband, a dark dry man, with big eyes, sallow complexion, prominent +chin, and vulturine nose. Like some gay Neapolitan “Pulcinello,” he was +dancing, shouting, and displaying such infectious good humour that it +spread to all around him. He possessed a wonderful gift of speech, with a +voice that was unrivalled as an instrument of fascination and conquest; +and on seeing how easily he ingratiated himself with the people in that +drawing-room, one could understand his lightning-like successes in the +political world. He had manoeuvered with rare skill in the matter of his +son’s marriage, affecting such exaggerated delicacy of feeling as to set +himself against the lovers, and declare that he would never consent to +their union, as he had no desire to be accused of stealing a dowry and a +title. As a matter of fact, he had only yielded after the Buongiovannis +had given their consent, and even then he had desired to take the opinion +of old Orlando, whose lofty integrity was proverbial. However, he knew +right well that he would secure the old hero’s approval in this +particular affair, for Orlando made no secret of his opinion that the +Buongiovannis ought to be glad to admit his grand-nephew into their +family, as that handsome young fellow, with brave and healthy heart, +would help to regenerate their impoverished blood. And throughout the +whole affair, Sacco had shrewdly availed himself of Orlando’s famous +name, for ever talking of the relationship between them, and displaying +filial veneration for this glorious founder of the country, as if indeed +he had no suspicion that the latter despised and execrated him and +mourned his accession to power in the conviction that he would lead Italy +to 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 that +unscrupulous individuals like himself become necessary when states get +into trouble and have to pass through political, financial, and moral +crises. It is said that Sacco with his imperturbable assurance and +ingenious and resourceful mind has quite won the King’s favour. Just look +at him! Why, with that crowd of courtiers round him, one might think him +the 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 portraits +which proclaimed the mighty ancestry of the Buongiovannis, they none the +less worshipped him as the personification of the new power, the +democratic force which was confusedly rising even from the old Roman soil +where 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 belong +neither to the black nor the white world; they form a grey world as it +were. The evolution was certain; a man like Cardinal Boccanera may retain +an uncompromising attitude, but a whole city, a nation can’t. The Pope +alone will always say no and remain immutable. But everything around him +progresses and undergoes transformation, so that in spite of all +resistance, 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 of +the Vatican, the other goes over to the Quirinal. People must live, you +see; and the great families threatened with annihilation have not +sufficient heroism to carry obstinacy to the point of suicide. And I have +already told you that we are here on neutral ground, for Prince +Buongiovanni was one of the first to realise the necessity of +conciliation. He feels that his fortune is perishing, he does not care to +risk it either in industry or in speculation, and already sees it +portioned out among his five children, by whose descendants it will be +yet further divided; and this is why he prudently makes advances to the +King without, however, breaking with the Pope. In this _salon_, +therefore, you see a perfect picture of the _debâcle_, the confusion +which reigns in the Prince’s ideas and opinions.” Narcisse paused, and +then began to name some of the persons who were coming in. “There’s a +general,” said he, “who has become very popular since his last campaign +in Africa. There will be a great many military men here this evening, for +all 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 that +nearly all the Corps Diplomatique will come on account of their +Majesties’ presence. But, by way of contrast, just look at that stout +fellow yonder. He’s a very influential deputy, a _parvenu_ of the new +middle class. Thirty years ago he was merely one of Prince Albertini’s +farmers, one of those _mercanti di campagna_ who go about the environs of +Rome in stout boots and a soft felt hat. And now look at that prelate +coming 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 of +your book. A most delightful man! Did you see how he bowed to the +Princess? And what a noble and graceful bearing he has in his little +mantle of violet silk!” + +Then Narcisse went on enumerating the princes and princesses, the dukes +and duchesses, the politicians and functionaries, the diplomatists and +ministers, and the officers and well-to-do middle-class people, who of +themselves made up a most wonderful medley of guests, to say nothing of +the representatives of the various foreign colonies, English people, +Americans, Germans, Spaniards, and Russians, in a word, all ancient +Europe, and both Americas. And afterwards the young man reverted to the +Saccos, to the little Signora Sacco in particular, in order to tell +Pierre of the heroic efforts which she had made to open a _salon_ for the +purpose of assisting her husband’s ambition. Gentle and modest as she +seemed, she was also very shrewd, endowed with genuine qualities, +Piedmontese patience and strength of resistance, orderly habits and +thriftiness. And thus it was she who re-established the equilibrium in +household affairs which her husband by his exuberance so often disturbed. +He was indeed greatly indebted to her, though nobody suspected it. At the +same time, however, she had so far failed in her attempts to establish a +white _salon_ which should take the lead in influencing opinion. Only the +people of her own set visited her, not a single prince ever came, and her +Monday 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 in +dreamland. + +“Just notice her keen smile as she examines everything here,” resumed +Narcisse. “She’s teaching herself and forming plans, I’m sure of it. Now +that she is about to be connected with a princely family she probably +hopes to receive some of the best society.” + +Large as was the room, the crowd in it had by this time grown so dense +that the two friends were pressed back to a wall, and felt almost +stifled. The _attaché_ therefore decided to lead the priest elsewhere, +and as they walked along he gave him some particulars concerning the +palace, which was one of the most sumptuous in Rome, and renowned for the +magnificence of its reception-rooms. Dancing took place in the picture +gallery, a superb apartment more than sixty feet long, with eight windows +overlooking the Corso; while the buffet was installed in the Hall of the +Antiques, a marble hall, which among other precious things contained a +statue of Venus, rivalling the one at the Capitol. Then there was a suite +of marvellous _salons_, still resplendent with ancient luxury, hung with +the rarest stuffs, and retaining some unique specimens of old-time +furniture, on which covetous antiquaries kept their eyes fixed, whilst +waiting and hoping for the inevitable future ruin. And one of these +apartments, the little Saloon of the Mirrors, was particularly famous. Of +circular 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 had +better go in here if we want to breathe a little. It is here that the +arm-chairs from the adjacent gallery have been brought for the +accommodation of the ladies who desire to sit down and be seen and +admired.” + +The apartment they entered was a spacious one, draped with the most +superb Genoese velvet, that antique _jardinière_ velvet with pale satin +ground, and flowers once of dazzling brightness, whose greens and blues +and reds had now become exquisitely soft, with the subdued, faded tones +of old floral love-tokens. On the pier tables and in the cabinets all +around were some of the most precious curios in the palace, ivory +caskets, gilt and painted wood carvings, pieces of antique +plate--briefly, a collection of marvels. And several ladies, fleeing the +crush, had already taken refuge on the numerous seats, clustering in +little groups, and laughing and chatting with the few gentlemen who had +discovered this retreat of grace and _galanterie_. In the bright glow of +the lamps nothing could be more delightful than the sight of all those +bare, sheeny shoulders, and those supple necks, above whose napes were +coiled tresses of fair or raven hair. Bare arms emerged like living +flowers of flesh from amidst the mingling lace and silk of soft-hued +bodices. The fans played slowly, as if to heighten the fires of the +precious 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 Nani +bowing to the Austrian ambassadress.” + +As soon as Nani perceived the young priest and his companion he came +towards them, and the trio then withdrew into the embrasure of a window +in order that they might chat for a moment at their ease. The prelate was +smiling like one enchanted with the beauty of the _fête_, but at the same +time he retained all the serenity of innocence, as if he had not even +noticed 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, and +what do you think of our Rome when she makes up her mind to give +_fêtes_?” + +“Why, it is superb, Monseigneur.” + +Then, in an emotional manner, Nani spoke of Celia’s lofty piety; and, in +order to give the Vatican the credit of this sumptuous _gala_, affected +to regard the Prince and Princess as staunch adherents of the Church, as +if he were altogether unaware that the King and Queen were presently +coming. And afterwards he abruptly exclaimed: “I have been thinking of +you all day, my dear son. Yes, I heard that you had gone to see his +Eminence Cardinal Sanguinetti. Well, and how did he receive you?” + +“Oh! in a most paternal manner,” Pierre replied. “At first he made me +understand the embarrassment in which he was placed by his position as +protector of Lourdes; but just as I was going off he showed himself +charming, and promised me his help with a delicacy which deeply touched +me.” + +“Did he indeed, my dear son? But it doesn’t surprise me, his Eminence is +so good-hearted!” + +“And I must add, Monseigneur, that I came back with a light and hopeful +heart. It now seems to me as if my suit were half gained.” + +“Naturally, I understand it,” replied Nani, who was still smiling with +that keen, intelligent smile of his, sharpened by a touch of almost +imperceptible irony. And after a short pause he added in a very simple +way: “The misfortune is that on the day before yesterday your book was +condemned by the Congregation of the Index, which was convoked by its +Secretary expressly for that purpose. And the judgment will be laid +before his Holiness, for him to sign it, on the day after to-morrow.” + +Pierre looked at the prelate in bewilderment. Had the old mansion fallen +on 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, had +resulted in that defeat, of which he was thus suddenly apprised amidst +that betrothal _fête_. And he had not even been able to defend himself, +he had sacrificed his time without finding any one to whom he might +speak, before whom he might plead his cause! Anger was rising within him, +and he could not prevent himself from muttering bitterly: “Ah! how I have +been duped! And that Cardinal who said to me only this morning: ‘If God +be with you he will save you in spite of everything.’ Yes, yes, I now +understand him; he was juggling with words, he only desired a disaster in +order that submission might lead me to Heaven! Submit, indeed, ah! I +cannot, 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 drawing +Pierre on one side whilst Narcisse in an aesthetical spirit examined the +ladies, he added: “Listen, I have a communication to make to you in great +secrecy. 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 and +disappeared in the crowd. However, the young man’s ears were buzzing; he +could no longer hope; what indeed could he accomplish in one day since he +had lost three months without even being able to secure an audience with +the Pope? And his bewilderment increased as he suddenly heard Narcisse +speaking to him of art. “It’s astonishing how the feminine figure has +deteriorated in these dreadful democratic days. It’s all fat and horribly +common. Not one of those women yonder shows the Florentine contour, with +small bosom and slender, elegant neck. Ah! that one yonder isn’t so bad +perhaps, the fair one with her hair coiled up, whom Monsignor Fornaro has +just approached.” + +For a few minutes indeed Monsignor Fornaro had been fluttering from +beauty to beauty, with an amiable air of conquest. He looked superb that +evening with his lofty decorative figure, blooming cheeks, and victorious +affability. No unpleasant scandal was associated with his name; he was +simply regarded as a prelate of gallant ways who took pleasure in the +society of ladies. And he paused and chatted, and leant over their bare +shoulders with laughing eyes and humid lips as if experiencing a sort of +devout rapture. However, on perceiving Narcisse whom he occasionally met, +he at once came forward and the _attaché_ had to bow to him. “You have +been in good health I hope, Monseigneur, since I had the honour of seeing +you at the embassy.” + +“Oh! yes, I am very well, very well indeed. What a delightful _fête_, is +it not?” + +Pierre also had bowed. This was the man whose report had brought about +the condemnation of his book; and it was with resentment that he recalled +his caressing air and charming greeting, instinct with such lying +promise. However, the prelate, who was very shrewd, must have guessed +that the young priest was already acquainted with the decision of the +Congregation, and have thought it more dignified to abstain from open +recognition; for on his side he merely nodded and smiled at him. “What a +number 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 the +strong perfume of violets and the exhalations of warm necks and shoulders +the atmosphere was becoming most oppressive. The fans flapped more +briskly, and clear laughter rang out amidst a growing hubbub of +conversation in which the same words constantly recurred. Some news, +doubtless, had just arrived, some rumour was being whispered from group +to group, throwing them all into feverish excitement. As it happened, +Monsignor Fornaro, who was always well informed, desired to be the +proclaimer of this news, which nobody as yet had ventured to announce +aloud. + +“Do you know what is exciting them all?” he inquired. + +“Is it the Holy Father’s illness?” asked Pierre in his anxiety. “Is he +worse this evening?” + +The prelate looked at him in astonishment, and then somewhat impatiently +replied: “Oh, no, no. His Holiness is much better, thank Heaven. A person +belonging to the Vatican was telling me just now that he was able to get +up this afternoon and receive his intimates as usual.” + +“All the same, people have been alarmed,” interrupted Narcisse. “I must +confess that we did not feel easy at the embassy, for a Conclave at the +present time would be a great worry for France. She would exercise no +influence at it. It is a great mistake on the part of our Republican +Government to treat the Holy See as of no importance! However, can one +ever tell whether the Pope is ill or not? I know for a certainty that he +was nearly carried off last winter when nobody breathed a word about any +illness, whereas on the last occasion when the newspapers killed him and +talked about a dreadful attack of bronchitis, I myself saw him quite +strong and in the best of spirits! His reported illnesses are mere +matters 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 importunate +subject aside. “No, no,” said he, “people are tranquillised and no longer +talk of it. What excites all those ladies is that the Congregation of the +Council to-day voted the dissolution of the Prada marriage by a great +majority.” + +Again did Pierre feel moved. However, not having had time to see any +members of the Boccanera family on his return from Frascati he feared +that the news might be false and said so. Thereupon the prelate gave his +word of honour that things were as he stated. “The news is certain,” he +declared. “I had it from a member of the Congregation.” And then, all at +once, he apologised and hurried off: “Excuse me but I see a lady whom I +had 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 sit +down, inclined his lofty figure as if to envelop her with his gallant +courtesy; whilst she, young, fresh, and bare-shouldered, laughed with a +pearly 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 Lisbeth +Kauffmann, by whom he has just had a son. It’s her first appearance in +society since that event. She’s a German, you know, and lost her husband +here. She paints a little; in fact, rather nicely. A great deal is +forgiven to the ladies of the foreign colony, and this one is +particularly popular on account of the very affable manner in which she +receives people at her little palazzo in the Via Principe Amedeo. As you +may imagine, the news of the dissolution of that marriage must amuse +her!” + +She looked really exquisite, that Lisbeth, very fair, rosy, and gay, with +satiny skin, soft blue eyes, and lips wreathed in an amiable smile, which +was renowned for its grace. And that evening, in her gown of white silk +spangled with gold, she showed herself so delighted with life, so +securely happy in the thought that she was free, that she loved and was +loved in return, that the whispered tidings, the malicious remarks +exchanged behind the fans of those around her, seemed to turn to her +personal triumph. For a moment all eyes had sought her, and people talked +of the outcome of her connection with Prada, the man whose manhood the +Church solemnly denied by its decision of that very day! And there came +stifled laughter and whispered jests, whilst she, radiant in her insolent +serenity, accepted with a rapturous air the gallantry of Monsignor +Fornaro, 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 Rome +with scandal, what a final hubbub it occasioned as the tidings of its +termination burst forth amidst that ball! The black and white worlds had +long 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 null +and void on the ground that the husband was no man, and all Rome would +laugh over the affair, with that free scepticism which it displayed as +soon as the pecuniary affairs of the Church came into question. The +incidents of the struggle were already common property: Prada’s feelings +revolting to such a point that he had withdrawn from the contest, the +Boccaneras moving heaven and earth in their feverish anxiety, the money +which they had distributed among the creatures of the various cardinals +in order to gain their influence, and the large sum which they had +indirectly paid for the second and favourable report of Monsignor Palma. +People said that, altogether, more than a hundred thousand francs had +been expended, but this was not thought over-much, as a well-known French +countess had been obliged to disburse nearly ten times that amount to +secure the dissolution of her marriage. But then the Holy Father’s need +was so great! And, moreover, nobody was angered by this venality; it +merely gave rise to malicious witticisms; and the fans continued waving +in the increasing heat, and the ladies quivered with contentment as the +whispered pleasantries took wing and fluttered over their bare shoulders. + +“Oh! how pleased the Contessina must be!” Pierre resumed. “I did not +understand what her little friend, Princess Celia, meant by saying when +we came in that she would be so happy and beautiful this evening. It is +doubtless on that account that she is coming here, after cloistering +herself 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 she +smiled 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 through +having visited her studio. He was again returning to Pierre when a fresh +outburst of emotion stirred the diamond aigrettes and the flowers +adorning the ladies’ hair. People turned to see what was the matter, and +again did the hubbub increase. “Ah! it’s Count Prada in person!” murmured +Narcisse, with an admiring glance. “He has a fine bearing, whatever folks +may 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, he +really had a commanding, predacious expression, with his frank, stern +eyes, and his energetic features barred by a large black moustache. Never +had a more rapturous smile of sensuality revealed the wolfish teeth of +his voracious mouth. With rapid glances he took stock of the women, dived +into their very souls. Then, on seeing Lisbeth, who looked so pink, and +fair, and girlish, his expression softened, and he frankly went up to +her, without troubling in the slightest degree about the ardent, +inquisitive eyes which were turned upon him. As soon as Monsignor Fornaro +had made room, he stooped and conversed with the young woman in a low +tone. And she no doubt confirmed the news which was circulating, for as +he again drew himself erect, he laughed a somewhat forced laugh, and made +an involuntary gesture. + +However, he then caught sight of Pierre, and joined him in the embrasure +of the window; and when he had also shaken hands with Narcisse, he said +to the young priest with all his wonted _bravura_: “You recollect what I +told 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 imbecile +decision, that I still doubted it a moment ago!” + +“Oh! the news is certain,” Pierre made bold to reply. “It has just been +confirmed to us by Monsignor Fornaro, who had it from a member of the +Congregation. And it is said that the majority was very large.” + +Prada again shook with laughter. “No, no,” said he, “such a farce is +beyond belief! It’s the finest smack given to justice and common-sense +that I know of. Ah! if the marriage can also be annulled by the civil +courts, and if my friend whom you see yonder be only willing, we shall +amuse ourselves in Rome! Yes, indeed, I’d marry her at Santa Maria +Maggiore with all possible pomp. And there’s a dear little being in the +world who would take part in the _fête_ in his nurse’s arms!” + +He laughed too loud as he spoke, alluded in too brutal a fashion to his +child, that living proof of his manhood. Was it suffering that made his +lips curve upwards and reveal his white teeth? It could be divined that +he was quivering, fighting against an awakening of covert, tumultuous +passion, which he would not acknowledge even to himself. + +“And you, my dear Abbé?” he hastily resumed. “Do you know the other +report? Do you know that the Countess is coming here?” It was thus, by +force of habit, that he designated Benedetta, forgetting that she was no +longer his wife. + +“Yes, I have just been told so,” Pierre replied; and then he hesitated +for a moment before adding, with a desire to prevent any disagreeable +surprise: “And we shall no doubt see Prince Dario also, for he has not +started for Naples as I told you. Something prevented his departure at +the last moment, I believe. At least so I gathered from a servant.” + +Prada no longer laughed. His face suddenly became grave, and he contented +himself 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 if +serious considerations impelled him to reflect. And suddenly making a +gesture of apology he withdrew yet farther into the embrasure in which he +stood, pulled a note-book out of his pocket, and tore from it a leaf on +which, without modifying his handwriting otherwise than by slightly +enlarging it, he pencilled these four lines: “A legend avers that the fig +tree of Judas now grows at Frascati, and that its fruit is deadly for him +who may desire to become Pope. Eat not the poisoned figs, nor give them +either to your servants or your fowls.” Then he folded the paper, +fastened it with a postage stamp, and wrote on it the address: “To his +most Reverend and most Illustrious Eminence, Cardinal Boccanera.” And +when he had placed everything in his pocket again, he drew a long breath +and once more called back his laugh. + +A kind of invincible discomfort, a far-away terror had momentarily frozen +him. Without being guided by any clear train of reasoning, he had felt +the need of protecting himself against any cowardly temptation, any +possible abomination. He could not have told what course of ideas had +induced him to write those four lines without a moment’s delay, on the +very spot where he stood, under penalty of contributing to a great +catastrophe. But one thought was firmly fixed in his brain, that on +leaving the ball he would go to the Via Giulia and throw that note into +the letter-box at the Palazzo Boccanera. And that decided, he was once +more easy in mind. + +“Why, what is the matter with you, my dear Abbé?” he inquired on again +joining in the conversation of the two friends. “You are quite gloomy.” + And on Pierre telling him of the bad news which he had received, the +condemnation of his book, and the single day which remained to him for +action if he did not wish his journey to Rome to result in defeat, he +began to protest as if he himself needed agitation and diversion in order +to continue hopeful and bear the ills of life. “Never mind, never mind, +don’t worry yourself,” said he, “one loses all one’s strength by +worrying. 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 into +victory!” 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 something +prodigious.” + +Then he exchanged a last loving glance with Lisbeth whilst Pierre and +Narcisse followed him, the three of them extricating themselves from +their corner with the greatest difficulty, and then wending their way +towards the adjoining gallery through a sea of serried skirts, a billowy +expanse of necks and shoulders whence ascended the passion which makes +life, the odour alike of love and of death. + +With its eight windows overlooking the Corso, their panes uncurtained and +throwing a blaze of light upon the houses across the road, the picture +gallery, 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 marble +candelabra into gigantic _torchères_, akin to constellations; and all +along the cornice up above, other lamps set in bright-hued floral glasses +formed a marvellous garland of flaming flowers: tulips, paeonies, and +roses. The antique red velvet worked with gold, which draped the walls, +glowed like a furnace fire. About the doors and windows there were +hangings of old lace broidered with flowers in coloured silk whose hues +had the very intensity of life. But the sight of sights beneath the +sumptuous panelled ceiling adorned with golden roses, the unique +spectacle of a richness not to be equalled, was the collection of +masterpieces such as no museum could excel. There were works of Raffaelle +and Titian, Rembrandt and Rubens, Velasquez and Ribera, famous works +which in this unexpected illumination suddenly showed forth, triumphant +with youth regained, as if awakened to the immortal life of genius. And, +as their Majesties would not arrive before midnight, the ball had just +been opened, and flights of soft-hued gowns were whirling in a waltz past +all the pompous throng, the glittering jewels and decorations, the +gold-broidered uniforms and the pearl-broidered robes, whilst silk and +satin and velvet spread and overflowed upon every side. + +“It is prodigious, really!” declared Prada with his excited air; “let us +go this way and place ourselves in a window recess again. There is no +better spot for getting a good view without being too much jostled.” + +They lost Narcisse somehow or other, and on reaching the desired recess +found themselves but two, Pierre and the Count. The orchestra, installed +on a little platform at the far end of the gallery, had just finished the +waltz, and the dancers, with an air of giddy rapture, were slowly walking +through the crowd when a fresh arrival caused every head to turn. Donna +Serafina, arrayed in a robe of purple silk as if she had worn the colours +of her brother the Cardinal, was making a royal entry on the arm of +Consistorial-Advocate Morano. And never before had she laced herself so +tightly, never had her waist looked so slim and girlish; and never had +her stern, wrinkled face, which her white hair scarcely softened, +expressed such stubborn and victorious domination. A discreet murmur of +approval ran round, a murmur of public relief as it were, for all Roman +society had condemned the unworthy conduct of Morano in severing a +connection of thirty years to which the drawing-rooms had grown as +accustomed as if it had been a legal marriage. The rupture had lasted for +two months, to the great scandal of Rome where the cult of long and +faithful affections still abides. And so the reconciliation touched every +heart and was regarded as one of the happiest consequences of the victory +which the Boccaneras had that day gained in the affair of Benedetta’s +marriage. Morano repentant and Donna Serafina reappearing on his arm, +nothing could have been more satisfactory; love had conquered, decorum +was preserved and good order re-established. + +But there was a deeper sensation as soon as Benedetta and Dario were seen +to enter, side by side, behind the others. This tranquil indifference for +the ordinary forms of propriety, on the very day when the marriage with +Prada had been annulled, this victory of love, confessed and celebrated +before one and all, seemed so charming in its audacity, so full of the +bravery of youth and hope, that the pair were at once forgiven amidst a +murmur of universal admiration. And as in the case of Celia and Attilio, +all hearts flew to them, to their radiant beauty, to the wondrous +happiness that made their faces so resplendent. Dario, still pale after +his long convalescence, somewhat slight and delicate of build, with the +fine 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 of +the Boccaneras could be traced. And Benedetta, she so white under her +casque of jetty hair, she so calm and so sensible, wore her lovely smile, +that smile so seldom seen on her face but which was irresistibly +fascinating, transfiguring her, imparting the charm of a flower to her +somewhat full mouth, and filling the infinite of her dark and fathomless +eyes with a radiance as of heaven. And in this gay return of youth and +happiness, an exquisite instinct had prompted her to put on a white gown, +a plain girlish gown which symbolised her maidenhood, which told that she +had remained through all a pure untarnished lily for the husband of her +choice. And nothing of her form was to be seen, not a glimpse of bosom or +shoulder. It was as if the impenetrable, redoubtable mystery of love, the +sovereign beauty of woman slumbered there, all powerful, but veiled with +white. Again, not a jewel appeared on her fingers or in her ears. There +was simply a necklace falling about her _corsage_, but a necklace fit for +royalty, the famous pearl necklace of the Boccaneras, which she had +inherited from her mother, and which was known to all Rome--pearls of +fabulous size cast negligently about her neck, and sufficing, simply as +she 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, for +beside him he heard a low plaint, an involuntary growl which reminded him +of the Count’s presence. However, Prada promptly stifled this cry of +returning anguish, and found strength enough to affect a brutish gaiety: +“The devil!” said he, “they have plenty of impudence. I hope we shall see +them married and bedded at once!” Then regretting this coarse jest which +had been prompted by the revolt of passion, he sought to appear +indifferent: “She looks very nice this evening,” he said; “she has the +finest shoulders in the world, you know, and its a real success for her +to hide them and yet appear more beautiful than ever.” + +He went on speaking, contriving to assume an easy tone, and giving +various little particulars about the Countess as he still obstinately +called the young woman. However, he had drawn rather further into the +recess, for fear, no doubt, that people might remark his pallor, and the +painful 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 lovers +so openly and naïvely expressed. And he was glad of the respite which the +arrival of the King and Queen at this moment offered him. “Ah! here are +their Majesties!” he exclaimed, turning towards the window. “Look at the +scramble in the street!” + +Although the windows were closed, a tumult could be heard rising from the +footways. And Pierre on looking down saw, by the light of the electric +lamps, a sea of human heads pour over the road and encompass the +carriages. He had several times already seen the King during the latter’s +daily drives to the grounds of the Villa Borghese, whither he came like +any private gentleman--unguarded, unescorted, with merely an aide-de-camp +accompanying him in his victoria. At other times he drove a light phaeton +with only a footman in black livery to attend him. And on one occasion +Pierre had seen him with the Queen, the pair of them seated side by side +like worthy middle-class folks driving abroad for pleasure. And, as the +royal couple went by, the busy people in the streets and the promenaders +in the public gardens contented themselves with wafting them an +affectionate wave of the hand, the most expansive simply approaching to +smile at them, and no one importuning them with acclamations. Pierre, who +harboured the traditional idea of kings closely guarded and passing +processionally with all the accompaniment of military pomp, was therefore +greatly surprised and touched by the amiable _bonhomie_ of this royal +pair, who went wherever they listed in full security amidst the smiling +affection of their people. Everybody, moreover, had told him of the +King’s kindliness and simplicity, his desire for peace, and his passion +for sport, solitude, and the open air, which, amidst the worries of +power, must often have made him dream of a life of freedom far from the +imperious duties of royalty for which he seemed unfitted.* But the Queen +was yet more tenderly loved. So naturally and serenely virtuous that she +alone remained ignorant of the scandals of Rome, she was also a woman of +great culture and great refinement, conversant with every field of +literature, and very happy in being so intelligent, so superior to those +around her--a pre-eminence which she realised and which she was fond of +showing, 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 suddenly +pointing to the crowd he said: “Now that they have seen the Queen they +will 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 of +spirit was coming back, and so, turning towards the gallery again, he +tried to play the jester. “Attention, my dear Abbé, we mustn’t miss their +Majesties’ entry. That will be the finest part of the _fête_!” + +A few minutes went by, and then, in the very midst of a polka, the +orchestra suddenly ceased playing. But a moment afterwards, with all the +blare of its brass instruments, it struck up the Royal March. The dancers +fled in confusion, the centre of the gallery was cleared, and the King +and Queen entered, escorted by the Prince and Princess Buongiovanni, who +had received them at the foot of the staircase. The King was in ordinary +evening dress, while the Queen wore a robe of straw-coloured satin, +covered with superb white lace; and under the diadem of brilliants which +encircled her beautiful fair hair, she looked still young, with a fresh +and rounded face, whose expression was all amiability, gentleness, and +wit. The music was still sounding with the enthusiastic violence of +welcome. Behind her father and mother, Celia appeared amidst the press of +people who were following to see the sight; and then came Attilio, the +Saccos, and various relatives and official personages. And, pending the +termination of the Royal March, only salutations, glances, and smiles +were exchanged amidst the sonorous music and dazzling light; whilst all +the guests crowded around on tip-toe, with outstretched necks and +glittering eyes--a rising tide of heads and shoulders, flashing with the +fires of precious stones. + +At last the march ended and the presentations began. Their Majesties were +already acquainted with Celia, and congratulated her with quite +affectionate kindliness. However, Sacco, both as minister and father, was +particularly desirous of presenting his son Attilio. He bent his supple +spine, and summoned to his lips the fine words which were appropriate, in +such wise that he contrived to make the young man bow to the King in the +capacity of a lieutenant in his Majesty’s army, whilst his homage as a +handsome young man, so passionately loved by his betrothed was reserved +for Queen Margherita. Again did their Majesties show themselves very +gracious, even towards the Signora Sacco who, ever modest and prudent, +had remained in the background. And then occurred an incident that was +destined to give rise to endless gossip. Catching sight of Benedetta, +whom Count Prada had presented to her after his marriage, the Queen, who +greatly admired her beauty and charm of manner, addressed her a smile in +such wise that the young woman was compelled to approach. A conversation +of some minutes’ duration ensued, and the Contessina was favoured with +some extremely amiable expressions which were perfectly audible to all +around. Most certainly the Queen was ignorant of the event of the day, +the dissolution of Benedetta’s marriage with Prada, and her coming union +with Dario so publicly announced at this _gala_, which now seemed to have +been given to celebrate a double betrothal. Nevertheless that +conversation caused a deep impression; the guests talked of nothing but +the compliments which Benedetta had received from the most virtuous and +intelligent of queens, and her triumph was increased by it all, she +became yet more beautiful and more victorious amidst the happiness she +felt 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 became +intense. Whilst the sovereigns continued conversing, the Queen with the +ladies who came to pay her their respects, the King with the officers, +diplomatists, and other important personages who approached him, Prada +saw none but Benedetta--Benedetta congratulated, caressed, exalted by +affection and glory. Dario was near her, flushing with pleasure, radiant +like herself. It was for them that this ball had been given, for them +that the lamps shone out, for them that the music played, for them that +the most beautiful women of Rome had bared their bosoms and adorned them +with precious stones. It was for them that their Majesties had entered to +the strains of the Royal March, for them that the _fête_ was becoming +like an apotheosis, for them that a fondly loved queen was smiling, +appearing at that betrothal _gala_ like the good fairy of the nursery +tales, whose coming betokens life-long happiness. And for Prada, this +wondrously brilliant hour when good fortune and joyfulness attained their +apogee, was one of defeat. It was fraught with the victory of that woman +who had refused to be his wife in aught but name, and of that man who now +was about to take her from him: such a public, ostentatious, insulting +victory that it struck him like a buffet in the face. And not merely did +his pride and passion bleed for that: he felt that the triumph of the +Saccos dealt a blow to his fortune. Was it true, then, that the rough +conquerors of the North were bound to deteriorate in the delightful +climate of Rome, was that the reason why he already experienced such a +sensation of weariness and exhaustion? That very morning at Frascati in +connection with that disastrous building enterprise he had realised that +his millions were menaced, albeit he refused to admit that things were +going badly with him, as some people rumoured. And now, that evening, +amidst that _fête_ he beheld the South victorious, Sacco winning the day +like one who feeds at his ease on the warm prey so gluttonously pounced +upon 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 Roman +aristocracy, and already laying hands on the people and the national +funds with the prospect of some day becoming the master of Rome and +Italy--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 were +being pushed away from table before the feast was over! All crumbled and +escaped him, Sacco stole his millions, and Benedetta tortured his flesh, +stirring up that awful wound of unsatisfied passion which never would be +healed. + +Again did Pierre hear that dull plaint, that involuntary despairing +growl, which had upset him once before. And he looked at the Count, and +asked him: “Are you suffering?” But on seeing how livid was the face of +Prada, who only retained his calmness by a superhuman effort, he +regretted his indiscreet question, which, moreover, remained unanswered. +And then to put the other more at ease, the young priest went on +speaking, venting the thoughts which the sight before him inspired: “Your +father was right,” said he, “we Frenchmen whose education is so full of +the Catholic spirit, even in these days of universal doubt, we never +think of Rome otherwise than as the old Rome of the popes. We scarcely +know, we can scarcely understand the great changes which, year by year, +have brought about the Italian Rome of the present day. Why, when I +arrived here, the King and his government and the young nation working to +make a great capital for itself, seemed to me of no account whatever! +Yes, I dismissed all that, thought nothing of it, in my dream of +resuscitating a Christian and evangelical Rome, which should assure the +happiness of the world.” + +He laughed as he spoke, pitying his own artlessness, and then pointed +towards the gallery where Prince Buongiovanni was bowing to the King +whilst the Princess listened to the gallant remarks of Sacco: a scene +full of symbolism, the old papal aristocracy struck down, the _parvenus_ +accepted, the black and white worlds so mixed together that one and all +were little else than subjects, on the eve of forming but one united +nation. That conciliation between the Quirinal and the Vatican which in +principle was regarded as impossible, was it not in practice fatal, in +face of the evolution which went on day by day? People must go on living, +loving, and creating life throughout the ages. And the marriage of +Attilio and Celia would be the symbol of the needful union: youth and +love triumphing over ancient hatred, all quarrels forgotten as a handsome +lad goes by, wins a lovely girl, and carries her off in his arms in order +that the world may last. + +“Look at them!” resumed Pierre, “how handsome and young and gay both the +_fiancés_ are, all confidence in the future. Ah! I well understand that +your King should have come here to please his minister and win one of the +old Roman families over to his throne; it is good, brave, and fatherly +policy. But I like to think that he has also realised the touching +significance of that marriage--old Rome, in the person of that candid, +loving child giving herself to young Italy, that upright, enthusiastic +young man who wears his uniform so jauntily. And may their nuptials be +definitive and fruitful; from them and from all the others may there +arise the great nation which, now that I begin to know you, I trust you +will soon become!” + +Amidst the tottering of his former dream of an evangelical and universal +Rome, Pierre expressed these good wishes for the Eternal City’s future +fortune with such keen and deep emotion that Prada could not help +replying: “I thank you; that wish of yours is in the heart of every good +Italian.” + +But his voice quavered, for even whilst he was looking at Celia and +Attilio, who stood smiling and talking together, he saw Benedetta and +Dario approach them, wearing the same joyful expression of perfect +happiness. And when the two couples were united, so radiant and so +triumphant, so full of superb and happy life, he no longer had strength +to stay there, see them, and suffer. + +“I am frightfully thirsty,” he hoarsely exclaimed. “Let’s go to the +buffet to drink something.” And, thereupon, in order to avoid notice, he +so manœuvred as to glide behind the throng, skirting the windows in the +direction of the entrance to the Hall of the Antiques, which was beyond +the 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 couples +who 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 she +joined her little lily hands as before the image of the Madonna. “Oh! +Monsieur l’Abbé,” said she, “to please me now, do tell her how beautiful +she is, more beautiful than anything on earth, more beautiful than even +the sun, and the moon and stars. If you only knew, my dear, it makes me +quiver to see you so beautiful as that, as beautiful as happiness, as +beautiful as love itself!” + +Benedetta began to laugh, while the two young men made merry. “But you +are as beautiful as I am, darling,” said the Contessina. “And if we are +beautiful it is because we are happy.” + +“Yes, yes, happy,” Celia gently responded. “Do you remember the evening +when you told me that one didn’t succeed in marrying the Pope and the +King? 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 Benedetta +gaily. “No matter; as you answered me that same evening, it is sufficient +that we should love one another, love saves the world.” + +When Pierre at last succeeded in reaching the door of the Hall of the +Antiques, where the buffet was installed, he found Prada there, +motionless, gazing despite himself on the galling spectacle which he +desired 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 a +bleeding heart, he still lingered and witnessed the resumption of the +dancing, the first figure of a quadrille which the orchestra began to +play with a lively flourish of its brass instruments. Benedetta and +Dario, Celia and Attilio were _vis-à-vis_. And so charming and +delightful was the sight which the two couples presented dancing in the +white blaze, all youth and joy, that the King and Queen drew near to them +and became interested. And soon bravos of admiration rang out, while from +every heart spread a feeling of infinite tenderness. + +“I’m dying of thirst, let’s go!” repeated Prada, at last managing to +wrench 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, and +decorations of stucco; and a famous collection of vases, bas-reliefs, and +statues, was disposed along its walls. The marbles predominated, but +there were a few bronzes, and among them a dying gladiator of extreme +beauty. The marvel however was the famous statue of Venus, a companion to +that of the Capitol, but with a more elegant and supple figure and with +the left arm falling loosely in a gesture of voluptuous surrender. That +evening a powerful electric reflector threw a dazzling light upon the +statue, which, in its divine and pure nudity, seemed to be endowed with +superhuman, immortal life. Against the end-wall was the buffet, a long +table covered with an embroidered cloth and laden with fruit, pastry, and +cold meats. Sheaves of flowers rose up amidst bottles of champagne, hot +punch, and iced _sorbetto_, and here and there were marshalled armies of +glasses, tea-cups, and broth-bowls, a perfect wealth of sparkling +crystal, porcelain, and silver. And a happy innovation had been to fill +half of the hall with rows of little tables, at which the guests, in lieu +of being obliged to refresh themselves standing, were able to sit down +and order what they desired as in a café. + +At one of these little tables, Pierre perceived Narcisse seated near a +young woman, whom Prada, on approaching, recognised to be Lisbeth. “You +find me, you see, in delightful company,” gallantly exclaimed the +_attaché_. “As we lost one another, I could think of nothing better than +of offering madame my arm to bring her here.” + +“It was, in fact, a good idea,” said Lisbeth with her pretty laugh, “for +I was feeling very thirsty.” + +They had ordered some iced coffee, which they were slowly sipping out of +little silver-gilt spoons. + +“I have a terrible thirst, too,” declared the Count, “and I can’t quench +it. You will allow us to join you, will you not, my dear sir? Some of +that coffee will perhaps calm me.” And then to Lisbeth he added, “Ah! my +dear, allow me to introduce to you Monsieur l’Abbé Froment, a young +French 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, frequently +became absent-minded; at times he quite forgot her, being again mastered +by his anguish, and, in spite of all his efforts, his eyes ever turned +towards the neighbouring gallery whence the sound of music and dancing +reached him. + +“Why, what are you thinking of, _caro mio_?” Lisbeth asked in her pretty +way, 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 Marchioness +Montefiori and her second husband, Jules Laporte--that ex-sergeant of the +papal Swiss Guard, her junior by fifteen years, whom she had one day +hooked at the Corso with her eyes of fire, which yet had remained superb, +and whom she had afterwards triumphantly transformed into a Marquis +Montefiori in order to have him entirely to herself. Such was her passion +that 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 to +the buffet, so much did she delight in being able to exhibit him and say +that this handsome man was her own exclusive property. And standing there +side by side, the pair of them began to drink champagne and eat +sandwiches, she yet a marvel of massive beauty although she was over +fifty, and he with long wavy moustaches, and proud bearing, like a +fortunate adventurer whose jovial impudence pleased the ladies. + +“You know that she had to extricate him from a nasty affair,” resumed the +Count in a lower tone. “Yes, he travelled in relics; he picked up a +living by supplying relics on commission to convents in France and +Switzerland; and he had launched quite a business in false relics with +the help of some Jews here who concocted little ancient reliquaries out +of mutton bones, with everything sealed and signed by the most genuine +authorities. The affair was hushed up, as three prelates were also +compromised in it! Ah! the happy man! Do you see how she devours him with +her eyes? And he, doesn’t he look quite a _grand seigneur_ by the mere +way in which he holds that plate for her whilst she eats the breast of a +fowl 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, and +jealous. When a woman had managed to win a man, she kept him for ever, he +became her property, and she disposed of him as she pleased. By way of +proof, he cited many interminable _liaisons_, such as that of Donna +Serafina and Morano which, in time became virtual marriages; and he +sneered at such a lack of fancy, such an excess of fidelity whose only +ending, when it did end, was some very disagreeable unpleasantness. + +At this, Lisbeth interrupted him. “But what is the matter with you this +evening, my dear?” she asked with a laugh. “What you speak of is on the +contrary very nice and pretty! When a man and a woman love one another +they ought to do so for ever!” + +She looked delightful as she spoke, with her fine wavy blonde hair and +delicate fair complexion; and Narcisse with a languorous expression in +his half-closed eyes compared her to a Botticelli which he had seen at +Florence. However, the night was now far advanced, and Pierre had once +more sunk into gloomy thoughtfulness when he heard a passing lady remark +that they had already begun to dance the Cotillon in the gallery; and +thereupon he suddenly remembered that Monsignor Nani had given him an +appointment in the little Saloon of the Mirrors. + +“Are you leaving?” hastily inquired Prada on seeing him rise and bow to +Lisbeth. + +“No, no, not yet,” Pierre answered. + +“Oh! all right. Don’t go away without me. I want to walk a little, and +I’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 the +other with blue, before he at last reached the mirrored _salon_. This was +really an exquisite example of the _rococo_ style, a rotunda as it were +of pale mirrors framed with superb gilded carvings. Even the ceiling was +covered with mirrors disposed slantwise so that on every side things +multiplied, mingled, and appeared under all possible aspects. Discreetly +enough no electric lights had been placed in the room, the only +illumination being that of some pink tapers burning in a pair of +candelabra. The hangings and upholstery were of soft blue silk, and the +impression on entering was very sweet and charming, as if one had found +oneself in the abode of some fairy queen of the rills, a palace of limpid +water, 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 had +attracted almost everybody to the picture gallery. And the silence in the +little _salon_ was nearly perfect, for at that distance the blare of the +orchestra subsided into a faint, flute-like murmur. The young priest at +once apologised to the prelate for having kept him waiting. + +“No, no, my dear son,” said Nani, with his inexhaustible amiability. “I +was very comfortable in this retreat--when the press of the crowd became +over-threatening I took refuge here.” He did not speak of the King and +Queen, but he allowed it to be understood that he had politely avoided +their company. If he had come to the _fête_ it was on account of his +sincere affection for Celia and also with a very delicate diplomatic +object, for the Church wished to avoid any appearance of having entirely +broken with the Buongiovanni family, that ancient house which was so +famous in the annals of the papacy. Doubtless the Vatican was unable to +subscribe to this marriage which seemed to unite old Rome with the young +Kingdom of Italy, but on the other hand it did not desire people to think +that it abandoned old and faithful supporters and took no interest in +what befell them. + +“But come, my dear son,” the prelate resumed, “it is you who are now in +question. I told you that although the Congregation of the Index had +pronounced itself for the condemnation of your book, the sentence would +only be submitted to the Holy Father and signed by him on the day after +to-morrow. So you still have a whole day before you.” + +At this Pierre could not refrain from a dolorous and vivacious +interruption. + +“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 even +see his Holiness now that he is so ill?” + +“Oh! ill, ill!” muttered Nani with his shrewd expression. “His Holiness +is ever so much better, for this very day, like every other Wednesday, I +had the honour to be received by him. When his Holiness is a little tired +and people say that he is very ill, he often lets them do so, for it +gives him a rest and enables him to judge certain ambitions and +manifestations of impatience around him.” + +Pierre, however, was too upset to listen attentively. “No, it’s all +over,” he continued, “I’m in despair. You spoke to me of the possibility +of a miracle, but I am no great believer in miracles. Since I am defeated +here at Rome, I shall go away, I shall return to Paris, and continue the +struggle there. Oh! I cannot resign myself, my hope in salvation by the +practice of love cannot die, and I shall answer my denouncers in a new +book, in which I shall tell in what new soil the new religion will grow +up!” + +Silence fell. Nani looked at him with his clear eyes in which +intelligence shone distinct and sharp like steel. And amidst the deep +calm, the warm heavy atmosphere of the little _salon_, whose mirrors were +starred with countless reflections of candles, a more sonorous burst of +music 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 on +your arrival here I promised that if your own efforts to obtain an +interview with the Holy Father should prove unavailing, I would myself +endeavour to secure an audience for you.” Then, seeing how agitated the +young priest was getting, he went on: “Listen to me and don’t excite +yourself. His Holiness, unfortunately, is not always prudently advised. +Around him are persons whose devotion, however great, is at times +deficient in intelligence. I told you that, and warned you against +inconsiderate applications. And this is why, already three weeks ago, I +myself handed your book to his Holiness in the hope that he would deign +to glance at it. I rightly suspected that it had not been allowed to +reach 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 to +see 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 of +keen 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. It +is now two o’clock in the morning. Well, this very day, at nine in the +evening precisely, you must present yourself at the Vatican and at every +door 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 of +these things.” + +Pierre’s happiness and gratitude at last flowed forth. He had caught hold +of the prelate’s soft, plump hands, and stammered, “Ah! Monseigneur, how +can I express my gratitude to you? If you only knew how full my soul was +of night and rebellion since I realised that I had been a mere plaything +in the hands of those powerful cardinals. But you have saved me, and +again I feel sure that I shall win the victory, for I shall at last be +able to fling myself at the feet of his Holiness the father of all truth +and 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 cherished +ideas. No, no, it is impossible; he will not sign that judgment; he will +not 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 expenditure +of enthusiasm. At last he succeeded, and begged him to retire. The +orchestra was again playing more loudly in the distance. And when the +young priest at last withdrew, thanking him once more, he said very +simply, “Remember, my dear son, that only obedience is great.” + +Pierre, whose one desire now was to take himself off, found Prada almost +immediately afterwards in the first reception-room. Their Majesties had +just left the ball in grand ceremony, escorted to the threshold by the +Buongiovannis and the Saccos. And before departing the Queen had +maternally kissed Celia, whilst the King shook hands with +Attilio--honours instinct with a charming good nature which made the +members of both families quite radiant. However, a good many of the +guests were following the example of the sovereigns and disappearing in +small batches. And the Count, who seemed strangely nervous, and showed +more sternness and bitterness than ever, was, on his side, also eager to +be gone. “Ah! it’s you at last. I was waiting for you,” he said to +Pierre. “Well, let’s get off at once, eh? Your compatriot Monsieur +Narcisse Habert asked me to tell you not to look for him. The fact is, he +has gone to see my friend Lisbeth to her carriage. I myself want a breath +of fresh air, a stroll, and so I’ll go with you as far as the Via +Giulia.” + +Then, as they took their things from the cloak-room, he could not help +sneering 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, for +there was no room for you in the carriage. What superb impudence it was +on the part of that Donna Serafina to drag herself here, at her age, with +that 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 hardly +speak calmly of _them_, for in parading here together as they did this +evening, they have shown an impudence and a cruelty such as is rarely +seen!” Prada’s hands trembled, and he murmured: “A good journey, a good +journey to the young man, since he is going to Naples. Yes, I heard Celia +say that he was starting for Naples this evening at six o’clock. Well, my +wishes go with him; a good journey!” + +The two men found the change delightful when they at last emerged from +the stifling heat of the reception-rooms into the lovely, cool, and +limpid night. It was a night illumined by a superb full moon, one of +those matchless Roman nights when the city slumbers in Elysian radiance, +steeped in a dream of the Infinite, under the vast vault of heaven. And +they took the most agreeable route, going down the Corso proper and then +turning into the Corso Vittorio Emanuele. + +Prada had grown somewhat calmer, but remained full of irony. To divert +his mind, no doubt, he talked on in the most voluble manner, reverting to +the women of Rome and to that _fête_ which he had at first found +splendid, but at which he now began to rail. + +“Oh! of course they have very fine gowns,” said he, speaking of the +women; “but gowns which don’t fit them, gowns which are sent them from +Paris, and which, of course, they can’t try on. It’s just the same with +their jewels; they still have diamonds and pearls, in particular, which +are very fine, but they are so wretchedly, so heavily mounted that they +look frightful. And if you only knew how ignorant and frivolous these +women are, despite all their conceit! Everything is on the surface with +them, even religion: there’s nothing beneath. I looked at them eating at +the buffet. Oh! they at least have fine appetites. This evening some +decorum was observed, there wasn’t too much gorging. But at one of the +Court balls you would see a general pillage, the buffets besieged, and +everything swallowed up amidst a scramble of amazing voracity!” + +To all this talk Pierre only returned monosyllabic responses. He was +wrapped in overflowing delight at the thought of that audience with the +Pope, which, unable as he was to confide in any one, he strove to arrange +and picture in his own mind, even in its pettiest details. And meantime +the footsteps of the two men rang out on the dry pavement of the clear, +broad, deserted thoroughfare, whose black shadows were sharply outlined +by the moonlight. + +All at once Prada himself became silent. His loquacious _bravura_ was +exhausted, the frightful struggle going on in his mind wholly possessed +and paralysed him. Twice already he had dipped his hand into his coat +pocket and felt the pencilled note whose four lines he mentally repeated: +“A legend avers that the fig-tree of Judas now grows at Frascati, and +that its fruit is deadly for him who may desire to become pope. Eat not +the 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 accompany +Pierre, it was in order that he might drop it into the letter-box at the +Palazzo Boccanera. And he continued to step out briskly, so that within +another ten minutes that note would surely be in the box, for no power in +the 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 that +Dario had raised such a tempest of jealous hatred within him! For them he +forgot Lisbeth whom he loved, and even that flesh of his flesh, the child +of 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 now +there was a woman in the world who defied him, a woman forsooth whom he +had bought, whom he had married, who had been handed over to him, but who +would never, never be his. Ah! in the old days, to subdue her, he would +if needful have fired Rome like a Nero; but now he asked himself what he +could possibly do to prevent her from belonging to another. That galling +thought made the blood gush from his gaping wound. How that woman and her +lover must deride him! And to think that they had sought to turn him to +ridicule by a baseless charge, an arrant lie which still and ever made +him smart, all proof of its falsity to the contrary. He, on his side, had +accused them in the past without much belief in what he said, but now the +charges he had imputed to them must come true, for they were free, freed +at all events of the religious bond, and that no doubt was their only +care. And then visions of their happiness passed before his eyes, +infuriating him. Ah! no, ah! no, it was impossible, he would rather +destroy the world! + +Then, as he and Pierre turned out of the Corso Vittorio Emanuele to +thread the old narrow tortuous streets leading to the Via Giulia, he +pictured himself dropping the note into the letter-box at the palazzo. +And next he conjured up what would follow. The note would lie in the +letter-box till morning. At an early hour Don Vigilio, the secretary, who +by the Cardinal’s express orders kept the key of the box, would come +down, find the note, and hand it to his Eminence, who never allowed +another to open any communication addressed to him. And then the figs +would be thrown away, there would be no further possibility of crime, the +black world would in all prudence keep silent. But if the note should not +be in the letter-box, what would happen then? And admitting that +supposition he pictured the figs placed on the table at the one o’clock +meal, in their pretty little leaf-covered basket. Dario would be there as +usual, alone with his uncle, since he was not to leave for Naples till +the evening. And would both the uncle and the nephew eat the figs, or +would only one of them partake of the fruit, and which of them would that +be? At this point Prada’s clearness of vision failed him; again he +conjured up Destiny on the march, that Destiny which he had met on the +road from Frascati, going on towards its unknown goal, athwart all +obstacles without possibility of stoppage. Aye, the little basket of figs +went ever on and on to accomplish its fateful purpose, which no hand in +the world had power enough to prevent. + +And at last, on either hand of Pierre and Prada, the Via Giulia stretched +away in a long line white with moonlight, and the priest emerged as if +from a dream at sight of the Palazzo Boccanera rising blackly under the +silver sky. Three o’clock struck at a neighbouring church. And he felt +himself quivering slightly as once again he heard near him the dolorous +moan of a lion wounded unto death, that low involuntary growl which the +Count, amidst the frightful struggle of his feelings, had for the third +time allowed to escape him. But immediately afterwards he burst into a +sneering laugh, and pressing the priest’s hands, exclaimed: “No, no, I am +not going farther. If I were seen here at this hour, people would think +that I had fallen in love with my wife again.” + +And thereupon he lighted a cigar, and retraced his steps in the clear +night, 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 had +slept like a child in delightful peacefulness, and as soon as he opened +his eyes the radiant sunshine filled him with hope. His first thought was +that he would see the Pope that evening at nine o’clock. Ten more hours +to 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 opened +the windows to admit the warm air which, as he had noticed on the day of +his 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? What +a delightful land, that the spring should seem to flower on the very +threshold of winter! Then, having dressed, he was leaning out of the +window to glance across the golden Tiber at the evergreen slopes of the +Janiculum, when he espied Benedetta seated in the abandoned garden of the +mansion. 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 he +had expected: “Ah! my dear Abbé, how happy I am!” + +They had often spent their mornings in that quiet, forsaken nook; but +what 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 seemed +full of charm, instinct with a sweet and dreamy cosiness in which it was +very pleasant to lull one’s joy. And it was so warm, too, beside the big +laurel-bush, in the corner where the streamlet of water ever fell with +flute-like music from the gaping, tragic mask. + +“Ah!” repeated Benedetta, “how happy I am! I was stifling upstairs, and +my heart felt such a need of space, and air, and sunlight, that I came +down 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 her +looking 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 her +childish mouth, all candour and good sense, laughed the laugh of one who +was at last free to love as her heart listed, without offending either +God or man. And, dreaming aloud, she built up plans for the future. “It’s +all simple enough,” said she; “I have already obtained a separation, and +shall easily get that changed into civil divorce now that the Church has +annulled my marriage. And I shall marry Dario next spring, perhaps +sooner, if the formalities can be hastened. He is going to Naples this +evening about the sale of some property which we still possess there, but +which 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 when +he comes back in a few days, what a happy time we shall have! I could not +sleep when I got back from that splendid ball last night, for my head was +so full of plans--oh! splendid plans, as you shall see, for I mean to +keep you in Rome until our marriage.” + +Like herself, Pierre began to laugh, so gained upon by this explosion of +youth and happiness that he had to make a great effort to refrain from +speaking of his own delight, his hopefulness at the thought of his coming +interview with the Pope. Of that, however, he had sworn to speak to +nobody. + +Every now and again, amidst the quivering silence of the sunlit garden, +the cry of a bird persistently rang out; and Benedetta, raising her head +and looking at a cage hanging beside one of the first-floor windows, +jestingly exclaimed: “Yes, yes, Tata, make a good noise, show that you +are 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’s +very fond of her, and lets her help herself out of his plate. And he +himself attends to her, puts her out and takes her in, and keeps her in +his dining-room, for fear lest she should take cold, as that is the only +room of his which is at all warm.” + +Pierre in his turn looked up and saw the bird, one of those pretty little +parrots with soft, silky, dull-green plumage. It was hanging by the beak +from a bar of its cage, swinging itself and flapping its wings, all mirth +in the bright sunshine. + +“Does the bird talk?” he asked. + +“No, she only screams,” replied Benedetta, laughing. “Still my uncle +pretends that he understands her.” And then the young woman abruptly +darted to another subject, as if this mention of her uncle the Cardinal +had made her think of the uncle by marriage whom she had in Paris. “I +suppose you have heard from Viscount de la Choue,” said she. “I had a +letter from him yesterday, in which he said how grieved he was that you +were unable to see the Holy Father, as he had counted on you for the +triumph of his ideas.” + +Pierre indeed frequently heard from the Viscount, who was greatly +distressed by the importance which his adversary, Baron de Fouras, had +acquired since his success with the International Pilgrimage of the +Peter’s Pence. The old, uncompromising Catholic party would awaken, said +the Viscount, and all the conquests of Neo-Catholicism would be +threatened, if one could not obtain the Holy Father’s formal adhesion to +the proposed system of free guilds, in order to overcome the demand for +closed guilds which was brought forward by the Conservatives. And the +Viscount overwhelmed Pierre with injunctions, and sent him all sorts of +complicated plans in his eagerness to see him received at the Vatican. +“Yes, yes,” muttered the young priest in reply to Benedetta. “I had a +letter on Sunday, and found another waiting for me on my return from +Frascati yesterday. Ah! it would make me very happy to be able to send +the Viscount some good news.” Then again Pierre’s joy overflowed at the +thought that he would that evening see the Pope, and, on opening his +loving heart to the Pontiff, receive the supreme encouragement which +would strengthen him in his mission to work social salvation in the name +of 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. “My +audience 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 be +received this evening at nine o’clock.” + +At this the Contessina flushed with pleasure, participating in the +delight of the young priest to whom she had grown much attached. And this +success of his, coming in the midst of her own felicity, acquired +extraordinary importance in her eyes as if it were an augury of complete +success for one and all. Superstitious as she was, she raised a cry of +rapture and excitement: “Ah! _Dio_, that will bring us good luck. How +happy I am, my friend, to see happiness coming to you at the same time as +to me! You cannot think how pleased I am! And all will go well now, it’s +certain, for a house where there is any one whom the Pope welcomes is +blessed, the thunder of Heaven falls on it no more!” + +She laughed yet more loudly as she spoke, and clapped her hands with such +exuberant gaiety that Pierre became anxious. “Hush! hush!” said he, “it’s +a secret. Pray don’t mention it to any one, either your aunt or even his +Eminence. Monsignor Nani would be much annoyed.” + +She thereupon promised to say nothing, and in a kindly voice spoke of +Nani as a benefactor, for was she not indebted to him for the dissolution +of 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 ask +me 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 they +are happy.” + +He looked at her in stupefaction at the idea of that strange solution of +the terrible question of human misery. And suddenly he realised that, +with that daughter of the sun who had inherited so many centuries of +sovereign aristocracy, all his endeavours at conversion were vain. He had +wished 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 had +dreamt of; but if she had been moved by the sufferings of the multitude +at the time when she herself had suffered, when grievous wounds had made +her own heart bleed, she was no sooner healed than she proclaimed the +doctrine of universal felicity like a true daughter of a clime of burning +summers, 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 a +girl of the Trastevere the lad she loves, and she becomes as radiant as a +queen, and finds her dry bread quite sweet. The mothers who save a child +from sickness, the men who conquer in a battle, or who win at the +lottery, one and all in fact are like that, people only ask for good +fortune and pleasure. And despite all your striving to be just and to +arrive at a more even distribution of fortune, the only satisfied ones +will be those whose hearts sing--often without their knowing the +cause--on a fine sunny day like this.” + +Pierre made a gesture of surrender, not wishing to sadden her by again +pleading the cause of all the poor ones who at that very moment were +somewhere agonising with physical or mental pain. But, all at once, +through the luminous mild atmosphere a shadow seemed to fall, tingeing +joy with sadness, the sunshine with despair. And the sight of the old +sarcophagus, with its bacchanal of satyrs and nymphs, brought back the +memory that death lurks even amidst the bliss of passion, the unsatiated +kisses of love. For a moment the clear song of the water sounded in +Pierre’s ears like a long-drawn sob, and all seemed to crumble in the +terrible shadow which had fallen from the invisible. + +Benedetta, however, caught hold of his hands and roused him once more to +the delight of being there beside her. “Your pupil is rebellious, is she +not, my friend?” said she. “But what would you have? There are ideas +which can’t enter into our heads. No, you will never get those things +into 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 so +beautiful that he trembled as in presence of a divinity whose +all-powerfulness swayed the world. “Yes, yes,” he stammered, “beauty, +beauty, still and ever sovereign. Ah! why can it not suffice to satisfy +the eternal longings of poor suffering men?” + +“Never mind!” she gaily responded. “Do not distress yourself; it is +pleasant 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 when +Pierre did not eat at one or another restaurant a cover was laid for him +at the ladies’ table in the little dining-room of the second floor, +overlooking the courtyard. At the same hour, in the sunlit dining-room of +the first floor, whose windows faced the Tiber, the Cardinal likewise sat +down to table, happy in the society of his nephew Dario, for his +secretary, Don Vigilio, who also was usually present, never opened his +mouth unless to reply to some question. And the two services were quite +distinct, each having its own kitchen and servants, the only thing at all +common to them both being a large room downstairs which served as a +pantry and store-place. + +Although the second-floor dining-room was so gloomy, saddened by the +greeny half-light of the courtyard, the meal shared that day by the two +ladies and the young priest proved a very gay one. Even Donna Serafina, +usually so rigid, seemed to relax under the influence of great internal +felicity. She was no doubt still enjoying her triumph of the previous +evening, 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, said +she. According to her account, she had only avoided presentation by +skilful strategy; however she hoped that her well-known affection for +Celia, whose god-mother she was, would explain her presence in that +neutral mansion where Vatican and Quirinal had met. At the same time she +must have retained certain scruples, for she declared that directly after +dinner she was going to the Vatican to see the Cardinal Secretary, to +whom she desired to speak about an enterprise of which she was +lady-patroness. This visit would compensate for her attendance at the +Buongiovanni entertainment. And on the other hand never had Donna +Serafina seemed so zealous and hopeful of her brother’s speedy accession +to the throne of St. Peter: therein lay a supreme triumph, an elevation +of her race, which her pride deemed both needful and inevitable; and +indeed during Leo XIII’s last indisposition she had actually concerned +herself about the trousseau which would be needed and which would require +to be marked with the new Pontiff’s arms. + +On her side, Benedetta was all gaiety during the repast, laughing at +everything, and speaking of Celia and Attilio with the passionate +affection 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 with +an 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 question +was 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 on +my way to the garden. They were in a little basket and looked superb. I +was even astonished to see that there were still some fresh figs left at +this season. I’m very fond of them, and felt quite pleased at the thought +that I should eat some at dinner.” + +Victorine began to laugh: “Ah! yes, Contessina, I understand,” she +replied. “They were some figs which that priest of Frascati, whom you +know 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 a +present, and were to be put on his Eminence’s table without a leaf being +touched. 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! They +might have given us a share!” + +Donna Serafina thereupon intervened, and asked Victorine: “You are +speaking, are you not, of that priest who used to come to the villa at +Frascati?” + +“Yes, yes, Abbé Santobono his name is, he officiates at the little church +of St. Mary in the Fields. He always asks for Abbé Paparelli when he +calls; I think they were at the seminary together. And it was Abbé +Paparelli who brought him to the pantry with his basket last night. To +tell the truth, the basket was forgotten there in spite of all the +injunctions, so that nobody would have eaten the figs to-day if Abbé +Paparelli hadn’t run down just now and carried them upstairs as piously +as if they were the Blessed Sacrament. It’s true though that his Eminence +is so fond of them.” + +“My brother won’t do them much honour to-day,” remarked the Princess. “He +is slightly indisposed. He passed a bad night.” The repeated mention of +Abbé Paparelli had made the old lady somewhat thoughtful. She had +regarded the train-bearer with displeasure ever since she had noticed the +extraordinary influence he was gaining over the Cardinal, despite all his +apparent humility and self-effacement. He was but a servant and +apparently a very insignificant one, yet he governed, and she could feel +that he combated her own influence, often undoing things which she had +done to further her brother’s interests. Twice already, moreover, she had +suspected him of having urged the Cardinal to courses which she looked +upon as absolute blunders. But perhaps she was wrong; she did the +train-bearer the justice to admit that he had great merits and displayed +exemplary piety. + +However, Benedetta went on laughing and jesting, and as Victorine had now +withdrawn, she called the man-servant: “Listen, Giacomo, I have a +commission 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 underneath +us. Uncle is taking the leaves off the basket and serving himself with a +smile; then he passes the basket to Dario, who passes it on to Don +Vigilio. 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 be +near Dario, the constant flight of her thoughts to him that now made her +picture him at table with the others. Her heart was down below, and there +was nothing there that she could not see, and hear, and smell, with such +keenness 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 taste +his figs, and that it will be very kind of him if he will send us such as +he can spare.” + +Again, however, did Donna Serafina intervene, recalling her wonted +severity of voice: “Giacomo, you will please stay here.” And to her niece +she added: “That’s enough childishness! I dislike such silly freaks.” + +“Oh! aunt,” Benedetta murmured. “But I’m so happy, it’s so long since I +laughed so good-heartedly.” + +Pierre had hitherto remained listening, enlivened by the sight of her +gaiety. But now, as a little chill fell, he raised his voice to say that +on the previous day he himself had been astonished to see the famous +fig-tree of Frascati still bearing fruit so late in the year. This was +doubtless due, however, to the tree’s position and the protection of a +high wall. + +“Ah! so you saw the tree?” said Benedetta. + +“Yes, and I even travelled with those figs which you would so much like +to 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 at +Frascati who had come there in a carriage and who insisted on driving me +back to Rome,” said he. “On the way we picked up Abbé Santobono, who was +bravely making the journey on foot with his basket in his hand. And +afterwards we stopped at an _osteria_--” Then he went on to describe the +drive and relate his impressions whilst crossing the Campagna amidst the +falling twilight. But Benedetta gazed at him fixedly, aware as she was of +Prada’s frequent visits to the land and houses which he owned at +Frascati; and suddenly she murmured: “Somebody, somebody, it was the +Count, 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 from +the young priest with such deep and natural emotion, full as he was of +overflowing love and compassion for one and all. Donna Serafina remained +motionless as if she had not even heard him, and Benedetta made a gesture +which seemed to imply that she had neither pity nor hatred to express for +a man who had become a perfect stranger to her. However, she no longer +laughed, but, thinking of the little basket which had travelled in +Prada’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 was +at once going to the Vatican; and the others, being left to themselves, +lingered at table, again full of gaiety, and chatting like friends. The +priest, with his feverish impatience, once more referred to the audience +which he was to have that evening. It was now barely two o’clock, and he +had seven more hours to wait. How should he employ that endless +afternoon? Thereupon Benedetta good-naturedly made him a proposal. “I’ll +tell you what,” said she, “as we are all in such good spirits we mustn’t +leave one another. Dario has his victoria, you know. He must have +finished lunch by now, and I’ll ask him to take us for a long drive along +the Tiber.” + +This fine project so delighted her that she began to clap her hands; but +just then Don Vigilio appeared with a scared look on his face. “Isn’t the +Princess 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 from +table. 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’Abbé. He mustn’t get +ill if he is to take us for a drive!” Then, meeting Victorine on the +stairs, she bade her follow. “Dario isn’t well,” she said. “You may be +wanted.” + +They all four entered the spacious, antiquated, and simply furnished +bed-room where the young Prince had lately been laid up for a whole +month. It was reached by way of a small _salon_, and from an adjoining +dressing-room a passage conducted to the Cardinal’s apartments, the +relatively small dining-room, bed-room, and study, which had been devised +by subdividing one of the huge galleries of former days. In addition, the +passage 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, still +fully dressed. Near him, in fatherly fashion, stood Cardinal Boccanera, +who, amidst his dawning anxiety, retained his proud and lofty +bearing--the calmness of a soul beyond reproach. “Why, what is the +matter, 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 had +drunk too much. All at once things swam before my eyes, and I thought I +was going to fall. And then I only had time to come and fling myself on +the bed.” + +Then he drew a long breath, as though talking exhausted him, and the +Cardinal in his turn gave some details. “We had just finished our meal,” + said he, “I was giving Don Vigilio some orders for this afternoon, and +was about to rise when I saw Dario get up and reel. He wouldn’t sit down +again, but came in here, staggering like a somnambulist, and fumbling at +the doors to open them. We followed him without understanding. And I +confess that I don’t yet comprehend it.” + +So saying, the Cardinal punctuated his surprise by waving his arm towards +the rooms, through which a gust of misfortune seemed to have suddenly +swept. All the doors had remained wide open: the dressing-room could be +seen, and then the passage, at the end of which appeared the dining-room, +in a disorderly state, like an apartment suddenly vacated; the table +still 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 hope +you haven’t eaten anything which has disagreed with you.” + +The Cardinal, smiling, again waved his hand as if to attest the frugality +of his table. “Oh!” said he, “there were only some eggs, some lamb +cutlets, 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, the +food has nothing to do with it.” + +“Besides, in that case his Eminence and I would also have felt +indisposed,” Don Vigilio made bold to remark. + +Dario, after momentarily closing his eyes, opened them again, and once +more drew a long breath, whilst endeavouring to laugh. “Oh, it will be +nothing;” he said. “I feel more at ease already. I must get up and stir +myself.” + +“In that case,” said Benedetta, “this is what I had thought of. You will +take Monsieur l’Abbé 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, before +the servant could approach, a slight convulsion seized him, and he fell +back again as if overcome by a fainting fit. It was the Cardinal, still +standing by the bedside, who caught him in his arms, whilst the +Contessina this time lost her head: “_Dio, Dio_! It has come on him +again. Quick, quick, a doctor!” + +“Shall I run for one?” asked Pierre, whom the scene was also beginning to +upset. + +“No, no, not you; stay with me. Victorine will go at once. She knows the +address. Doctor Giordano, Victorine.” + +The servant hurried away, and a heavy silence fell on the room where the +anxiety 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 face +seemed to him to be ashen, to wear that mask of terrified anguish which +he had already remarked on the countenance of his dearest friend, +Monsignor Gallo, when he had held him in his arms, in like manner, two +hours before his death. There was also the same swoon and the same +sensation of clasping a cold form whose heart ceases to beat. And above +everything else there was in Boccanera’s mind the same growing thought of +poison, poison coming one knew not whence or how, but mysteriously +striking down those around him with the suddenness of lightning. And for +a 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 signs +of the mysterious, implacable disorder which once already had rent his +heart atwain. + +But Benedetta addressed him in a low, entreating voice: “You will tire +yourself, uncle. Let me take him a little, I beg you. Have no fear, I’ll +hold him very gently, he will feel that it is I, and perhaps that will +rouse him.” + +At last the Cardinal raised his head and looked at her, and allowed her +to take his place after kissing her with distracted passion, his eyes the +while full of tears--a sudden burst of emotion in which his great love +for the young woman melted the stern frigidity which he usually affected. +“Ah! my poor child, my poor child!” he stammered, trembling from head to +foot like an oak-tree about to fall. Immediately afterwards, however, he +mastered 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 thoughts +revolving in his mind, and he strayed first into the dressing-room and +then down the passage as far as the dining-room. And again and again he +went to and fro, grave and impassible, his head low, ever lost in the +same gloomy reverie. What were the multitudinous thoughts stirring in the +brain of that believer, that haughty Prince who had given himself to God +and could do naught to stay inevitable Destiny? From time to time he +returned to the bedside, observed the progress of the disorder, and then +started off again at the same slow regular pace, disappearing and +reappearing, carried along as it were by the monotonous alternations of +forces which man cannot control. Possibly he was mistaken, possibly this +was some mere indisposition at which the doctor would smile. One must +hope and wait. And again he went off and again he came back; and amidst +the heavy silence nothing more clearly bespoke the torture of anxious +fear than the rhythmical footsteps of that tall old man who was thus +awaiting 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 bearing +which gave him the air of an amiable prelate, Doctor Giordano came in +smiling; but on seeing that room and all the anxious people waiting in +it, he turned very grave, at once assuming the expression of profound +respect for all ecclesiastical secrets which he had acquired by long +practice among the clergy. And when he had glanced at the sufferer he let +but a low murmur escape him: “What, again! Is it beginning again!” + +He was probably alluding to the knife thrust for which he had recently +tended Dario. Who could be thus relentlessly pursuing that poor and +inoffensive young prince? However no one heard the doctor unless it were +Benedetta, and she was so full of feverish impatience, so eager to be +tranquillised, 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 little +while ago. It’s nothing serious, is it?” + +“You are right no doubt, Contessina, it can be nothing dangerous. We will +see.” + +However, on turning round, Doctor Giordano perceived the Cardinal, who +with regular, thoughtful footsteps had come back from the dining-room to +place himself at the foot of the bed. And while bowing, the doctor +doubtless detected a gleam of mortal anxiety in the dark eyes fixed upon +his own, for he added nothing but began to examine Dario like a man who +realises that time is precious. And as his examination progressed the +affable optimism which usually appeared upon his countenance gave place +to ashen gravity, a covert terror which made his lips slightly tremble. +It was he who had attended Monsignor Gallo when the latter had been +carried off so mysteriously; it was he who for imperative reasons had +then delivered a certificate stating the cause of death to be infectious +fever; and doubtless he now found the same terrible symptoms as in that +case, a leaden hue overspreading the sufferer’s features, a stupor as of +excessive intoxication; and, old Roman practitioner that he was, +accustomed to sudden deaths, he realised that the _malaria_ which kills +was passing, that _malaria_ which science does not yet fully understand, +which may come from the putrescent exhalations of the Tiber unless it be +but a name for the ancient poison of the legends. + +As the doctor raised his head his glance again encountered the black eyes +of the Cardinal, which never left him. “Signor Giordano,” said his +Eminence, “you are not over-anxious, I hope? It is only some case of +indigestion, is it not?” + +The doctor again bowed. By the slight quiver of the Cardinal’s voice he +understood how acute was the anxiety of that powerful man, who once more +was stricken in his dearest affections. + +“Your Eminence must be right,” he said, “there’s a bad digestion +certainly. Such accidents sometimes become dangerous when fever +supervenes. I need not tell your Eminence how thoroughly you may rely on +my prudence and zeal.” Then he broke off and added in a clear +professional 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 further +assistance he would take Giacomo. His evident desire was to get rid of +the members of the family in order that he might have more freedom of +action. And the Cardinal, who understood him, gently led Benedetta into +the dining-room, whither Pierre and Don Vigilio followed. + +When the doors had been closed, the most mournful and oppressive silence +reigned in that dining-room, which the bright sun of winter filled with +such delightful warmth and radiance. The table was still laid, its cloth +strewn here and there with bread-crumbs; and a coffee cup had remained +half full. In the centre stood the basket of figs, whose covering of +leaves had been removed. However, only two or three of the figs were +missing. And in front of the window was Tata, the female parrot, who had +flown out of her cage and perched herself on her stand, where she +remained, dazzled and enraptured, amidst the dancing dust of a broad +yellow sunray. In her astonishment however, at seeing so many people +enter, she had ceased to scream and smooth her feathers, and had turned +her head the better to examine the newcomers with her round and +scrutinising eye. + +The minutes went by slowly amidst all the feverish anxiety as to what +might be occurring in the neighbouring room. Don Vigilio had taken a +corner seat in silence, whilst Benedetta and Pierre, who had remained +standing, preserved similar muteness, and immobility. But the Cardinal +had reverted to that instinctive, lulling tramp by which he apparently +hoped to quiet his impatience and arrive the sooner at the explanation +for which he was groping through a tumultuous maze of ideas. And whilst +his rhythmical footsteps resounded with mechanical regularity, dark fury +was taking possession of his mind, exasperation at being unable to +understand the why and wherefore of that sickness. As he passed the table +he had twice glanced at the things lying on it in confusion, as if +seeking some explanation from them. Perhaps the harm had been done by +that 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 time +he passed by, again glancing, his eyes fell upon the basket of figs, and +at once he stopped, as if beneath the shock of a revelation. An idea +seized upon him and mastered him, without any plan, however, occurring to +him by which he might change his sudden suspicion into certainty. For a +moment he remained puzzled with his eyes fixed upon the basket. Then he +took a fig and examined it, but, noticing nothing strange, was about to +put it back when Tata, the parrot, who was very fond of figs, raised a +strident cry. And this was like a ray of light; the means of changing +suspicion into certainty was found. + +Slowly, with grave air and gloomy visage, the Cardinal carried the fig to +the parrot and gave it to her without hesitation or regret. She was a +very pretty bird, the only being of the lower order of creation to which +he had ever really been attached. Stretching out her supple, delicate +form, whose silken feathers of dull green here and there assumed a pinky +tinge in the sunlight, she took hold of the fig with her claws, then +ripped it open with her beak. But when she had raked it she ate but +little, and let all the rest fall upon the floor. Still grave and +impassible, the Cardinal looked at her and waited. Quite three minutes +went 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 her +bright ruby eye upon her master. But all at once she sank back without +even a flap of the wings, and fell like a bullet. She was dead, killed as +by a thunderbolt. + +Boccanera made but a gesture, raising both hands to heaven as if in +horror at what he now knew. Great God! such a terrible crime, and such a +fearful mistake, such an abominable trick of Destiny! No cry of grief +came from him, but the gloom upon his face grew black and fierce. Yet +there was a cry, a piercing cry from Benedetta, who like Pierre and Don +Vigilio had watched the Cardinal with an astonishment which had changed +into terror: “Poison! poison! Ah! Dario, my heart, my soul!” + +But the Cardinal violently caught his niece by the wrist, whilst darting +a suspicious glance at the two petty priests, the secretary and the +foreigner, who were present: “Be quiet, be quiet!” said he. + +She shook herself free, rebelling, frantic with rage and hatred: “Why +should 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 yesterday +Abbé Froment came back with him from Frascati in his carriage with that +priest Santobono and that basket of figs! Yes, yes, I have witnesses, it +is Prada, Prada!” + +“No, no, you are mad, be quiet!” said the Cardinal, who had again taken +hold of the young woman’s hands and sought to master her with all his +sovereign authority. He, who knew the influence which Cardinal +Sanguinetti exercised over Santobono’s excitable mind, had just +understood the whole affair; no direct complicity but covert propulsion, +the animal excited and then let loose upon the troublesome rival at the +moment when the pontifical throne seemed likely to be vacant. The +probability, the certainty of all this flashed upon Boccanera who, though +some points remained obscure, did not seek to penetrate them. It was not +necessary indeed that he should know every particular: the thing was as +he said, since it was bound to be so. “No, no, it was not Prada,” he +exclaimed, addressing Benedetta. “That man can bear me no personal +grudge, and I alone was aimed at, it was to me that those figs were +given. Come, think it out! Only an unforeseen indisposition prevented me +from eating the greater part of the fruit, for it is known that I am very +fond of figs, and while my poor Dario was tasting them, I jested and told +him to leave the finer ones for me to-morrow. Yes, the abominable blow +was meant for me, and it is on him that it has fallen by the most +atrocious of chances, the most monstrous of the follies of fate. Ah! Lord +God, Lord God, have you then forsaken us!” + +Tears came into the old man’s eyes, whilst she still quivered and seemed +unconvinced: “But you have no enemies, uncle,” she said. “Why should that +Santobono try to take your life?” + +For a moment he found no fitting reply. With supreme grandeur he had +already resolved to keep the truth secret. Then a recollection came to +him, and he resigned himself to the telling of a lie: “Santobono’s mind +has always been somewhat unhinged,” said he, “and I know that he has +hated me ever since I refused to help him to get a brother of his, one of +our former gardeners, out of prison. Deadly spite often has no more +serious cause. He must have thought that he had reason to be revenged on +me.” + +Thereupon Benedetta, exhausted, unable to argue any further, sank upon a +chair with a despairing gesture: “Ah! God, God! I no longer know--and +what matters it now that my Dario is in such danger? There’s only one +thing to be done, he must be saved. How long they are over what they are +doing in that room--why does not Victorine come for us!” + +The silence again fell, full of terror. Without speaking the Cardinal +took the basket of figs from the table and carried it to a cupboard in +which he locked it. Then he put the key in his pocket. No doubt, when +night had fallen, he himself would throw the proofs of the crime into the +Tiber. However, on coming back from the cupboard he noticed the two +priests, who naturally had watched him; and with mingled grandeur and +simplicity he said to them: “Gentlemen, I need not ask you to be +discreet. There are scandals which we must spare the Church, which is +not, cannot be guilty. To deliver one of ourselves, even when he is a +criminal, to the civil tribunals, often means a blow for the whole +Church, for men of evil mind may lay hold of the affair and seek to +impute the responsibility of the crime even to the Church itself. We +therefore have but to commit the murderer to the hands of God, who will +know more surely how to punish him. Ah! for my part, whether I be struck +in my own person or whether the blow be directed against my family, my +dearest affections, I declare in the name of the Christ who died upon the +cross, that I feel neither anger, nor desire for vengeance, that I efface +the murderer’s name from my memory and bury his abominable act in the +eternal silence of the grave.” + +Tall as he was, he seemed of yet loftier stature whilst with hand +upraised he took that oath to leave his enemies to the justice of God +alone; for he did not refer merely to Santobono, but to Cardinal +Sanguinetti, whose evil influence he had divined. And amidst all the +heroism of his pride, he was rent by tragic dolour at thought of the dark +battle which was waged around the tiara, all the evil hatred and +voracious appetite which stirred in the depths of the gloom. Then, as +Pierre and Don Vigilio bowed to him as a sign that they would preserve +silence, he almost choked with invincible emotion, a sob of loving grief +which 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 only +love and hope of my heart! Ah! to die, to die like this!” + +But Benedetta, again all violence, sprang up: “Die! Who, Dario? I won’t +have it! We’ll nurse him, we’ll go back to him. We will take him in our +arms and save him. Come, uncle, come at once! I won’t, I won’t, I won’t +have him die!” + +She was going towards the door, and nothing would have prevented her from +re-entering the bed-room, when, as it happened, Victorine appeared with a +wild look on her face, for, despite her wonted serenity, all her courage +was now exhausted. “The doctor begs madame and his Eminence to come at +once, at once,” said she. + +Stupefied by all these things, Pierre did not follow the others, but +lingered 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 not +even denounce! And he recalled the conversation on his way back from +Frascati, and his Parisian scepticism with respect to those legendary +drugs, which to his mind had no place save in the fifth acts of +melodramas. Yet those abominable stories were true, those tales of +poisoned knives and flowers, of prelates and even dilatory popes being +suppressed by a drop or a grain of something administered to them in +their morning chocolate. That passionate tragical Santobono was really a +poisoner, Pierre could no longer doubt it, for a lurid light now +illumined the whole of the previous day: there were the words of ambition +and menace which had been spoken by Cardinal Sanguinetti, the eagerness +to act in presence of the probable death of the reigning pope, the +suggestion of a crime for the sake of the Church’s salvation, then that +priest with his little basket of figs encountered on the road, then that +basket carried for hours so carefully, so devoutly, on the priest’s +knees, that basket which now haunted Pierre like a nightmare, and whose +colour, and odour, and shape he would ever recall with a shudder. Aye, +poison, poison, there was truth in it; it existed and still circulated in +the depths of the black world, amidst all the ravenous, rival longings +for conquest and sovereignty. + +And all at once the figure of Prada likewise arose in Pierre’s mind. A +little while previously, when Benedetta had so violently accused the +Count, he, Pierre, had stepped forward to defend him and cry aloud what +he knew, whence the poison had come, and what hand had offered it. But a +sudden thought had made him shiver: though Prada had not devised the +crime, he had allowed it to be perpetrated. Another memory darted keen +like steel through the young priest’s mind--that of the little black hen +lying 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 of +her stand, with her beak stained by oozing blood. Why had Prada told that +lie about a battle between two fowls? All the dim intricacy of passion +and contention bewildered Pierre, he could not thread his way through it; +nor was he better able to follow the frightful combat which must have +been waged in that man’s mind during the night of the ball. At the same +time he could not again picture him by his side during their nocturnal +walk towards the Boccanera mansion without shuddering, dimly divining +what a frightful decision had been taken before that mansion’s door. +Moreover, whatever the obscurities, whether Prada had expected that the +Cardinal alone would be killed, or had hoped that some chance stroke of +fate might avenge him on others, the terrible fact remained--he had +known, he had been able to stay Destiny on the march, but had allowed it +to go onward and blindly accomplish its work of death. + +Turning his head Pierre perceived Don Vigilio still seated on the corner +chair whence he had not stirred, and looking so pale and haggard that +perhaps 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 the +throat. 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 merely +deference kept me back on seeing that his Eminence did not take any!” Don +Vigilio’s whole body shivered at the thought that his humility alone had +saved him; and on his face and his hands there remained the icy chill of +death which had fallen so near and grazed him as it passed. + +Then twice he heaved a sigh, and with a gesture of affright sought to +brush 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 was +they at bottom?” + +The word Jesuits was not even spoken, but a big black shadow passed +athwart the gay sunlight of the dining-room, and for a moment seemed to +fill it with darkness. “They! ah yes!” exclaimed Don Vigilio, “they are +everywhere; 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 quite +surprised that I haven’t been carried off.” Then again he raised a dull +moan of fear, hatred, and anger: “Ah! Paparelli, Paparelli!” And he +refused to reply any further, but darted scared glances at the walls as +if from one or another of them he expected to see the train-bearer +emerge, with his wrinkled flabby face like that of an old maid, his +furtive mouse-like trot, and his mysterious, invading hands which had +gone expressly to bring the forgotten figs from the pantry and deposit +them on the table. + +At last the two priests decided to return to the bedroom, where perhaps +they might be required; and Pierre on entering was overcome by the +heart-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 whip +some whites of eggs in water. But the disorder was progressing with such +lightning-like rapidity that all succour was becoming futile. Undressed +and lying on his back, his bust propped up by pillows and his arms lying +outstretched over the sheets, Dario looked quite frightful in the sort of +painful intoxication which characterised that redoubtable and mysterious +disorder to which already Monsignor Gallo and others had succumbed. The +young man seemed to be stricken with a sort of dizzy stupor, his eyes +receded farther and farther into the depth of their dark sockets, whilst +his whole face became withered, aged as it were, and covered with an +earthy pallor. A moment previously he had closed his eyes, and the only +sign that he still lived was the heaving of his chest induced by painful +respiration. And leaning over his poor dying face stood Benedetta, +sharing his sufferings, and mastered by such impotent grief that she also +was unrecognisable, so white, so distracted by anguish, that it seemed as +if 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 Doctor +Giordano, a few words were exchanged in low tones. “He is lost, is he +not?” + +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, is +it not?” asked the Cardinal; and as the doctor trembling and averting his +eyes 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 his +mother, the Church. And there could be no loftier, no more tragical +grandeur than that of this old man of seventy, still so erect and +sovereign, who would neither suffer a slur to be cast upon his spiritual +family, nor consent to his human family being dragged into the inevitable +mire of a sensational murder trial. No, no, there must be none of that, +there must be silence, the eternal silence in which all becomes +forgotten. + +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 had +screened the Deity from attack in the person of the Church, his heart as +a man again bled. He begged the doctor to make a supreme effort, to +attempt the impossible; but, pointing to the dying man with trembling +hands, Giordano shook his head. For his own father, his own mother he +could have done nothing. Death was there. So why weary, why torture a +dying man, whose sufferings he would only have increased? And then, as +the Cardinal, finding the end so near at hand, thought of his sister +Serafina, and lamented that she would not be able to kiss her nephew for +the last time if she lingered at the Vatican, the doctor offered to fetch +her in his carriage which was waiting below. It would not take him more +than 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 there +motionless for another moment. With eyes blurred by tears, he gazed +towards heaven. And his quivering arms were suddenly raised in a gesture +of ardent entreaty. O God, since the science of man was so limited and +vain, since that doctor had gone off happy to escape the embarrassment of +his impotence, O God, why not a miracle which should proclaim the +splendour of Thy Almighty Power! A miracle, a miracle! that was what the +Cardinal asked from the depths of his believing soul, with the +insistence, the imperious entreaty of a Prince of the Earth, who deemed +that he had rendered considerable services to Heaven by dedicating his +whole life to the Church. And he asked for that miracle in order that his +race might be perpetuated, in order that its last male scion might not +thus miserably perish, but be able to marry that fondly loved cousin, who +now stood there all woe and tears. A miracle, a miracle for the sake of +those two dear children! A miracle which would endow the family with +fresh life: a miracle which would eternise the glorious name of Boccanera +by enabling an innumerable posterity of valiant ones and faithful ones to +spring from that young couple! + +When the Cardinal returned to the centre of the room he seemed +transfigured. Faith had dried his eyes, his soul had become strong and +submissive, exempt from all human weakness. He had placed himself in the +hands of God, and had resolved that he himself would administer extreme +unction to Dario. With a gesture he summoned Don Vigilio and led him into +the little room which served as a chapel, and the key of which he always +carried. A cupboard had been contrived behind the altar of painted wood, +and the Cardinal went to it to take both stole and surplice. The coffer +containing the Holy Oils was likewise there, a very ancient silver coffer +bearing the Boccanera arms. And on Don Vigilio following the Cardinal +back 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 preparations +were perforce dispensed with. Neither the two lighted tapers, nor the +little table covered with white cloth had been provided. And, in the same +way, Don Vigilio the assistant, having failed to bring the Holy Water +basin and sprinkler, the Cardinal, as officiating priest, could merely +make the gesture of blessing the room and the dying man, whilst +pronouncing the words of the ritual: “_Asperges me, Domine, hyssopo, et +mundabor; 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 with +a long quiver fallen on her knees at the foot of the bed, whilst, +somewhat farther away, Pierre and Victorine likewise knelt, overcome by +the dolorous grandeur of the scene. And the dilated eyes of the +Contessina, whose face was pale as snow, never quitted her Dario, whom +she no longer recognised, so earthy was his face, its skin tanned and +wrinkled like that of an old man. And it was not for their marriage which +he so much desired that their uncle, the all-powerful Prince of the +Church, was bringing the Sacrament, but for the supreme rupture, the end +of all pride, Death which finishes off the haughtiest races, and sweeps +them away, even as the wind sweeps the dust of the roads. + +It was needful that there should be no delay, so the Cardinal promptly +repeated 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 the +wretched man who was about to appear before God, if God by a prodigy did +not spare him. + +Then, without taking time to wash his fingers, the Cardinal opened the +case containing the Holy Oils, and limiting himself to one anointment, as +is permissible in pressing cases, he deposited a single drop of the oil +on Dario’s parched mouth which was already withered by death. And in +doing so he repeated the words of the formula, his heart all aglow with +faith as he asked that the divine mercy might efface each and every sin +that the young man had committed by either of his five senses, those five +portals by which everlasting temptation assails the soul. And the +Cardinal’s fervour was also instinct with the hope that if God had +smitten the poor sufferer for his offences, perhaps He would make His +indulgence entire and even restore him to life as soon as He should have +forgiven his sins. Life, O Lord, life in order that the ancient line of +the Boccaneras might yet multiply and continue to serve Thee in battle +and at the altar until the end of time! + +For a moment the Cardinal remained with quivering hands, gazing at the +mute face, the closed eyes of the dying man, and waiting for the miracle. +But no sign appeared, not the faintest glimmer brightened that haggard +countenance, nor did a sigh of relief come from the withered lips as Don +Vigilio wiped them with a little cotton wool. And the last prayer was +said, 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 his +eyes raised to the brass crucifix upon the altar he saw nothing, heard +nothing, but gave himself wholly to his entreaties, supplicating God to +take him in place of his nephew, if a sacrifice were necessary, and yet +clinging to the hope that so long as Dario retained a breath of life and +he himself thus remained on his knees addressing the Deity, he might +succeed in pacifying the wrath of Heaven. He was both so humble and so +great. Would not accord surely be established between God and a +Boccanera? The old palace might have fallen to the ground, he himself +would not even have felt the toppling of its beams. + +In the bed-room, however, nothing had yet stirred beneath the weight of +tragic majesty which the ceremony had left there. It was only now that +Dario raised his eyelids, and when on looking at his hands he saw them so +aged and wasted the depths of his eyes kindled with an expression of +immense regretfulness that life should be departing. Doubtless it was at +this moment of lucidity amidst the kind of intoxication with which the +poison overwhelmed him, that he for the first time realised his perilous +condition. Ah! to die, amidst such pain, such physical degradation, what +a revolting horror for that frivolous and egotistical man, that lover of +beauty, joy, and light, who knew not how to suffer! In him ferocious fate +chastised racial degeneracy with too heavy a hand. He became horrified +with himself, seized with childish despair and terror, which lent him +strength enough to sit up and gaze wildly about the room, in order to see +if every one had not abandoned him. And when his eyes lighted on +Benedetta still kneeling at the foot of the bed, a supreme impulse +carried him towards her, he stretched forth both arms as passionately as +his strength allowed and stammered her name: “O Benedetta, Benedetta!” + +She, motionless in the stupor of her anxiety, had not taken her eyes from +his face. The horrible disorder which was carrying off her lover, seemed +also to possess and annihilate her more and more, even as he himself grew +weaker 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 with +arms outstretched, she in her turn arose and standing beside the bed made +answer: “I am coming, my Dario, here I am.” + +And then Pierre and Victorine, still on their knees, beheld a sublime +deed of such extraordinary grandeur that they remained rooted to the +floor, spell-bound as in the presence of some supra-terrestrial spectacle +in which human beings may not intervene. Benedetta herself spoke and +acted like one freed from all social and conventional ties, already +beyond life, only seeing and addressing beings and things from a great +distance, from the depths of the unknown in which she was about to +disappear. + +“Ah! my Dario, so an attempt has been made to part us! It was in order +that I might never belong to you--that we might never be happy, that your +death was resolved upon, and it was known that with your life my own must +cease! 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 first +cause--he who stole me from you when I was about to become yours, he who +ravaged our lives, and who breathed around us the hateful poison which is +killing us. Ah! how I hate him, how I hate him; how I should like to +crush him with my hate before I die with you!” + +She did not raise her voice, but spoke those terrible words in a deep +murmur, simply and passionately. Prada was not even named, and she +scarcely turned towards Pierre--who knelt, paralysed, behind her--to add +with a commanding air: “You will see his father, I charge you to tell him +that I cursed his son! That kind-hearted hero loved me well--I love him +even now, and the words you will carry to him from me will rend his +heart. But I desire that he should know--he must know, for the sake of +truth and justice.” + +Distracted by terror, sobbing amidst a last convulsion, Dario again +stretched 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, drawing +yet 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! I +set a noble, a divine pride in remaining immaculate for him who should be +the one master of my soul and body. And that chastity which I was so +proud of, I defended it against the other as one defends oneself against +a 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 with +myself, for I loved you and longed to be yours, like a woman who accepts +the whole of love, the love that makes wife and mother! Ah! my vow to the +Madonna--with what difficulty did I keep it when the old blood of our +race arose in me like a tempest; and now what a disaster!” She drew yet +nearer, and her low voice became more ardent: “You remember that evening +when you came back with a knife-thrust in your shoulder. I thought you +dead, and cried aloud with rage at the idea of losing you like that. I +insulted the Madonna and regretted that I had not damned myself with you +that we might die together, so tightly clasped that we must needs be +buried together also. And to think that such a terrible warning was of no +avail! I was blind and foolish; and now you are again stricken, again +being taken from my love. Ah! my wretched pride, my idiotic dream!” + +That which now rang out in her stifled voice was the anger of the +practical 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 a +cause for weeping over the transports of true and mutual love. Was not +such love holy in itself, and did not the angels rather smile upon it and +burst into gladsome song! And ah! how one cheated oneself by not loving +to heart’s content under the sun, when the blood of life coursed through +one’s veins! + +“Benedetta! Benedetta!” repeated the dying man, full of child-like terror +at thus going off all alone into the depths of the black and everlasting +night. + +“Here I am, my Dario, I am coming!” + +Then, as she fancied that the servant, albeit motionless, had stirred, as +if to rise and interfere, she added: “Leave me, leave me, Victorine, +nothing in the world can henceforth prevent it. A moment ago, when I was +on my knees, something roused me and urged me on. I know whither I am +going. And besides, did I not swear on the night of the knife thrust? Did +I not promise to belong to him alone, even in the earth if it were +necessary? I must embrace him, and he will carry me away! We shall be +dead, 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 of +love, careless of glances, candid like a lily, she divested herself of +her garments and stood forth so white, that neither marble statue, nor +dove, 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 glorious +flash of a holy vision, Pierre and Victorine gazed at her with dazzled +eyes. The servant had not stirred to prevent this extraordinary action, +seized as she was with that shrinking reverential terror which comes upon +one in presence of the wild, mad deeds of faith and passion. And the +priest, whose limbs were paralysed, felt that something so sublime was +passing that he could only quiver in distraction. And no thought of +impurity came to him on beholding that lily, snowy whiteness. All candour +and all nobility as she was, that virgin shocked him no more than some +sculptured masterpiece of genius. + +“Here I am, my Dario, here I am.” + +She had lain herself down beside the spouse whom she had chosen, she had +clasped the dying man whose arms only had enough strength left to fold +themselves around her. Death was stealing him from her, but she would go +with him; and again she murmured: “My Dario, here I am.” + +And at that moment, against the wall at the head of the bed, Pierre +perceived the escutcheon of the Boccaneras, embroidered in gold and +coloured silks on a groundwork of violet velvet. There was the winged +dragon belching flames, there was the fierce and glowing motto “_Bocca +nera, 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 that +old race of passion and violence with its tragic legends had reappeared, +its blood bubbling up afresh to urge that last and adorable daughter of +the line to those terrifying and prodigious nuptials in death. And to +Pierre that escutcheon recalled another memory, that of the portrait of +Cassia Boccanera the _amorosa_ and avengeress who had flung herself into +the Tiber with her brother Ercole and the corpse of her lover Flavio. Was +there not here even with Benedetta the same despairing clasp seeking to +vanquish death, the same savagery in hurling oneself into the abyss with +the 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 but +the other’s spirit. Both had the same delicate childish features, the +same 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, she +neither repelled nor terrified by the disorder which made him so +unrecognisable, but displaying a delirious passion, a holy frenzy as if +to pass beyond life, to penetrate with him into the black Unknown. And +beneath the shock of the felicity at last offered to him he expired, with +his arms yet convulsively wound around her as though indeed to carry her +off. 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: she +died on her lover’s neck, both tightly and for ever clasped in one +another’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 has +beheld the sublime. + +“Look, look!” whispered the servant, “she no longer moves, she no longer +breathes. 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 on +the faces of the dead. Dario’s countenance, so lately aged and earthen, +had assumed the pallor and nobility of marble, its features lengthened +and simplified as by a transport of ineffable joy. Benedetta remained +very grave, her lips curved by ardent determination, whilst her whole +face was expressive of dolorous yet infinite beatitude in a setting of +infinite whiteness. Their hair mingled, and their eyes, which had +remained open, continued gazing as into one another’s souls with eternal, +caressing sweetness. They were for ever linked, soaring into immortality +amidst the enchantment of their union, vanquishers of death, radiant with +the rapturous beauty of love, the conqueror, the immortal. + +But Victorine’s sobs at last burst forth, mingled with such lamentations +that great confusion followed. Pierre, now quite beside himself, in some +measure failed to understand how it was that the room suddenly became +invaded by terrified people. The Cardinal and Don Vigilio, however, must +have hastened in from the chapel; and at the same moment, no doubt, +Doctor Giordano must have returned with Donna Serafina, for both were now +there, she stupefied by the blows which had thus fallen on the house in +her absence, whilst he, the doctor, displayed the perturbation and +astonishment which comes upon the oldest practitioners when facts seem to +give the lie to their experience. However, he sought an explanation of +Benedetta’s death, and hesitatingly ascribed it to aneurism, or possibly +embolism. + +Thereupon Victorine, like a servant whose grief makes her the equal of +her employers, boldly interrupted him: “Ah! Sir,” said she, “they loved +each 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, for +the lids lifted directly she removed her finger and once more the eyes +began to smile at one another, to exchange in all fixity their loving and +eternal glance. And then as she spoke of parting the bodies, Victorine +again protested: “Oh! madame, oh! madame,” she said, “you would have to +break their arms. Cannot you see that their fingers are almost dug into +one 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. But +he waved his arm with a sovereign gesture of absolution and +sanctification, as if, Prince of the Church that he was, disposing of the +will of Heaven, he consented that the lovers should appear in that +embrace before the supreme tribunal. In presence of such wondrous love, +indeed, profoundly stirred by the sufferings of their lives and the +beauty of their death, he showed a broad and lofty contempt for mundane +proprieties. “Leave them, leave me, my sister,” said he, “do not disturb +their slumber. Let their eyes remain open since they desire to gaze on +one another till the end of time without ever wearying. And let them +sleep in one another’s arms since in their lives they did not sin, and +only locked themselves in that embrace in order that they might be laid +together in the ground.” + +And then, again becoming a Roman Prince whose proud blood was yet hot +with old-time deeds of battle and passion, he added: “Two Boccaneras may +well sleep like that; all Rome will admire them and weep for them. Leave +them, 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 two +burning tapers soon shone out like stars. + +And then, without knowing how, Pierre again found himself in the little +deserted garden on the bank of the Tiber. Suffocating with fatigue and +grief, he must have come thither for fresh air. Darkness shrouded the +charming nook where the streamlet of water falling from the tragic mask +into the ancient sarcophagus ever sang its shrill and flute-like song; +and the laurel-bush which shaded it, and the bitter box-plants and the +orange-trees skirting the paths now formed but vague masses under the +blue-black sky. Ah! how gay and sweet had that melancholy garden been in +the morning, and what a desolate echo it retained of Benedetta’s winsome +laughter, all that fine delight in coming happiness which now lay prone +upstairs, steeped in the nothingness of things and beings! So dolorous +was the pang which came to Pierre’s heart that he burst into sobs, seated +on the same broken column where she had sat, and encompassed by the same +atmosphere that she had breathed, in which still lingered the perfume of +her presence. + +But all at once a distant clock struck six, and the young priest started +on remembering that he was to be received by the Pope that very evening +at nine. Yet three more hours! He had not thought of that interview +during the terrifying catastrophe, and it seemed to him now as if months +and months had gone by, as if the appointment were some very old one +which a man is only able to keep after years of absence, when he has +grown aged and had his heart and brain modified by innumerable +experiences. However, he made an effort and rose to his feet. In three +hours’ 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 the +dark and sleepy district. It was only half-past eight, and being in +advance the young priest resolved to wait some twenty minutes in order to +reach the doors of the papal apartments precisely at nine, the hour fixed +for his audience. + +This respite brought him some relief amidst the infinite emotion and +grief which gripped his heart. That tragic afternoon which he had spent +in the chamber of death, where Dario and Benedetta now slept the eternal +sleep in one another’s arms, had left him very weary. He was haunted by a +wild, dolorous vision of the two lovers, and involuntary sighs came from +his lips whilst tears continually moistened his eyes. He had been +altogether unable to eat that evening. Ah! how he would have liked to +hide himself and weep at his ease! His heart melted at each fresh +thought. The pitiful death of the lovers intensified the grievous feeling +with which his book was instinct, and impelled him to yet greater +compassion, a perfect anguish of charity for all who suffered in the +world. And he was so distracted by the thought of the many physical and +moral sores of Paris and of Rome, where he had beheld so much unjust and +abominable suffering, that at each step he took he feared lest he should +burst into sobs with arms upstretched towards the blackness of heaven. + +In the hope of somewhat calming himself he began to walk slowly across +the Piazza of St. Peter’s, now all darkness and solitude. On arriving he +had fancied that he was losing himself in a murky sea, but by degrees his +eyes grew accustomed to the dimness. The vast expanse was only lighted by +the four candelabra at the corners of the obelisk and by infrequent lamps +skirting the buildings which run on either hand towards the Basilica. +Under the colonnade, too, other lamps threw yellow gleams across the +forest of pillars, showing up their stone trunks in fantastic fashion; +while on the piazza only the pale, ghostly obelisk was at all distinctly +visible. Pierre could scarcely perceive the dim, silent façade of St. +Peter’s; whilst of the dome he merely divined a gigantic, bluey roundness +faintly shadowed against the sky. In the obscurity he at first heard the +plashing of the fountains without being at all able to see them, but on +approaching he at last distinguished the slender phantoms of the ever +rising jets which fell again in spray. And above the vast square +stretched the vast and moonless sky of a deep velvety blue, where the +stars were large and radiant like carbuncles; Charles’s Wain, with golden +wheels and golden shaft tilted back as it were, over the roof of the +Vatican, 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 piazza +there was here merely a confused jumble of walls, amidst which only two +gleams of light appeared on the floor of the papal apartments. The Court +of San Damaso was, however, lighted, for the conservatory-like glass-work +of two of its sides sparkled as with the reflection of gas lamps which +could 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 came +a third who in his turn disappeared, nothing remaining but a rhythmical +far-away echo of steps. The spot was indeed a perfect desert, there were +neither promenaders nor passers-by, nor was there even the shadow of a +prowler in the pillared forest of the colonnade, which was as empty as +the wild primeval forests of the world’s infancy. And what a solemn +desert it was, full of the silence of haughty desolation. Never had so +vast and black a presentment of slumber, so instinct with the sovereign +nobility of death, appeared to Pierre. + +At ten minutes to nine he at last made up his mind and went towards the +bronze portal. Only one of the folding doors was now open at the end of +the right-hand porticus, where the increasing density of the gloom +steeped everything in night. Pierre remembered the instructions which +Monsignor Nani had given him; at each door that he reached he was to ask +for Signor Squadra without adding a word, and thereupon each door would +open and he would have nothing to do but to let himself be guided on. No +one but the prelate now knew that he was there, since Benedetta, the only +being to whom he had confided the secret, was dead. When he had crossed +the threshold of the bronze doors and found himself in presence of the +motionless, sleeping Swiss Guard, who was on duty there, he simply spoke +the 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 of +the Scala Pia, the stone stairway which ascends to the Court of San +Damaso. And not a soul was to be seen: there was but the faint sound of +his own light footsteps and the sleepy glow of the gas jets whose light +was softly whitened by globes of frosted glass. Up above, on reaching the +courtyard he found it a solitude, whose slumber seemed sepulchral amidst +the mournful gleams of the gas lamps which cast a pallid reflection on +the lofty glass-work of the façades. And feeling somewhat nervous, +affected by the quiver which pervaded all that void and silence, Pierre +hastened on, turning to the right, towards the low flight of steps which +leads to the staircase of the Pope’s private apartments. + +Here stood a superb gendarme in full uniform. “Signor Squadra,” said +Pierre, 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. The +gas, burning in globes of round glass, seemed to have been already turned +down in a spirit of prudent economy. And in the glimmering light nothing +could have been more mournfully solemn than that cold and pallid +staircase. On each landing there was a Swiss Guard, halbard in hand, and +in the heavy slumber spreading through the palace one only heard the +regular monotonous footsteps of these men, ever marching up and down, in +order no doubt that they might not succumb to the benumbing influence of +their surroundings. + +Amidst the invading dimness and the quivering silence the ascent of the +stairs seemed interminable to Pierre, who by the time he reached the +second-floor landing imagined that he had been climbing for ages. There, +outside the glass door of the Sala Clementina, only the right-hand half +of which was open, a last Swiss Guard stood watching. + +“Signor Squadra,” Pierre said again, and the Guard drew back to let him +pass. + +The Sala Clementina, spacious enough by daylight, seemed immense at that +nocturnal hour, in the twilight glimmer of its lamps. All the opulent +decorative-work, sculpture, painting, and gilding became blended, the +walls assuming a tawny vagueness amidst which appeared bright patches +like the sparkle of precious stones. There was not an article of +furniture, nothing but the endless pavement stretching away into the +semi-darkness. At last, however, near a door at the far end Pierre espied +some men dozing on a bench. They were three Swiss Guards. “Signor +Squadra,” he said to them. + +One of the Guards thereupon slowly rose and left the hall, and Pierre +understood that he was to wait. He did not dare to move, disturbed as he +was by the sound of his own footsteps on the paved floor, so he contented +himself with gazing around and picturing the crowds which at times +peopled that vast apartment, the first of the many papal ante-chambers. +But before long the Guard returned, and behind him, on the threshold of +the adjoining room, appeared a man of forty or thereabouts, who was clad +in black from head to foot and suggested a cross between a butler and a +beadle. He had a good-looking, clean-shaven face, with somewhat +pronounced nose and large, clear, fixed eyes. “Signor Squadra,” said +Pierre for the last time. + +The man bowed as if to say that he was Signor Squadra, and then, with a +fresh reverence, he invited the priest to follow him. Thereupon at a +leisurely step, one behind the other, they began to thread the +interminable suite of waiting-rooms. Pierre, who was acquainted with the +ceremonial, of which he had often spoken with Narcisse, recognised the +different apartments as he passed through them, recalling their names and +purpose, and peopling them in imagination with the various officials of +the papal retinue who have the right to occupy them. These according to +their rank cannot go beyond certain doors, so that the persons who are to +have audience of the Pope are passed on from the servants to the Noble +Guards, from the Noble Guards to the honorary _Camerieri_, and from the +latter to the _Camerieri segreti_, until they at last reach the presence +of the Holy Father. At eight o’clock, however, the ante-rooms empty and +become both deserted and dim, only a few lamps being left alight upon the +pier tables standing here and there against the walls. + +And first Pierre came to the ante-room of the _bussolanti_, mere ushers +clad in red velvet broidered with the papal arms, who conduct visitors to +the door of the ante-room of honour. At that late hour only one of them +was left there, seated on a bench in such a dark corner that his purple +tunic looked quite black. Then the Hall of the Gendarmes was crossed, +where according to the regulations the secretaries of cardinals and other +high personages await their masters’ return; and this was now completely +empty, void both of the handsome blue uniforms with white shoulder belts +and the cassocks of fine black cloth which mingled in it during the +brilliant reception hours. Empty also was the following room, a smaller +one reserved to the Palatine Guards, who are recruited among the Roman +middle class and wear black tunics with gold epaulets and shakoes +surmounted by red plumes. Then Pierre and his guide turned into another +series of apartments, and again was the first one empty. This was the +Hall of the Arras, a superb waiting-room with lofty painted ceiling and +admirable Gobelins tapestry designed by Audran and representing the +miracles of Jesus. And empty also was the ante-chamber of the Noble +Guards which followed, with its wooden stools, its pier table on the +right-hand surmounted by a large crucifix standing between two lamps, and +its large door opening at the far end into another but smaller room, a +sort of alcove indeed, where there is an altar at which the Holy Father +says mass by himself whilst those privileged to be present remain +kneeling on the marble slabs of the outer apartment which is resplendent +with the dazzling uniforms of the Guards. And empty likewise was the +ensuing ante-room of honour, otherwise the grand throne-room, where the +Pope receives two or three hundred people at a time in public audience. +The throne, an arm-chair of elaborate pattern, gilded, and upholstered +with red velvet, stands under a velvet canopy of the same hue, in front +of the windows. Beside it is the cushion on which the Pope rests his foot +in order that it may be kissed. Then facing one another, right and left +of the room, there are two pier tables, on one of which is a clock and on +the other a crucifix between lofty candelabra with feet of gilded wood. +The wall hangings, of red silk damask with a Louis XIV palm pattern, are +topped by a pompous frieze, framing a ceiling decorated with allegorical +figures and attributes, and it is only just in front of the throne that a +Smyrna carpet covers the magnificent marble pavement. On the days of +private audience, when the Pope remains in the little throne-room or at +times in his bed-chamber, the grand throne-room becomes simply the +ante-room of honour, where high dignitaries of the Church, ambassadors, +and great civilian personages, wait their turns. Two _Camerieri_, one in +violet coat, the other of the Cape and the Sword, here do duty, receiving +from the _bussolanti_ the persons who are to be honoured with audiences +and conducting them to the door of the next room, the secret or private +ante-chamber, where they hand them over to the _Camerieri segreti_. + +Signor Squadra who, walking on with slow and silent steps, had not yet +once turned round, paused for a moment on reaching the door of the +_anticamera segreta_ so as to give Pierre time to breathe and recover +himself 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 should +condescend to receive them. And so when Signor Squadra made up his mind +to admit Pierre, the latter could not restrain a slight nervous shiver as +if he were passing into some redoubtable mysterious sphere beyond the +limits of the lower world. In the daytime a Noble Guard stood on sentry +duty before the door, but the latter was now free of access, and the room +within proved as empty as all the others. It was rather narrow, almost +like a passage, with two windows overlooking the new district of the +castle fields and a third one facing the Piazza of St. Peter’s. Near the +last was a door conducting to the little throne-room, and between this +door 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 a +gilded pier table surmounted by a crucifix flanked by a pair of lamps. In +a corner too there was a large clock, loudly ticking in its ebony case +incrusted with brass-work. Still there was nothing to awaken curiosity +under the panelled and gilded ceiling unless it were the wall-hangings of +red damask, on which yellow scutcheons displaying the Keys and the Tiara +alternated with armorial lions, each with a paw resting on a globe. + +Signor Squadra, however, now noticed that Pierre still carried his hat in +his hand, whereas according to etiquette he should have left it in the +hall of the _bussolanti_, only cardinals being privileged to carry their +hats with them into the Pope’s presence. Accordingly he discreetly took +the young priest’s from him, and deposited it on the pier table to +indicate that it must at least remain there. Then, without a word, by a +simple bow he gave Pierre to understand that he was about to announce him +to his Holiness, and that he must be good enough to wait for a few +minutes in that room. + +On being left to himself Pierre drew a long breath. He was stifling; his +heart was beating as though it would burst. Nevertheless his mind +remained clear, and in spite of the semi-obscurity he had been able to +form some idea of the famous and magnificent apartments of the Pope, a +suite of splendid _salons_ with tapestried or silken walls, gilded or +painted friezes, and frescoed ceilings. By way of furniture, however, +there were only pier table, stools,* and thrones. And the lamps and the +clocks, and the crucifixes, even the thrones, were all presents brought +from the four quarters of the world in the great fervent days of jubilee. +There was no sign of comfort, everything was pompous, stiff, cold, and +inconvenient. All olden Italy was there, with its perpetual display and +lack of intimate, cosy life. It had been necessary to lay a few carpets +over the superb marble slabs which froze one’s feet; and some +_calorifères_ had even lately been installed, but it was not thought +prudent to light them lest the variations of temperature should give the +Pope a cold. However, that which more particularly struck Pierre now that +he stood there waiting was the extraordinary silence which prevailed all +around, silence so deep that it seemed as if all the dark quiescence of +that huge, somniferous Vatican were concentrated in that one suite of +lifeless, sumptuous rooms, which the motionless flamelets of the lamps as +dimly 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 felt +astonished. What! had only ten minutes elapsed since he had crossed the +threshold of the bronze doors below? He felt as if he had been walking on +for days and days. Then, desiring to overcome the nervous feeling which +oppressed him--for he ever feared lest his enforced calmness should +collapse amidst a flood of tears--he began to walk up and down, passing +in front of the clock, glancing at the crucifix on the pier table, and +the globe of the lamp on which had remained the mark of a servant’s +greasy fingers. And the light was so faint and yellow that he felt +inclined to turn the lamp up, but did not dare. Then he found himself +with his brow resting against one of the panes of the window facing the +Piazza of St. Peter’s, and for a moment he was thunderstruck, for between +the imperfectly closed shutters he could see all Rome, as he had seen it +one day from the _loggie_ of Raffaelle, and as he had pictured Leo XIII +contemplating it from the window of his bed-room. However, it was now +Rome by night, Rome spreading out into the depths of the gloom, as +limitless as the starry sky. And in that sea of black waves one could +only with certainty identify the larger thoroughfares which the white +brightness of electric lights turned, as it were, into Milky Ways. All +the rest showed but a swarming of little yellow sparks, the crumbs, as it +were, of a half-extinguished heaven swept down upon the earth. Occasional +constellations of bright stars, tracing mysterious figures, vainly +endeavoured to show forth distinctly, but they were submerged, blotted +out by the general chaos which suggested the dust of some old planet that +had crumbled there, losing its splendour and reduced to mere +phosphorescent sand. And how immense was the blackness thus sprinkled +with light, how huge the mass of obscurity and mystery into which the +Eternal City with its seven and twenty centuries, its ruins, its +monuments, its people, its history seemed to have been merged. You could +no longer tell where it began or where it ended, whether it spread to the +farthest recesses of the gloom, or whether it were so reduced that the +sun on rising would illumine but a little pile of ashes. + +However, in spite of all Pierre’s efforts, his nervous anguish increased +each moment, even in presence of that ocean of darkness which displayed +such sovereign quiescence. He drew away from the window and quivered from +head to foot on hearing a faint footfall and thinking it was that of +Signor Squadra approaching to fetch him. The sound came from an adjacent +apartment, the little throne-room, whose door, he now perceived, had +remained ajar. And at last, as he heard nothing further, he yielded to +his feverish impatience and peeped into this room which he found to be +fairly spacious, again hung with red damask, and containing a gilded +arm-chair, covered with red velvet under a canopy of the same material. +And again there was the inevitable pier table, with a tall ivory +crucifix, a clock, a pair of lamps, a pair of candelabra, a pair of large +vases on pedestals, and two smaller ones of Sevres manufacture decorated +with the Holy Father’s portrait. At the same time, however, the room +displayed rather more comfort, for a Smyrna carpet covered the whole of +the marble floor, while a few arm-chairs stood against the walls, and an +imitation chimney-piece, draped with damask, served as counterpart to the +pier table. As a rule the Pope, whose bed-chamber communicated with this +little throne-room, received in the latter such persons as he desired to +honour. And Pierre’s shiver became more pronounced at the idea that in +all likelihood he would merely have the throne-room to cross and that Leo +XIII was yonder behind its farther door. Why was he kept waiting, he +wondered? He had been told of mysterious audiences granted at a similar +hour to personages who had been received in similar silent fashion, great +personages whose names were only mentioned in the lowest whispers. With +regard to himself no doubt, it was because he was considered compromising +that there was a desire to receive him in this manner unknown to the +personages of the Court, and so as to speak with him at ease. Then, all +at once, he understood the cause of the noise he had recently heard, for +beside the lamp on the pier table of the little throne-room he saw a kind +of butler’s tray containing some soiled plates, knives, forks, and +spoons, with a bottle and a glass, which had evidently just been removed +from a supper table. And he realised that Signor Squadra, having seen +these things in the Pope’s room, had brought them there, and had then +gone 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 being +brought to him in that tray, a plate of meat, a plate of vegetables, a +little Bordeaux claret as prescribed by his doctor, and a large allowance +of beef broth of which he was very fond. In the same way as others might +offer a cup of tea, he was wont to offer cups of broth to the old +cardinals his friends and favourites, quite an invigorating little treat +which 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_ a +day--six shillings and fourpence--were allowed to defray the cost of Leo +XIII’s table! However, just as that recollection occurred to Pierre, he +again heard a slight noise, this time in his Holiness’s bed-chamber, and +thereupon, terrified by his indiscretion, he hastened to withdraw from +the entrance of the throne-room which, lifeless and quiescent though it +was, seemed in his agitation to flare as with sudden fire. + +Then, quivering too violently to be able to remain still, he began to +walk up and down the ante-chamber. He remembered that Narcisse had spoken +to him of that Signor Squadra, his Holiness’s cherished valet, whose +importance and influence were so great. He alone, on reception days, was +able to prevail on the Pope to don a clean cassock if the one he was +wearing happened to be soiled by snuff. And though his Holiness +stubbornly shut himself up alone in his bed-room every night from a +spirit of independence, which some called the anxiety of a miser +determined to sleep alone with his treasure, Signor Squadra at all events +occupied an adjoining chamber, and was ever on the watch, ready to +respond to the faintest call. Again, it was he who respectfully +intervened whenever his Holiness sat up too late or worked too long. But +on 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 to +fetch a secretary in order that he might detail some memoranda or sketch +out an encyclical letter. When the drafting of one of the latter +impassioned him he would have spent days and nights over it, just as +formerly, when claiming proficiency in Latin verse, he had often let the +dawn surprise him whilst he was polishing a line. But, indeed, he slept +very little, his brain ever being at work, ever scheming out the +realisation of some former ideas. His memory alone seemed to have +slightly weakened during recent times. + +Pierre, as he slowly paced to and fro, gradually became absorbed in his +thoughts of that lofty and sovereign personality. From the petty details +of the Pope’s daily existence, he passed to his intellectual life, to the +_rôle_ which he was certainly bent on playing as a great pontiff. And +Pierre asked himself which of his two hundred and fifty-seven +predecessors, the long line of saints and criminals, men of mediocrity +and men of genius, he most desired to resemble. Was it one of the first +humble popes, those who followed on during the first three centuries, +mere heads of burial guilds, fraternal pastors of the Christian +community? Was it Pope Damasus, the first great builder, the man of +letters who took delight in intellectual matters, the ardent believer who +is said to have opened the Catacombs to the piety of the faithful? Was it +Leo III, who by crowning Charlemagne boldly consummated the rupture with +the schismatic East and conveyed the Empire to the West by the +all-powerful will of God and His Church, which thenceforth disposed of +the crowns of monarchs? Was it the terrible Gregory VII, the purifier of +the temple, the sovereign of kings; was it Innocent III or Boniface VIII, +those masters of souls, nations, and thrones, who, armed with the fierce +weapon of excommunication, reigned with such despotism over the terrified +middle ages that Catholicism was never nearer the attainment of its dream +of universal dominion? Was it Urban II or Gregory IX or another of those +popes in whom flared the red Crusading passion which urged the nations on +to the conquest of the unknown and the divine? Was it Alexander III, who +defended the Holy See against the Empire, and at last conquered and set +his foot on the neck of Frederick Barbarossa? Was it, long after the +sorrows of Avignon, Julius II, who wore the cuirass and once more +strengthened the political power of the papacy? Was it Leo X, the +pompous, glorious patron of the Renascence, of a whole great century of +art, whose mind, however, was possessed of so little penetration and +foresight that he looked on Luther as a mere rebellious monk? Was it Pius +V, who personified dark and avenging reaction, the fire of the stakes +that punished the heretic world? Was it some other of the popes who +reigned after the Council of Trent with faith absolute, belief +re-established in its full integrity, the Church saved by pride and the +stubborn upholding of every dogma? Or was it a pope of the decline, such +as Benedict XIV, the man of vast intelligence, the learned theologian +who, as his hands were tied, and he could not dispose of the kingdoms of +the 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 the +popes, the most prodigious of all histories, showing fortune in every +guise, the lowest, the most wretched, as well as the loftiest and most +dazzling; whilst an obstinate determination to live enabled the papacy to +survive everything--conflagrations, massacres, and the downfall of many +nations, for always did it remain militant and erect in the persons of +its popes, that most extraordinary of all lines of absolute, conquering, +and domineering sovereigns, every one of them--even the puny and +humble--masters of the world, every one of them glorious with the +imperishable glory of heaven when they were thus evoked in that ancient +Vatican, where their spirits assuredly awoke at night and prowled about +the endless galleries and spreading halls in that tomb-like silence whose +quiver came no doubt from the light touch of their gliding steps over the +marble slabs. + +However, Pierre was now thinking that he indeed knew which of the great +popes Leo XIII most desired to resemble. It was first Gregory the Great, +the conqueror and organiser of the early days of Catholic power. He had +come of ancient Roman stock, and in his heart there was a little of the +blood of the emperors. He administered Rome after it had been saved from +the Goths, cultivated the ecclesiastical domains, and divided earthly +wealth into thirds, one for the poor, one for the clergy, and one for the +Church. Then too he was the first to establish the Propaganda, sending +his priests forth to civilise and pacify the nations, and carrying his +conquests so far as to win Great Britain over to the divine law of +Christ. And the second pope whom Leo XIII took as model was one who had +arisen after a long lapse of centuries, Sixtus V, the pope financier and +politician, the vine-dresser’s son, who, when he had donned the tiara, +revealed one of the most extensive and supple minds of a period fertile +in great diplomatists. He heaped up treasure and displayed stern avarice, +in order that he might ever have in his coffers all the money needful for +war or for peace. He spent years and years in negotiations with kings, +never despairing of his own triumph; and never did he display open +hostility for his times, but took them as they were and then sought to +modify them in accordance with the interests of the Holy See, showing +himself conciliatory in all things and with every one, already dreaming +of an European balance of power which he hoped to control. And withal a +very saintly pope, a fervent mystic, yet a pope of the most absolute and +domineering mind blended with a politician ready for whatever courses +might most conduce to the rule of God’s Church on earth. + +And, after all, Pierre amidst his rising enthusiasm, which despite his +efforts at calmness was sweeping away all prudence and doubt, Pierre +asked himself why he need question the past. Was not Leo XIII the pope +whom he had depicted in his book, the great pontiff, who was desired and +expected? No doubt the portrait which he had sketched was not accurate in +every detail, but surely its main lines must be correct if mankind were +to retain a hope of salvation. Whole pages of that book of his arose +before him, and he again beheld the Leo XIII that he had portrayed, the +wise and conciliatory politician, labouring for the unity of the Church +and so anxious to make it strong and invincible against the day of the +inevitable great struggle. He again beheld him freed from the cares of +the temporal power, elevated, radiant with moral splendour, the only +authority left erect above the nations; he beheld him realising what +mortal danger would be incurred if the solution of the social question +were left to the enemies of Christianity, and therefore resolving to +intervene in contemporary quarrels for the defence of the poor and the +lowly, even as Jesus had intervened once before. And he again beheld him +putting himself on the side of the democracies, accepting the Republic in +France, leaving the dethroned kings in exile, and verifying the +prediction which promised the empire of the world to Rome once more when +the papacy should have unified belief and have placed itself at the head +of the people. The times indeed were near accomplishment, Caesar was +struck down, the Pope alone remained, and would not the people, the great +silent multitude, for whom the two powers had so long contended, give +itself to its Father now that it knew him to be both just and charitable, +with heart aglow and hand outstretched to welcome all the penniless +toilers and beggars of the roads! Given the catastrophe which threatened +our rotten modern societies, the frightful misery which ravaged every +city, there was surely no other solution possible: Leo XIII, the +predestined, necessary redeemer, the pastor sent to save the flock from +coming disaster by re-establishing the true Christian community, the +forgotten golden age of primitive Christianity. The reign of justice +would at last begin, all men would be reconciled, there would be but one +nation living in peace and obeying the equalising law of work, under the +high patronage of the Pope, sole bond of charity and love on earth! + +And at this thought Pierre was upbuoyed by fiery enthusiasm. At last he +was about to see the Holy Father, empty his heart and open his soul to +him! He had so long and so passionately looked for the advent of that +moment! To secure it he had fought with all his courage through ever +recurring obstacles, and the length and difficulty of the struggle and +the success now at last achieved, increased his feverishness, his desire +for final victory. Yes, yes, he would conquer, he would confound his +enemies. As he had said to Monsignor Fornaro, could the Pope disavow him? +Had he not expressed the Holy Father’s secret ideas? Perhaps he might +have done so somewhat prematurely, but was not that a fault to be +forgiven? And then too, he remembered his declaration to Monsignor Nani, +that he himself would never withdraw and suppress his book, for he +neither regretted nor disowned anything that was in it. At this very +moment he again questioned himself, and felt that all his valour and +determination to defend his book, all his desire to work the triumph of +his belief, remained intact. Yet his mental perturbation was becoming +great, he had to seek for ideas, wondering how he should enter the Pope’s +presence, what he should say, what precise terms he should employ. +Something heavy and mysterious which he could hardly account for seemed +to weigh him down. At bottom he was weary, already exhausted, only held +up by his dream, his compassion for human misery. However, he would enter +in 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 smile +on him, and dismiss him with a promise that he would not sign the +condemnation of a work in which he had found the expression of his own +most cherished thoughts. + +Then, again, such an acute sensation as of fainting came over Pierre that +he went up to the window to press his burning brow against the cold +glass. His ears were buzzing, his legs staggering, whilst his brain +throbbed violently. And he was striving to forget his thoughts by gazing +upon the black immensity of Rome, longing to be steeped in night himself, +total, healing night, the night in which one sleeps on for ever, knowing +neither pain nor wretchedness, when all at once he became conscious that +somebody was standing behind him; and thereupon, with a start, he turned +round. + +And there, indeed, stood Signor Squadra in his black livery. Again he +made one of his customary bows to invite the visitor to follow him, and +again he walked on in front, crossing the little throne-room, and slowly +opening 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 those +overwhelming attacks of emotion which madden or paralyse one. He had been +told of women reaching the Pope’s presence in a fainting condition, +staggering as if intoxicated, while others came with a rush, as though +upheld and borne along by invisible pinions. And suddenly the anguish of +his own spell of waiting, his intense feverishness, ceased in a sort of +astonishment, a reaction which rendered him very calm and so restored his +clearness of vision, that he could see everything. As he entered he +distinctly realised the decisive importance of such an audience, he, a +mere petty priest in presence of the Supreme Pontiff, the Head of the +Church. All his religious and moral life would depend on it; and possibly +it was this sudden thought that thus chilled him on the threshold of the +redoubtable sanctuary, which he had approached with such quivering steps, +and which he would not have thought to enter otherwise than with +distracted heart and loss of senses, unable to do more than stammer the +simple prayers of childhood. + +Later on, when he sought to classify his recollections he remembered that +his eyes had first lighted on Leo XIII, not, however, to the exclusion of +his surroundings, but in conjunction with them, that spacious room hung +with yellow damask whose alcove, adorned with fluted marble columns, was +so deep that the bed was quite hidden away in it, as well as other +articles of furniture, a couch, a wardrobe, and some trunks, those famous +trunks in which the treasure of the Peter’s Pence was said to be securely +locked. A sort of Louis XIV writing-desk with ornaments of engraved brass +stood face to face with a large gilded and painted Louis XV pier table on +which a lamp was burning beside a lofty crucifix. The room was virtually +bare, only three arm-chairs and four or five other chairs, upholstered in +light silk, being disposed here and there over the well-worn carpet. And +on one of the arm-chairs sat Leo XIII, near a small table on which +another lamp with a shade had been placed. Three newspapers, moreover, +lay there, two of them French and one Italian, and the last was half +unfolded as if the Pope had momentarily turned from it to stir a glass of +syrup, standing beside him, with a long silver-gilt spoon. + +In the same way as Pierre saw the Pope’s room, he saw his costume, his +cassock of white cloth with white buttons, his white skull-cap, his white +cape and his white sash fringed with gold and broidered at either end +with golden keys. His stockings were white, his slippers were of red +velvet, and these again were broidered with golden keys. What surprised +the young priest, however, was his Holiness’s face and figure, which now +seemed so shrunken that he scarcely recognised them. This was his fourth +meeting 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 so +slight and fragile that he could not restrain a feeling of affectionate +anxiety. Leo’s neck was particularly remarkable, slender beyond belief, +suggesting the neck of some little, aged, white bird. And his face, of +the pallor of alabaster, was characteristically transparent, to such a +degree, indeed, that one could see the lamplight through his large +commanding nose, as if the blood had entirely withdrawn from that organ. +A mouth of great length, with white bloodless lips, streaked the lower +part of the papal countenance, and the eyes alone had remained young and +handsome. Superb eyes they were, brilliant like black diamonds, endowed +with sufficient penetration and strength to lay souls open and force them +to confess the truth aloud. Some scanty white curls emerged from under +the white skull-cap, thus whitely crowning the thin white face, whose +ugliness was softened by all this whiteness, this spiritual whiteness in +which Leo XIII’s flesh seemed as it were but pure lily-white florescence. + +At the first glance, however, Pierre noticed that if Signor Squadra had +kept him waiting, it had not been in order to compel the Holy Father to +don a clean cassock, for the one he was wearing was badly soiled by +snuff. A number of brown stains had trickled down the front of the +garment beside the buttons, and just like any good _bourgeois_, his +Holiness had a handkerchief on his knees to wipe himself. Apart from all +this he seemed in good health, having recovered from his recent +indisposition as easily as he usually recovered from such passing +illnesses, sober, prudent old man that he was, quite free from organic +disease, and simply declining by reason of progressive natural +exhaustion. + +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, he +stooped over one of the Pope’s feet resting on a cushion in order to kiss +the red velvet slipper. And on the Pope’s side there was not a word, not +a gesture, not a movement. When the young man drew himself up again he +found the two black diamonds, those two eyes which were all brightness +and intelligence, still riveted on him. + +But at last Leo XIII, who had been unwilling to spare the young priest +the humble duty of kissing his foot and who now left him standing, began +to 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 to +afford you that satisfaction.” + +He spoke in French, somewhat uncertain French, pronounced after the +Italian fashion, and so slowly did he articulate each sentence that one +could have written it down like so much dictation. And his voice, as +Pierre had previously noticed, was strong and nasal, one of those full +voices which people are surprised to hear coming from debile and +apparently bloodless and breathless frames. + +In response to the Holy Father’s remark Pierre contented himself with +bowing, knowing that respect required him to wait for a direct answer +before speaking. However, this question promptly came. “You live in +Paris?” asked Leo XIII. + +“Yes, Holy Father.” + +“Are you attached to one of the great parishes of the city?” + +“No, Holy Father. I simply officiate at the little church of Neuilly.” + +“Ah, yes, Neuilly, that is in the direction of the Bois de Boulogne, is +it not? And how old are you, my son?” + +“Thirty-four, Holy Father.” + +A short interval followed. Leo XIII had at last lowered his eyes. With +frail, ivory hand he took up the glass beside him, again stirred the +syrup with the long spoon, and then drank a little of it. And all this he +did gently and slowly, with a prudent, judicious air, as was his wont no +doubt in everything. “I have read your book, my son,” he resumed. “Yes, +the greater part of it. As a rule only fragments are submitted to me. But +a person who is interested in you handed me the volume, begging me to +glance through it. And that is how I was able to look into it.” + +As he spoke he made a slight gesture in which Pierre fancied he could +detect a protest against the isolation in which he was kept by those +surrounding him, who, as Monsignor Nani had said, maintained a strict +watch in order that nothing they objected to might reach him. And +thereupon the young priest ventured to say: “I thank your Holiness for +having done me so much honour. No greater or more desired happiness could +have befallen me.” He was indeed so happy! On seeing the Pope so calm, so +free from all signs of anger, and on hearing him speak in that way of his +book, like one well acquainted with it, he imagined that his cause was +won. + +“You are in relations with Monsieur le Vicomte Philibert de la Choue, are +you not, my son?” continued Leo XIII. “I was struck by the resemblance +between some of your ideas and those of that devoted servant of the +Church, who has in other ways given us previous testimony of his good +feelings.” + +“Yes, indeed, Holy Father, Monsieur de la Choue is kind enough to show me +some affection. We have often talked together, so it is not surprising +that I should have given expression to some of his most cherished ideas.” + +“No doubt, no doubt. For instance, there is that question of the +working-class guilds with which he largely occupies himself--with which, +in fact, he occupies himself rather too much. At the time of his last +journey to Rome he spoke to me of it in the most pressing manner. And in +the same way, quite recently, another of your compatriots, one of the +best and worthiest of men, Monsieur le Baron de Fouras, who brought us +that superb pilgrimage of the St. Peter’s Pence Fund, never ceased his +efforts until I consented to receive him, when he spoke to me on the same +subject during nearly an hour. Only it must be said that they do not +agree in the matter, for one begs me to do things which the other will +not have me do on any account.” + +Pierre realised that the conversation was straying away from his book, +but he remembered having promised the Viscount that if he should see the +Pope he would make an attempt to obtain from him a decisive expression of +opinion on the famous question as to whether the working-class guilds or +corporations should be free or obligatory, open or closed. And the +unhappy Viscount, kept in Paris by the gout, had written the young priest +letter after letter on the subject, whilst his rival the Baron, availing +himself of the opportunity offered by the international pilgrimage, +endeavoured to wring from the Pope an approval of his own views, with +which he would have returned in triumph to France. Pierre conscientiously +desired to keep his promise, and so he answered: “Your Holiness knows +better than any of us in which direction true wisdom lies. Monsieur de +Fouras is of opinion that salvation, the solution of the labour question, +lies simply in the re-establishment of the old free corporations, whilst +Monsieur de la Choue desires the corporations to be obligatory, protected +by the state and governed by new regulations. This last conception is +certainly more in agreement with the social ideas now prevalent in +France. Should your Holiness condescend to express a favourable opinion +in that sense, the young French Catholic party would certainly know how +to turn it to good result, by producing quite a movement of the working +classes in favour of the Church.” + +In his quiet way Leo XIII responded: “But I cannot. Frenchmen always ask +things of me which I cannot, will not do. What I will allow you to say on +my behalf to Monsieur de la Choue is, that though I cannot content him I +have not contented Monsieur de Fouras. He obtained from me nothing beyond +the expression of my sincere good-will for the French working classes, +who are so dear to me and who can do so much for the restoration of the +faith. You must surely understand, however, that among you Frenchmen +there are questions of detail, of mere organisation, so to say, into +which I cannot possibly enter without imparting to them an importance +which they do not have, and at the same time greatly discontenting some +people should I please others.” + +As the Pope pronounced these last words he smiled a pale smile, in which +the shrewd, conciliatory politician, who was determined not to allow his +infallibility to be compromised in useless and risky ventures, was fully +revealed. And then he drank a little more syrup and wiped his mouth with +his handkerchief, like a sovereign whose Court day is over and who takes +his ease, having chosen this hour of solitude and silence to chat as long +as he may be so inclined. + +Pierre, however, sought to bring him back to the subject of his book. +“Monsieur de la Choue,” said he, “has shown me so much kindness and is so +anxious to know the fate reserved to my book--as if, indeed, it were his +own--that I should have been very happy to convey to him an expression of +your Holiness’s approval.” + +However, the Pope continued wiping his mouth and did not reply. + +“I became acquainted with the Viscount,” continued Pierre, “at the +residence of his Eminence Cardinal Bergerot, another great heart whose +ardent charity ought to suffice to restore the faith in France.” + +This time the effect was immediate. “Ah! yes, Monsieur le Cardinal +Bergerot!” said Leo XIII. “I read that letter of his which is printed at +the beginning of your book. He was very badly inspired in writing it to +you; and you, my son, acted very culpably on the day you published it. I +cannot yet believe that Monsieur le Cardinal Bergerot had read some of +your pages when he sent you an expression of his complete and full +approval. I prefer to charge him with ignorance and thoughtlessness. How +could he approve of your attacks on dogma, your revolutionary theories +which tend to the complete destruction of our holy religion? If it be a +fact that he had read your book, the only excuse he can invoke is sudden +and inexplicable aberration. It is true that a very bad spirit prevails +among a small portion of the French clergy. What are called Gallican +ideas are ever sprouting up like noxious weeds; there is a malcontent +Liberalism rebellious to our authority which continually hungers for free +examination and sentimental adventures.” + +The Pope grew animated as he spoke. Italian words mingled with his +hesitating French, and every now and again his full nasal voice resounded +with the sonority of a brass instrument. “Monsieur le Cardinal Bergerot,” + he continued, “must be given to understand that we shall crush him on the +day when we see in him nothing but a rebellious son. He owes the example +of obedience; we shall acquaint him with our displeasure, and we hope +that he will submit. Humility and charity are great virtues doubtless, +and we have always taken pleasure in recognising them in him. But they +must not be the refuge of a rebellious heart, for they are as nothing +unless accompanied by obedience--obedience, obedience, the finest +adornment of the great saints!” + +Pierre listened thunderstruck, overcome. He forgot himself to think of +the apostle of kindliness and tolerance upon whose head he had drawn this +all-powerful anger. So Don Vigilio had spoken the truth: over and above +his--Pierre’s--head the denunciations of the Bishops of Evreux and +Poitiers were about to fall on the man who opposed their Ultramontane +policy, that worthy and gentle Cardinal Bergerot, whose heart was open to +all the woes of the lowly and the poor. This filled the young priest with +despair; he could accept the denunciation of the Bishop of Tarbes acting +on behalf of the Fathers of the Grotto, for that only fell on himself, as +a reprisal for what he had written about Lourdes; but the underhand +warfare of the others exasperated him, filled him with dolorous +indignation. And from that puny old man before him with the slender, +scraggy neck of an aged bird, he had suddenly seen such a wrathful, +formidable Master arise that he trembled. How could he have allowed +himself to be deceived by appearances on entering? How could he have +imagined that he was simply in presence of a poor old man, worn out by +age, desirous of peace, and ready for every concession? A blast had swept +through that sleepy chamber, and all his doubts and his anguish awoke +once more. Ah! that Pope, how thoroughly he answered to all the accounts +that he, Pierre, had heard but had refused to believe; so many people had +told him in Rome that he would find Leo XIII a man of intellect rather +than of sentiment, a man of the most unbounded pride, who from his very +youth had nourished the supreme ambition, to such a point indeed that he +had promised eventual triumph to his relatives in order that they might +make the necessary sacrifices for him, while since he had occupied the +pontifical throne his one will and determination had been to reign, to +reign in spite of all, to be the sole absolute and omnipotent master of +the world! And now here was reality arising with irresistible force and +confirming everything. And yet Pierre struggled, stubbornly clutching at +his dream once more. + +“Oh! Holy Father,” said he, “I should be grieved indeed if his Eminence +should have a moment’s worry on account of my unfortunate book. If I be +guilty I can answer for my error, but his Eminence only obeyed the +dictates of his heart and can only have transgressed by excess of love +for the disinherited of the world!” + +Leo XIII made no reply. He had again raised his superb eyes, those eyes +of ardent life, set, as it were, in the motionless countenance of an +alabaster idol; and once more he was fixedly gazing at the young priest. + +And Pierre, amidst his returning feverishness, seemed to behold him +growing in power and splendour, whilst behind him arose a vision of the +ages, a vision of that long line of popes whom the young priest had +previously evoked, the saintly and the proud ones, the warriors and the +ascetics, the theologians and the diplomatists, those who had worn +armour, those who had conquered by the Cross, those who had disposed of +empires as of mere provinces which God had committed to their charge. And +in particular Pierre beheld the great Gregory, the conqueror and founder, +and Sixtus V, the negotiator and politician, who had first foreseen the +eventual victory of the papacy over all the vanquished monarchies. Ah! +what a throng of magnificent princes, of sovereign masters with powerful +brains and arms, there was behind that pale, motionless, old man! What an +accumulation of inexhaustible determination, stubborn genius, and +boundless domination! The whole history of human ambition, the whole +effort of the ages to subject the nations to the pride of one man, the +greatest force that has ever conquered, exploited, and fashioned mankind +in the name of its happiness! And even now, when territorial sovereignty +had come to an end, how great was the spiritual sovereignty of that pale +and slender old man, in whose presence women fainted, as if overcome by +the divine splendour radiating from his person. Not only did all the +resounding glories, the masterful triumphs of history spread out behind +him, but heaven opened, the very spheres beyond life shone out in their +dazzling mystery. He--the Pope--stood at the portals of heaven, holding +the keys and opening those portals to human souls; all the ancient +symbolism was revived, freed at last from the stains of royalty here +below. + +“Oh! I beg you, Holy Father,” resumed Pierre, “if an example be needed +strike none other than myself. I have come, and am here; decide my fate, +but do not aggravate my punishment by filling me with remorse at having +brought condemnation on the innocent.” + +Leo XIII still refrained from replying, though he continued to look at +the young priest with burning eyes. And he, Pierre, no longer beheld Leo +XIII, the last of a long line of popes, the Vicar of Jesus Christ, the +Successor of the Prince of the Apostles, the Supreme Pontiff of the +Universal Church, Patriarch of the East, Primate of Italy, Archbishop and +Metropolitan of the Roman Province, Sovereign of the Temporal Domains of +the Holy Church; he saw the Leo XIII that he had dreamt of, the awaited +saviour who would dispel the frightful cataclysm in which rotten society +was sinking. He beheld him with his supple, lofty intelligence and +fraternal, conciliatory tactics, avoiding friction and labouring to bring +about unity whilst with his heart overflowing with love he went straight +to the hearts of the multitude, again giving the best of his blood in +sign of the new alliance. He raised him aloft as the sole remaining moral +authority, the sole possible bond of charity and peace--as the Father, in +fact, who alone could stamp out injustice among his children, destroy +misery, and re-establish the liberating Law of Work by bringing the +nations back to the faith of the primitive Church, the gentleness and the +wisdom of the true Christian community. And in the deep silence of that +room the great figure which he thus set up assumed invincible +all-powerfulness, extraordinary majesty. + +“Oh, I beseech you, Holy Father, listen to me,” he said. “Do not even +strike me, strike no one, neither a being nor a thing, anything that can +suffer under the sun. Show kindness and indulgence to all, show all the +kindness and indulgence which the sight of the world’s sufferings must +have set in you!” + +And then, seeing that Leo XIII still remained silent and still left him +standing there, he sank down upon his knees, as if felled by the growing +emotion which rendered his heart so heavy. And within him there was a +sort of _debâcle_; all his doubts, all his anguish and sadness burst +forth in an irresistible stream. There was the memory of the frightful +day 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 had +experienced since his arrival in Rome, the destruction of his illusions, +the wounds dealt to his delicacy, the buffets with which men and things +had responded to his young enthusiasm; and, lying yet more deeply within +his heart, there was the sum total of human wretchedness, the thought of +famished ones howling for food, of mothers whose breasts were drained and +who sobbed whilst kissing their hungry babes, of fathers without work, +who clenched their fists and revolted--indeed, the whole of that hateful +misery which is as old as mankind itself, which has preyed upon mankind +since its earliest hour, and which he now had everywhere found increasing +in horror and havoc, without a gleam of hope that it would ever be +healed. And withal, yet more immense and more incurable, he felt within +him a nameless sorrow to which he could assign no precise cause or +name--an universal, an illimitable sorrow with which he melted +despairingly, and which was perhaps the very sorrow of life. + +“O Holy Father!” he exclaimed, “I myself have no existence and my book +has no existence. I desired, passionately desired to see your Holiness +that I might explain and defend myself. But I no longer know, I can no +longer recall a single one of the things that I wished to say, I can only +weep, weep the tears which are stifling me. Yes, I am but a poor man, and +the 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 faubourgs +of Paris, so wretched and so full of pain; the poor little children that +I have picked out of the snow, the poor little angels who had eaten +nothing for two days; the women too, consumed by consumption, without +bread or fire, shivering in filthy hovels; and the men thrown on the +street by slackness of trade, weary of begging for work as one begs for +alms, sinking back into night, drunken with rage and harbouring the sole +avenging 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 had +just killed herself with her five little ones, she lying on a palliasse +suckling her last-born, and two little girls, two pretty little blondes, +sleeping the last sleep beside her, while the two boys had succumbed +farther away, one of them crouching against a wall, and the other lying +upon 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 suffer +and who sob, the humble delegate of the humble ones who die of want +beneath the hateful harshness, the frightful injustice of our present-day +social system! And I bring your Holiness their tears, and I lay their +tortures at your Holiness’s feet, I raise their cry of woe, like a cry +from the abyss, that cry which demands justice unless indeed the very +heavens are to fall! Oh! show your loving kindness, Holy Father, show +compassion!” + +The young man had stretched out his arms and implored Leo XIII with a +gesture as of supreme appeal to the divine compassion. Then he continued: +“And here, Holy Father, in this splendid and eternal Rome, is not the +want and misery as frightful! During the weeks that I have roamed hither +and thither among the dust of famous ruins, I have never ceased to come +in contact with evils which demand cure. Ah! to think of all that is +crumbling, all that is expiring, the agony of so much glory, the fearful +sadness of a world which is dying of exhaustion and hunger! Yonder, under +your Holiness’s windows, have I not seen a district of horrors, a +district of unfinished palaces stricken like rickety children who cannot +attain to full growth, palaces which are already in ruins and have become +places of refuge for all the woeful misery of Rome? And here, as in +Paris, what a suffering multitude, what a shameless exhibition too of the +social sore, the devouring cancer openly tolerated and displayed in utter +heedlessness! There are whole families leading idle and hungry lives in +the splendid sunlight; fathers waiting for work to fall to them from +heaven; sons listlessly spending their days asleep on the dry grass; +mothers and daughters, withered before their time, shuffling about in +loquacious idleness. O Holy Father, already to-morrow at dawn may your +Holiness open that window yonder and with your benediction awaken that +great childish people, which still slumbers in ignorance and poverty! May +your Holiness give it the soul it lacks, a soul with the consciousness of +human dignity, of the necessary law of work, of free and fraternal life +regulated by justice only! Yes, may your Holiness make a people out of +that heap of wretches, whose excuse lies in all their bodily suffering +and mental night, who live like the beasts that go by and die, never +knowing nor understanding, yet ever lashed onward with the whip!” + +Pierre’s sobs were gradually choking him, and it was only the impulse of +his passion which still enabled him to speak. “And, Holy Father,” he +continued, “is it not to you that I ought to address myself in the name +of all these wretched ones? Are you not the Father, and is it not before +the Father that the messenger of the poor and the lowly should kneel as I +am kneeling now? And is it not to the Father that he should bring the +huge burden of their sorrows and ask for pity and help and justice? Yes, +particularly for justice! And since you are the Father throw the doors +wide open so that all may enter, even the humblest of your children, the +faithful, the chance passers, even the rebellious ones and those who have +gone astray but who will perhaps enter and whom you will save from the +errors of abandonment! Be as the house of refuge on the dangerous road, +the loving greeter of the wayfarer, the lamp of hospitality which ever +burns, and is seen afar off and saves one in the storm! And since, O +Father, you are power be salvation also! You can do all; you have +centuries of domination behind you; you have nowadays risen to a moral +authority which has rendered you the arbiter of the world; you are there +before me like the very majesty of the sun which illumines and +fructifies! Oh! be the star of kindness and charity, be the redeemer; +take in hand once more the purpose of Jesus, which has been perverted by +being left in the hands of the rich and the powerful who have ended by +transforming the work of the Gospel into the most hateful of all +monuments of pride and tyranny! And since the work has been spoilt, take +it in hand, begin it afresh, place yourself on the side of the little +ones, the lowly ones, the poor ones, and bring them back to the peace, +the fraternity, and the justice of the original Christian communion. And +say, O Father, that I have understood you, that I have sincerely +expressed in this respect your most cherished ideas, the sole living +desire of your reign! The rest, oh! the rest, my book, myself, what +matter they! I do not defend myself, I only seek your glory and the +happiness of mankind. Say that from the depths of this Vatican you have +heard the rending of our corrupt modern societies! Say that you have +quivered with loving pity, say that you desire to prevent the awful +impending catastrophe by recalling the Gospel to the hearts of your +children who are stricken with madness, and by bringing them back to the +age of simplicity and purity when the first Christians lived together in +innocent brotherhood! Yes, it is for that reason, is it not, that you +have placed yourself, Father, on the side of the poor, and for that +reason I am here and entreat you for pity and kindness and justice with +my whole soul!” + +Then the young man gave way beneath his emotion, and fell all of a heap +upon the floor amidst a rush of sobs--loud, endless sobs, which flowed +forth in billows, coming as it were not only from himself but from all +the wretched, from the whole world in whose veins sorrow coursed mingled +with 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 to +others with an effort, had twice raised one of his pallid hands to +interrupt the young priest. Then, gradually overcome by astonishment, +touched by emotion himself, he had allowed him to continue, to go on to +the end of his outburst. A little blood even had suffused the snowy +whiteness of the Pontiff’s face whilst his eyes shone out yet more +brilliantly. 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, he +became anxious and leant forward: “Calm yourself, my son, raise +yourself,” he said. + +But the sobs still continued, still flowed forth, all reason and respect +being swept away amidst that distracted plaint of a wounded soul, that +moan 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 the +young man to sit down. + +Pierre rose with pain, and at once seated himself in order that he might +not fall. He brushed his hair back from his forehead, and wiped his +scalding tears away with his hands, unable to understand what had just +happened, but striving to regain his self-possession. + +“You appeal to the Holy Father,” said Leo XIII. “Ah! rest assured that +his 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 most +dangerous 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. The +subject ‘New Rome’ is such a beautiful one and impassions me so much! and +certainly there is a book to be written under that title, but in a very +different spirit to yours. You think that you have understood me, my son, +that you have so penetrated yourself with my writings and actions that +you simply express my most cherished ideas. But no, no, you have not +understood me, and that is why I desired to see you, explain things to +you, and convince you.” + +It was now Pierre who sat listening, mute and motionless. Yet he had only +come thither to defend himself; for three months past he had been +feverishly desiring this interview, preparing his arguments and feeling +confident of victory; and now although he heard his book spoken of as +dangerous and culpable he did not protest, did not reply with any one of +those good reasons which he had deemed so irresistible. But the fact was +that 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 XIII +with an air of impatient irritation. “It is incredible what trouble I +have to make myself understood, in France especially! Take the temporal +power for instance; how can you have fancied that the Holy See would ever +enter into any compromise on that question? Such language is unworthy of +a priest, it is the chimerical dream of one who is ignorant of the +conditions in which the papacy has hitherto lived and in which it must +still live if it does not desire to disappear. Cannot you see the +sophistry of your argument that the Church becomes the loftier the more +it frees itself from the cares of terrestrial sovereignty? A purely +spiritual royalty, a sway of charity and love, indeed, ’tis a fine +imaginative idea! But who will ensure us respect? Who will grant us the +alms of a stone on which to rest our head if we are ever driven forth and +forced to roam the highways? Who will guarantee our independence when we +are 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 the +indestructible, eternal soil on which the Church is built, so that any +relinquishment would mean the downfall of the Holy Catholic Apostolic and +Roman Church. And, moreover, we could not relinquish it; we are bound by +our oath to God and man.” + +He paused for a moment to allow Pierre to answer him. But the latter to +his stupefaction could say nothing, for he perceived that this pope spoke +as he was bound to speak. All the heavy mysterious things which had +weighed the young priest down whilst he was waiting in the ante-room, now +became more and more clearly defined. They were, indeed, the things which +he had seen and learnt since his arrival in Rome, the disillusions, the +rebuffs which he had experienced, all the many points of difference +between existing reality and imagination, whereby his dream of a return +to primitive Christianity was already half shattered. And in particular +he 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 its +purple, he had realised that he was an imbecile with his idea of a purely +spiritual pope. He had that day fled from the furious shouts of the +pilgrims acclaiming the Pope-King. He had only accepted the necessity for +money, that last form of servitude still binding the Pope to earth. But +all had crumbled afterwards, when he had beheld the real Rome, the +ancient city of pride and domination where the papacy can never be +complete 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 time +would even arrive when her concessions would cease, in presence of the +impossibility of going any further without committing suicide. If his, +Pierre’s, dream of a New Rome were ever to be realised, it would only be +faraway from ancient Rome. Only in some distant region could the new +Christianity arise, for Catholicism was bound to die on the spot when the +last of the popes, riveted to that land of ruins, should disappear +beneath the falling dome of St. Peter’s, which would fall as surely as +the temple of Jupiter had fallen! And, as for that pope of the present +day, though he might have no kingdom, though age might have made him weak +and fragile, though his bloodless pallor might be that of some ancient +idol of wax, he none the less flared with the red passion for universal +sovereignty, he was none the less the stubborn scion of his ancestry, the +Pontifex Maximus, the Caesar Imperator in whose veins flowed the blood of +Augustus, master of the world. + +“You must be fully aware,” resumed Leo XIII, “of the ardent desire for +unity which has always possessed us. We were very happy on the day when +we unified the rite, by imposing the Roman rite throughout the whole +Catholic world. This is one of our most cherished victories, for it can +do much to uphold our authority. And I hope that our efforts in the +East will end by bringing our dear brethren of the dissident communions +back to us, in the same way as I do not despair of convincing the +Anglican sects, without speaking of the other so-called Protestant +sects who will be compelled to return to the bosom of the only Church, +the Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman Church, when the times predicted by +the Christ shall be accomplished. But a thing which you did not say in +your book is that the Church can relinquish nothing whatever of dogma. +On the contrary, you seem to fancy that an agreement might be effected, +concessions made on either side, and that, my son, is a culpable +thought, such language as a priest cannot use without being guilty of a +crime. No, the truth is absolute, not a stone of the edifice shall be +changed. Oh! in matters of form, we will do whatever may be asked. We +are ready to adopt the most conciliatory courses if it be only a +question of turning certain difficulties and weighing expressions in +order to facilitate agreement.... Again, there is the part we have +taken in contemporary socialism, and here too it is necessary that we +should be understood. Those whom you have so well called the +disinherited of the world, are certainly the object of our solicitude. +If socialism be simply a desire for justice, and a constant +determination to come to the help of the weak and the suffering, who +can claim to give more thought to the matter and work with more energy +than ourselves? Has not the Church always been the mother of the +afflicted, the helper and benefactress of the poor? We are for all +reasonable progress, we admit all new social forms which will promote +peace and fraternity.... Only we can but condemn that socialism which +begins by driving away God as a means of ensuring the happiness of +mankind. Therein lies simple savagery, an abominable relapse into the +primitive state in which there can only be catastrophe, conflagration, +and massacre. And that again is a point on which you have not laid +sufficient stress, for you have not shown in your book that there can +be no progress outside the pale of the Church, that she is really the +only initiatory and guiding power to whom one may surrender oneself +without fear. Indeed, and in this again you have sinned, it seemed to +me as if you set God on one side, as if for you religion lay solely in +a certain bent of the soul, a florescence of love and charity, which +sufficed one to work one’s salvation. But that is execrable heresy. God +is ever present, master of souls and bodies; and religion remains the +bond, the law, the very governing power of mankind, apart from which +there can only be 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 mean to link the fate of religion to that of any +form of government, however august and ancient the latter may be. +Dynasties may have done their time, but God is eternal. Kings may +perish, but God lives! And, moreover, there is nothing anti-Christian +in the republican form of government; indeed, on the contrary, it would +seem like an awakening of that Christian commonwealth to which you have +referred in some really charming pages. The worst is that liberty at +once becomes license, and that our desire for conciliation is often +very badly requited.... But ah! what a wicked book you have written, my +son,--with the best intentions, I am willing to believe,--and how your +silence shows that you are beginning to recognise the disastrous +consequences of your error.” + +Pierre still remained silent, overcome, feeling as if his arguments would +fall against some deaf, blind, and impenetrable rock, which it was +useless to assail since nothing could enter it. And only one thing now +preoccupied him; he wondered how it was that a man of such intelligence +and such ambition had not formed a more distinct and exact idea of the +modern world. He could divine that the Pope possessed much information +and carried the map of Christendom with many of the needs, deeds, and +hopes of the nations, in his mind amidst his complicated diplomatic +enterprises; but at the same time what gaps there were in his knowledge! +The truth, no doubt, was that his personal acquaintance with the world +was 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 had +only mingled with the dawning life of young Italy. And for eighteen years +now he had been shut up in the Vatican, isolated from the rest of mankind +and communicating with the nations solely through his _entourage_, which +was often most unintelligent, most mendacious, and most treacherous. +Moreover, he was an Italian priest, a superstitious and despotic High +Pontiff, bound by tradition, subjected to the influences of race +environment, pecuniary considerations, and political necessities, not to +speak of his great pride, the conviction that he ought to be implicitly +obeyed in all things as the one sole legitimate power upon earth. Therein +lay fatal causes of mental deformity, of errors and gaps in his +extraordinary brain, though the latter certainly possessed many admirable +qualities, quickness of comprehension and patient stubbornness of will +and strength to draw conclusions and act. Of all his powers, however, +that of intuition was certainly the most wonderful, for was it not this +alone which, owing to his voluntary imprisonment, enabled him to divine +the vast evolution of humanity at the present day? He was thus keenly +conscious of the dangers surrounding him, of the rising tide of democracy +and the boundless ocean of science which threatened to submerge the +little islet where the dome of St. Peter’s yet triumphed. And the object +of all his policy, of all his labour, was to conquer so that he might +reign. If he desired the unity of the Church it was in order that the +latter might become strong and inexpugnable in the contest which he +foresaw. If he preached conciliation, granting concessions in matters of +form, tolerating audacious actions on the part of American bishops, it +was because he deeply and secretly feared the dislocation of the Church, +some sudden schism which might hasten disaster. And this fear explained +his returning affection for the people, the concern which he displayed +respecting socialism, and the Christian solution which he offered to the +woes of earthly life. As Caesar was stricken low, was not the long +contest for possession of the people over, and would not the people, the +great silent multitude, speak out, and give itself to him, the Pope? He +had begun experiments with France, forsaking the lost cause of the +monarchy and recognising the Republic which he hoped might prove strong +and victorious, for in spite of everything France remained the eldest +daughter of the Church, the only Catholic nation which yet possessed +sufficient strength to restore the temporal power at some propitious +moment. And briefly Leo’s desire was to reign. To reign by the support of +France since it seemed impossible to do so by the support of Germany! To +reign by the support of the people, since the people was now becoming the +master, the bestower of thrones! To reign by means even of an Italian +Republic, if only that Republic could wrest Rome from the House of Savoy +and restore her to him, a federal Republic which would make him President +of the United States of Italy pending the time when he should be +President of the United States of Europe! To reign in spite of everybody +and everything, such was his ambition, to reign over the world, even as +Augustus had reigned, Augustus whose devouring blood alone upheld this +expiring old man, yet so stubbornly clinging to power! + +“And another crime of yours, my son,” resumed Leo XIII, “is that you have +dared to ask for a new religion. That is impious, blasphemous, +sacrilegious. There is but one religion in the world, our Holy Catholic +Apostolic and Roman Religion, apart from which there can be but darkness +and damnation. I quite understand that what you mean to imply is a return +to early Christianity. But the error of so-called Protestantism, so +culpable and so deplorable in its consequences, never had any other +pretext. As soon as one departs from the strict observance of dogma and +absolute respect for tradition one sinks into the most frightful +precipices.... Ah! schism, schism, my son, is a crime beyond +forgiveness, an assassination of the true God, a device of the loathsome +Beast of Temptation which Hell sends into the world to work the ruin of +the faithful! If your book contained nothing beyond those words ‘a new +religion,’ it would be necessary to destroy and burn it like so much +poison fatal in its effects upon the human soul.” + +He continued at length on this subject, while Pierre recalled what Don +Vigilio had told him of those all-powerful Jesuits who at the Vatican as +elsewhere remained in the background, secretly but none the less +decisively governing the Church. Was it true then that this pope, whose +opportunist tendencies were so freely displayed, was one of them, a mere +docile instrument in their hands, though he fancied himself penetrated +with the doctrines of St. Thomas Aquinas? In any case, like them he +compounded with the century, made approaches to the world, and was +willing to flatter it in order that he might possess it. Never before had +Pierre so cruelly realised that the Church was now so reduced that she +could only live by dint of concessions and diplomacy. And he could at +last distinctly picture that Roman clergy which at first is so difficult +of comprehension to a French priest, that Government of the Church, +represented by the pope, the cardinals, and the prelates, whom the Deity +has appointed to govern and administer His mundane possessions--mankind +and the earth. They begin by setting that very Deity on one side, in the +depths of the tabernacle, and impose whatever dogmas they please as so +many essential truths. That the Deity exists is evident, since they +govern in His name which is sufficient for everything. And being by +virtue of their charge the masters, if they consent to sign covenants, +Concordats, it is only as matters of form; they do not observe them, and +never yield to anything but force, always reserving the principle of +their absolute sovereignty which must some day finally triumph. Pending +that day’s arrival, they act as diplomatists, slowly carrying on their +work of conquest as the Deity’s functionaries; and religion is but the +public homage which they pay to the Deity, and which they organise with +all the pomp and magnificence that is likely to influence the multitude. +Their only object is to enrapture and conquer mankind in order that the +latter may submit to the rule of the Deity, that is the rule of +themselves, since they are the Deity’s visible representatives, expressly +delegated to govern the world. In a word, they straightway descend from +Roman law, they are still but the offspring of the old pagan soul of +Rome, and if they have lasted until now and if they rely on lasting for +ever, until the awaited hour when the empire of the world shall be +restored to them, it is because they are the direct heirs of the +purple-robed Caesars, the uninterrupted and living progeny of the blood +of Augustus. + +And thereupon Pierre felt ashamed of his tears. Ah! those poor nerves of +his, 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 his +soul in utter nakedness. And so uselessly too, in that room where nothing +similar had ever been said before, and in presence of that Pontiff-King +who could not understand him. His plan of the popes reigning by means of +the poor and lowly now horrified him. His idea of the papacy going to the +people, at last rid of its former masters, seemed to him a suggestion +worthy of a wolf, for if the papacy should go to the people it would only +be to prey upon it as the others had done. And really he, Pierre, must +have been mad when he had imagined that a Roman prelate, a cardinal, a +pope, was capable of admitting a return to the Christian commonwealth, a +fresh florescence of primitive Christianity to pacify the aged nations +whom hatred consumed. Such a conception indeed was beyond the +comprehension of men who for centuries had regarded themselves as masters +of the world, so heedless and disdainful of the lowly and the suffering, +that they had at last become altogether incapable of either love or +charity.* + + * 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 on +Lourdes which shows such a thoroughly bad spirit? Lourdes, my son, has +rendered great services to religion. To the persons who have come and +told me of the touching miracles which are witnessed at the Grotto almost +daily, I have often expressed my desire to see those miracles confirmed, +proved by the most rigorous scientific tests. And, indeed, according to +what I have read, I do not think that the most evilly disposed minds can +entertain any further doubt on the matter, for the miracles _are_ proved +scientifically in the most irrefutable manner. Science, my son, must be +God’s servant. It can do nothing against Him, it is only by His grace +that it arrives at the truth. All the solutions which people nowadays +pretend to discover and which seemingly destroy dogma will some day be +recognised as false, for God’s truth will remain victorious when the +times shall be accomplished. That is a very simple certainty, known even +to little children, and it would suffice for the peace and salvation of +mankind, if mankind would content itself with it. And be convinced, my +son, that faith and reason are not incompatible. Have we not got St. +Thomas who foresaw everything, explained everything, regulated +everything? Your faith has been shaken by the onslaught of the spirit of +examination, you have known trouble and anguish which Heaven has been +pleased to spare our priests in this land of ancient belief, this city of +Rome which the blood of so many martyrs has sanctified. However, we have +no fear of the spirit of examination, study St. Thomas, read him +thoroughly and your faith will return, definitive and triumphant, firmer +than ever.” + +These remarks caused Pierre as much dismay as if fragments of the +celestial vault were raining on his head. O God of truth, miracles--the +miracles of Lourdes!--proved scientifically, faith in the dogmas +compatible with reason, and the writings of St. Thomas Aquinas sufficient +to instil certainty into the minds of this present generation! How could +one 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 is +the more to be condemned as it offers every fascination of style, every +perversion of generous fancy. Briefly it is such a book that a priest, if +he conceived it in an hour of error, can have no other duty than that of +burning it in public with the very hand which traced the pages of error +and scandal.” + +All at once Pierre rose up erect. He was about to exclaim: “‘Tis true, I +had lost my faith, but I thought I had found it again in the compassion +which the woes of the world set in my heart. You were my last hope, the +awaited saviour. But, behold, that again is a dream, you cannot take the +work of Jesus in hand once more and pacify mankind so as to avert the +frightful fratricidal war which is preparing. You cannot leave your +throne and come along the roads with the poor and the humble to carry out +the supreme work of fraternity. Well, it is all over with you, your +Vatican and your St. Peter’s. All is falling before the onslaught of the +rising multitude and growing science. You no longer exist, there are only +ruins and remnants left here.” + +However, he did not speak those words. He simply bowed and said: “Holy +Father, I make my submission and reprobate my book.” And as he thus +replied his voice trembled with disgust, and his open hands made a +gesture of surrender as though he were yielding up his soul. The words he +had chosen were precisely those of the required formula: _Auctor +laudabiliter se subjecit et opus reprobavit_. “The author has laudably +made his submission and reprobated his work.” No error could have been +confessed, no hope could have accomplished self-destruction with loftier +despair, more sovereign grandeur. But what frightful irony: that book +which he had sworn never to withdraw, and for whose triumph he had fought +so passionately, and which he himself now denied and suppressed, not +because he deemed it guilty, but because he had just realised that it was +as 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 had +found there neither the Deity nor the priest that he had desired for the +happiness of mankind, why should he obstinately cling to the illusion of +an awakening which was impossible! ‘Twere better to fling his book on the +ground like a dead leaf, better to deny it, better to cut it away like a +dead limb that could serve no purpose whatever! + +Somewhat surprised by such a prompt victory Leo XIII raised a slight +exclamation 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, who +carefully prepared each of his audiences, deciding beforehand what words +he would say, what gestures even he would make, unbent somewhat and +displayed real _bonhomie_. Unable to understand, mistaking the real +motives of this rebellious priest’s submission, he tasted positive +delight in having so easily reduced him to silence, the more so as report +had stated the young man to be a terrible revolutionary. And thus his +Holiness felt quite proud of such a conversion. “Moreover, my son,” he +said, “I did not expect less of one of your distinguished mind. There can +be 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 was +stirring the last spoonful of syrup before drinking it. And Pierre was +amazed 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 the +zenith, he had again sunk to the level of the soil in all human +mediocrity. Again did Pierre find him puny and fragile, with the slender +neck of a little sick bird, and all those marks of senile ugliness which +rendered him so exacting with regard to his portraits, whether they were +oil paintings or photographs, gold medals, or marble busts, for of one +and 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 lofty +image 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 were +affectionate pity for such white old age, deep admiration for the +stubborn power of life which had found a refuge in those dark black eyes, +and respectful deference, such as became a worker, for that large brain +which harboured such vast projects and overflowed with such innumerable +ideas and actions. + +The audience was over, and the young man bowed low: “I thank your +Holiness for having deigned to give me such a fatherly reception,” he +said. + +However, Leo XIII detained him for a moment longer, speaking to him of +France and expressing his sincere desire to see her prosperous, calm, and +strong for the greater advantage of the Church. And Pierre, during that +last moment, had a singular vision, a strange haunting fancy. As he gazed +at the Holy Father’s ivory brow and thought of his great age and of his +liability to be carried off by the slightest chill, he involuntarily +recalled the scene instinct with a fierce grandeur which is witnessed +each time a pope dies. He recalled Pius IX, Giovanni Mastai, two hours +after death, his face covered by a white linen cloth, while the +pontifical family surrounded him in dismay; and then Cardinal Pecci, the +_Camerlingo_, approaching the bed, drawing aside the veil and dealing +three taps with his silver hammer on the forehead of the deceased, +repeating at each tap the call, “Giovanni! Giovanni! Giovanni!” And as +the 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 Via +Giulia 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 covered +by a white linen cloth and his corpse surrounded by his prelates in that +very room. And he saw the _Camerlingo_ approach, draw the veil aside and +tap the ivory forehead, each time repeating the call: “Gioachino! +Gioachino! Gioachino!” Then, as the corpse did not answer, he waited for +a few seconds and turned and said “The Pope is dead!” Did Leo XIII +remember how he had thrice tapped the forehead of Pius IX, and did he +ever feel on the brow an icy dread of the silver hammer with which he had +armed his own _Camerlingo_, the man whom he knew to be his implacable +adversary, Cardinal Boccanera? + +“Go in peace, my son,” at last said his Holiness by way of parting +benediction. “Your transgression will be forgiven you since you have +confessed and testify your horror for it.” + +With distressful spirit, accepting humiliation as well-deserved +chastisement for his chimerical fancies, Pierre retired, stepping +backwards according to the customary ceremonial. He made three deep bows +and crossed the threshold without turning, followed by the black eyes of +Leo XIII, which never left him. Still he saw the Pope stretch his arm +towards the table to take up the newspaper which he had been reading +prior to the audience, for Leo retained a great fancy for newspapers, and +was very inquisitive as to news, though in the isolation in which he +lived he frequently made mistakes respecting the relative importance of +articles. And once more the chamber sank into deep quietude, whilst the +two lamps continued to diffuse a soft and steady light. + +In the centre of the _anticamera segreta_ Signor Squadra stood waiting +black and motionless. And on noticing that Pierre in his flurry forgot to +take his hat from the pier table, he himself discreetly fetched it and +handed it to the young priest with a silent bow. Then without any +appearance of haste, he walked ahead to conduct the visitor back to the +Sala Clementina. The endless promenade through the interminable +ante-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 low +amidst a yet deeper silence than before. The wilderness seemed also to +have grown larger as the night advanced, casting its gloom over the few +articles of furniture scattered under the lofty gilded ceilings, the +thrones, the stools, the pier tables, the crucifixes, and the candelabra +which recurred in each succeeding room. And at last the Sala Clementina +which the Swiss Guards had just quitted was reached again, and Signor +Squadra, who hitherto had not turned his head, thereupon drew aside +without word or gesture, and, saluting Pierre with a last bow, allowed +him to pass on. Then he himself disappeared. + +And Pierre descended the two flights of the monumental staircase where +the gas jets in their globes of ground glass glimmered like night lights +amidst a wondrously heavy silence now that the footsteps of the sentries +no longer resounded on the landings. And he crossed the Court of St. +Damasus, empty and lifeless in the pale light of the lamps above the +steps, 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 the +bronze door which a porter slowly shut behind him. And with what a +rumble, what a fierce roar did the hard metal close upon all that was +within; all the accumulated darkness and silence; the dead, motionless +centuries perpetuated by tradition; the indestructible idols, the dogmas, +bound round for preservation like mummies; every chain which may weigh on +one or hamper one, the whole apparatus of bondage and sovereign +domination, with whose formidable clang all the dark, deserted halls +re-echoed. + +Once more the young man found himself alone on the gloomy expanse of the +Piazza of St. Peter’s. Not a single belated pedestrian was to be seen. +There was only the lofty, livid, ghost-like obelisk, emerging between its +four candelabra, from the mosaic pavement of red and serpentine porphyry. +The façade of the Basilica also showed vaguely, pale as a vision, whilst +from it on either side like a pair of giant arms stretched the quadruple +colonnade, a thicket of stone, steeped in obscurity. The dome was but a +huge roundness scarcely discernible against the moonless sky; and only +the jets of the fountains, which could at last be detected rising like +slim phantoms ever on the move, lent a voice to the silence, the endless +murmur of a plaint of sorrow coming one knew not whence. Ah! how great +was the melancholy grandeur of that slumber, that famous square, the +Vatican and St. Peter’s, thus seen by night when wrapped in silence and +darkness! But suddenly the clock struck ten with so slow and loud a chime +that never, so it seemed, had more solemn and decisive an hour rung out +amidst blacker and more unfathomable gloom. All Pierre’s poor weary frame +quivered at the sound as he stood motionless in the centre of the +expanse. What! had he spent barely three-quarters of an hour, chatting up +yonder with that white old man who had just wrenched all his soul away +from him! Yes, it was the final wrench; his last belief had been torn +from his bleeding heart and brain. The supreme experiment had been made, +a world had collapsed within him. And all at once he thought of Monsignor +Nani, and reflected that he alone had been right. He, Pierre, had been +told that in any case he would end by doing what Monsignor Nani might +desire, and he was now stupefied to find that he had done so. + +But sudden despair seized upon him, such atrocious distress of spirit +that, from the depths of the abyss of darkness where he stood, he raised +his quivering arms into space and spoke aloud: “No, no, Thou art not +here, O God of life and love, O God of Salvation! But come, appear since +Thy children are perishing because they know neither who Thou art, nor +where to find Thee amidst the Infinite of the worlds!” + +Above the vast square spread the vast sky of dark-blue velvet, the silent +disturbing Infinite, where the constellations palpitated. Over the roofs +of the Vatican, Charles’s Wain seemed yet more tilted, its golden wheels +straying from the right path, its golden shaft upreared in the air; +whilst yonder, over Rome towards the Via Giulia, Orion was about to +disappear and already showed but one of the three golden stars which +bedecked his belt. + + + + +XV. + +IT was nearly daybreak when Pierre fell asleep, exhausted by emotion and +hot 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 the +bodies of Dario and Benedetta had been laid in state in order that the +members of the family, its friends and clients, might bring them their +tears and prayers. + +Whilst he breakfasted, Victorine who, showing an active bravery amidst +her despair, had not been to bed at all, told him of what had taken place +in the house during the night and early morning. Donna Serafina, prude +that she was, had again made an attempt to have the bodies separated; but +this had proved an impossibility, as _rigor mortis_ had set in, and to +part the lovers it would have been necessary to break their limbs. +Moreover, the Cardinal, who had interposed once before, almost quarrelled +with his sister on the subject, unwilling as he was that any one should +disturb the lovers’ last slumber, their union of eternity. Beneath his +priestly garb there coursed the blood of his race, a pride in the +passions of former times; and he remarked that if the family counted two +popes among its forerunners, it had also been rendered illustrious by +great captains and ardent lovers. Never would he allow any one to touch +those two children, whose dolorous lives had been so pure and whom the +grave alone had united. He was the master in his house, and they should +be sewn together in the same shroud, and nailed together in the same +coffin. Then too the religious service should take place at the +neighbouring church of San Carlo, of which he was Cardinal-priest and +where again he was the master. And if needful he would address himself to +the Pope. And such being his sovereign will, so authoritatively +expressed, everybody in the house had to bow submissively. + +Donna Serafina at once occupied herself with the laying-out. According to +the Roman custom the servants were present, and Victorine as the oldest +and most appreciated of them, assisted the relatives. All that could be +done in the first instance was to envelop both corpses in Benedetta’s +unbound hair, thick and odorous hair, which spread out into a royal +mantle; 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 in +death. And again the Cardinal imperatively ordered that they should be +brought into his apartments and placed on a state bed in the centre of +the throne-room, so that a supreme homage might be rendered to them as to +the last scions of the name, the two tragic lovers with whom the once +resounding glory of the Boccaneras was about to return to earth. The +story which had been arranged was already circulating through Rome; folks +related how Dario had been carried off in a few hours by infectious +fever, and how Benedetta, maddened by grief, had expired whilst clasping +him in her arms to bid him a last farewell; and there was talk too of the +royal honours which the bodies were to receive, the superb funeral +nuptials which were to be accorded them as they lay clasped on their bed +of eternal rest. All Rome, quite overcome by this tragic story of love +and death, would talk of nothing else for several weeks. + +Pierre would have started for France that same night, eager as he was to +quit the city of disaster where he had lost the last shreds of his faith, +but he desired to attend the obsequies, and therefore postponed his +departure until the following evening. And thus he would spend one more +day in that old crumbling palace, near the corpse of that unhappy young +woman to whom he had been so much attached and for whom he would try to +find some prayers in the depths of his empty and lacerated heart. + +When he reached the threshold of the Cardinal’s reception-rooms, he +suddenly remembered his first visit to them. They still presented the +same aspect of ancient princely pomp falling into decay and dust. The +doors of the three large ante-rooms were wide open, and the rooms +themselves were at that early hour still empty. In the first one, the +servants’ anteroom, there was nobody but Giacomo who stood motionless in +his black livery in front of the old red hat hanging under the +_baldacchino_ where spiders spun their webs between the crumbling +tassels. In the second room, which the secretary formerly had occupied, +Abbé Paparelli, the train-bearer, was softly walking up and down whilst +waiting for visitors; and with his conquering humility, his all-powerful +obsequiousness, he had never before so closely resembled an old maid, +whitened and wrinkled by excess of devout observances. Finally, in the +third ante-room, the _anticamera nobile_, where the red cap lay on a +credence facing the large imperious portrait of the Cardinal in +ceremonial costume, there was Don Vigilio who had left his little +work-table to station himself at the door of the throne-room and there +bow to those who crossed the threshold. And on that gloomy winter morning +the rooms appeared more mournful and dilapidated than ever, the hangings +frayed and ragged, the few articles of furniture covered with dust, the +old wood-work crumbling beneath the continuous onslaught of worms, and +the ceilings alone retaining their pompous show of gilding and painting. + +However, Pierre, to whom Abbé Paparelli addressed a profound bow, in +which one divined the irony of a sort of dismissal given to one who was +vanquished, felt more impressed by the mournful grandeur which those +three dilapidated rooms presented that day, conducting as they did to the +old throne-room, now a chamber of death, where the two last children of +the house slept their last sleep. What a superb and sorrowful _gala_ of +death! Every door wide open and all the emptiness of those over-spacious +rooms, void of the throngs of ancient days and leading to the supreme +affliction--the end of a race! The Cardinal had shut himself up in his +little work-room where he received the relatives and intimates who +desired to present their condolences to him, whilst Donna Serafina had +chosen an adjoining apartment to await her lady friends who would come in +procession until evening. And Pierre, informed of the ceremonial by +Victorine, had in the first place to enter the throne-room, greeted as he +passed by a deep bow from Don Vigilio who, pale and silent, did not seem +to recognise him. + +A surprise awaited the young priest. He had expected such a +lying-in-state as is seen in France and elsewhere, all windows closed so +as to steep the room in night, and hundreds of candles burning round a +_catafalco_, whilst from ceiling to floor the walls were hung with black +drapery. He had been told that the bodies would lie in the throne-room +because the antique chapel on the ground floor of the palazzo had been +shut up for half a century and was in no condition to be used, whilst the +Cardinal’s little private chapel was altogether too small for any such +ceremony. And thus it had been necessary to improvise an altar in the +throne-room, an altar at which masses had been said ever since dawn. +Masses and other religious services were moreover to be celebrated all +day long in the private chapel; and two additional altars had even been +set up, one in a small room adjoining the _anticamera nobile_ and the +other in a sort of alcove communicating with the second anteroom: and in +this wise priests, Franciscans, and members of other Orders bound by the +vow of poverty, would simultaneously and without intermission celebrate +the divine sacrifice on those four altars. The Cardinal, indeed, had +desired that the Divine Blood should flow without pause under his roof +for the redemption of those two dear souls which had flown away together. +And thus in that mourning mansion, through those funeral halls the bells +scarcely stopped tinkling for the elevation of the host, whilst the +quivering murmur of Latin words ever continued, and consecrated wafers +were continually broken and chalices drained, in such wise that the +Divine Presence could not for a moment quit the heavy atmosphere all +redolent of death. + +On the other hand, however, Pierre, to his great astonishment, found the +throne-room much as it had been on the day of his first visit. The +curtains of the four large windows had not even been drawn, and the grey, +cold, subdued light of the gloomy winter morning freely entered. Under +the ceiling of carved and gilded wood-work there were the customary red +wall-hangings of _brocatelle_, worn away by long usage; and there was the +old throne with the arm-chair turned to the wall, uselessly waiting for a +visit from the Pope which would never more come. The principal changes in +the 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 and +Dario, amidst a profusion of flowers. The bed stood in the centre of the +room on a low platform, and at its head were two lighted candles, one on +either side. There was nothing else, nothing but that wealth of flowers, +such a harvest of white roses that one wondered in what fairy garden they +had been culled, sheaves of them on the bed, sheaves of them toppling +from the bed, sheaves of them covering the step of the platform, and +falling from that step on to the magnificent marble paving of the room. + +Pierre drew near to the bed, his heart faint with emotion. Those tapers +whose little yellow flamelets scarcely showed in the pale daylight, that +continuous low murmur of the mass being said at the altar, that +penetrating perfume of roses which rendered the atmosphere so heavy, +filled the antiquated, dusty room with a spirit of infinite woe, a +lamentation of boundless mourning. And there was not a gesture, not a +word spoken, save by the priest officiating at the altar, nothing but an +occasional faint sound of stifled sobbing among the few persons present. +Servants of the house constantly relieved one another, four always +standing 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 room +with a silent step and the air of a man in a hurry. And at the edge of +the platform all who entered, knelt, prayed, and wept. Pierre perceived +three ladies there, their faces hidden by their handkerchiefs; and there +was also an old priest who trembled with grief and hung his head in such +wise that his face could not be distinguished. However, the young man was +most moved by the sight of a poorly clad girl, whom he took for a +servant, and whom sorrow had utterly prostrated on the marble slabs. + +Then in his turn he knelt down, and with the professional murmur of the +lips sought to repeat the Latin prayers which, as a priest, he had so +often said at the bedside of the departed. But his growing emotion +confused his memory, and he became wrapt in contemplation of the lovers +whom his eyes were unable to quit. Under the wealth of flowers which +covered them the clasped bodies could scarcely be distinguished, but the +two heads emerged from the silken shroud, and lying there on the same +cushion, with their hair mingling, they were still beautiful, beautiful +as with satisfied passion. Benedetta had kept her divinely gay, loving, +and faithful face for eternity, transported with rapture at having +rendered up her last breath in a kiss of love; whilst Dario retained a +more dolorous expression amidst his final joy. And their eyes were still +wide open, gazing at one another with a persistent and caressing +sweetness which nothing would ever more disturb. + +Oh! God, was it true that yonder lay that Benedetta whom he, Pierre, had +loved with such pure, brotherly affection? He was stirred to the very +depths of his soul by the recollection of the delightful hours which he +had spent with her. She had been so beautiful, so sensible, yet so full +of passion! And he had indulged in so beautiful a dream, that of +animating with his own liberating fraternal feelings that admirable +creature with soul of fire and indolent air, in whom he had pictured all +ancient Rome, and whom he would have liked to awaken and win over to the +Italy of to-morrow. He had dreamt of enlarging her brain and heart by +filling her with love for the lowly and the poor, with all present-day +compassion for things and beings. How he would now have smiled at such a +dream had not his tears been flowing! Yet how charming she had shown +herself in striving to content him despite the invincible obstacles of +race, education, and environment. She had been a docile pupil, but was +incapable of any real progress. One day she had certainly seemed to draw +nearer to him, as though her own sufferings had opened her soul to every +charity; but the illusion of happiness had come back, and then she had +lost all understanding of the woes of others, and had gone off in the +egotism of her own hope and joy. Did that mean then that this Roman race +must finish in that fashion, beautiful as it still often is, and fondly +adored but so closed to all love for others, to those laws of charity and +justice which, by regulating labour, can henceforth alone save this world +of ours? + +Then there came another great sorrow to Pierre which left him stammering, +unable to speak any precise prayer. He thought of the overwhelming +reassertion of Nature’s powers which had attended the death of those two +poor children. Was it not awful? To have taken that vow to the Virgin, to +have endured torment throughout life, and to end by plunging into death, +on the loved one’s neck, distracted by vain regret and eager for +self-bestowal! The brutal fact of impending separation had sufficed for +Benedetta to realise how she had duped herself, and to revert to the +universal instinct of love. And therein, again once more, was the Church +vanquished; therein again appeared the great god Pan, mating the sexes +and scattering life around! If in the days of the Renascence the Church +did not fall beneath the assault of the Venuses and Hercules then exhumed +from the old soil of Rome, the struggle at all events continued as +bitterly as ever; and at each and every hour new nations, overflowing +with sap, hungering for life, and warring against a religion which was +nothing more than an appetite for death, threatened to sweep away that +old Holy Apostolic Roman and Catholic edifice whose walls were already +tottering on all sides. + +And at that moment Pierre felt that the death of that adorable Benedetta +was for him the supreme disaster. He was still looking at her and tears +were scorching his eyes. She was carrying off his chimera. This time +’twas really the end. Rome the Catholic and the Princely was dead, lying +there like marble on that funeral bed. She had been unable to go to the +humble, the suffering ones of the world, and had just expired amidst the +impotent cry of her egotistical passion when it was too late either to +love or to create. Never more would children be born of her, the old +Roman house was henceforth empty, sterile, beyond possibility of +awakening. Pierre whose soul mourned such a splendid dream, was so +grieved at seeing her thus motionless and frigid, that he felt himself +fainting. He feared lest he might fall upon the step beside the bed, and +so struggled to his feet and drew aside. + +Then, as he sought refuge in a window recess in order that he might try +to recover self-possession, he was astonished to perceive Victorine +seated there on a bench which the hangings half concealed. She had come +thither by Donna Serafina’s orders, and sat watching her two dear +children as she called them, whilst keeping an eye upon all who came in +and went out. And, on seeing the young priest so pale and nearly +swooning, she at once made room for him to sit down beside her. “Ah!” he +murmured after drawing a long breath, “may they at least have the joy of +being together elsewhere, of living a new life in another world.” + +Victorine, however, shrugged her shoulders, and in an equally low voice +responded, “Oh! live again, Monsieur l’Abbé, why? When one’s dead the +best is to remain so and to sleep. Those poor children had enough +torments on earth, one mustn’t wish that they should begin again +elsewhere.” + +This naive yet deep remark on the part of an ignorant unbelieving woman +sent a shudder through Pierre’s very bones. To think that his own teeth +had chattered with fear at night time at the sudden thought of +annihilation. He deemed her heroic at remaining so undisturbed by any +ideas of eternity and the infinite. And she, as she felt he was +quivering, 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 more +desirable and consoling.” + +“But those two did not live,” murmured Pierre, “so why not allow oneself +the joy of believing that they now live elsewhere, recompensed for all +their torments?” + +Victorine, however, again shook her head; “No, no,” she replied. “Ah! I +was quite right in saying that my poor Benedetta did wrong in torturing +herself with all those superstitious ideas of hers when she was really so +fond of her lover. Yes, happiness is rarely found, and how one regrets +having missed it when it’s too late to turn back! That’s the whole story +of those poor little ones. It’s too late for them, they are dead.” Then +in her turn she broke down and began to sob. “Poor little ones! poor +little ones! Look how white they are, and think what they will be when +only the bones of their heads lie side by side on the cushion, and only +the bones of their arms still clasp one another. Ah! may they sleep, may +they sleep; at least they know nothing and feel nothing now.” + +A long interval of silence followed. Pierre, amidst the quiver of his own +doubts, the anxious desire which in common with most men he felt for a +new life beyond the grave, gazed at this woman who did not find priests +to 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 her +humble station as a servant, lost though she had been for five and twenty +years in a land of wolves, whose language she had not even been able to +learn. Ah! yes, tortured as the young man was by his doubts, he would +have liked to be as she was, a well-balanced, healthy, ignorant creature +who was quite content with what the world offered, and who, when she had +accomplished her daily task, went fully satisfied to bed, careless as to +whether she might never wake again! + +However, as Pierre’s eyes once more sought the state bed, he suddenly +recognised the old priest, who was kneeling on the step of the platform, +and whose features he had hitherto been unable to distinguish. “Isn’t +that Abbé Pisoni, the priest of Santa Brigida, where I sometimes said +mass?” he inquired. “The poor old man, how he weeps!” + +In her quiet yet desolate voice Victorine replied, “He has good reason to +weep. He did a fine thing when he took it into his head to marry my poor +Benedetta to Count Prada. All those abominations would never have +happened if the poor child had been given her Dario at once. But in this +idiotic 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 a +real miracle and saved the world by marrying the Pope and the King as he +said with a soft laugh, poor old _savant_ that he is, who for his part +has never been in love with anything but old stones--you know, all that +antiquated 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 twenty +minutes ago, Father Lorenza, the Jesuit who became the Contessina’s +confessor after Abbé Pisoni, and who undid what the other had done. Yes, +a handsome man he is, but a fine bungler all the same, a perfect killjoy +with 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 made +after he had knelt down. He didn’t cry, he didn’t: he seemed to be saying +that as things had ended so badly it was evident that God had withdrawn +from all share in the business. So much the worse for the dead!” + +Victorine spoke gently and without a pause, as it relieved her, to empty +her heart after the terrible hours of bustle and suffocation which she +had spent since the previous day. “And that one yonder,” she resumed in a +lower voice, “don’t you recognise her?” + +She glanced towards the poorly clad girl whom Pierre had taken for a +servant, and whom intensity of grief had prostrated beside the bed. With +a gesture of awful suffering this girl had just thrown back her head, a +head 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 she +heard of the trouble, but it’s true that she is always prowling round the +house. She sent and asked me to come down to her, and you should have +heard 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 with +her beautiful loving eyes full of tears. She’s been there for half an +hour already, and I had made up my mind to turn her out if she didn’t +behave properly. But since she’s so quiet and doesn’t even move, she may +well stop and fill her heart with the sight of them for her whole life +long.” + +It was really sublime to see that ignorant, passionate, beautiful Pierina +thus overwhelmed below the nuptial couch on which the lovers slept for +all eternity. She had sunk down on her heels, her arms hanging heavily +beside her, and her hands open. And with raised face, motionless as in an +ecstasy of suffering, she did not take her eyes from that adorable and +tragic pair. Never had human face displayed such beauty, such a dazzling +splendour of suffering and love; never had there been such a portrayal of +ancient Grief, not however cold like marble but quivering with life. What +was she thinking of, what were her sufferings, as she thus fixedly gazed +at her Prince now and for ever locked in her rival’s arms? Was it some +jealousy which could have no end that chilled the blood of her veins? Or +was it mere suffering at having lost him, at realising that she was +looking at him for the last time, without thought of hatred for that +other woman who vainly sought to warm him with her arms as icy cold as +his 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 by +grief. She found the lovers so pure and beautiful as they lay there +amidst that profusion of flowers! And beautiful herself, beautiful like a +queen, ignorant of her own charms, she remained there breathless, a +humble servant, a loving slave as it were, whose heart had been wrenched +away and carried off by her dying master. + +People were now constantly entering the room, slowly approaching with +mournful faces, then kneeling and praying for a few minutes, and +afterwards retiring with the same mute, desolate mien. A pang came to +Pierre’s heart when he saw Dario’s mother, the ever beautiful Flavia, +enter, accompanied by her husband, the handsome Jules Laporte, that +ex-sergeant of the Swiss Guard whom she had turned into a Marquis +Montefiori. Warned of the tragedy directly it had happened, she had +already come to the mansion on the previous evening; but now she returned +in grand ceremony and full mourning, looking superb in her black garments +which were well suited to her massive, Juno-like style of beauty. When +she had approached the bed with a queenly step, she remained for a moment +standing with two tears at the edges of her eyelids, tears which did not +fall. Then, at the moment of kneeling, she made sure that Jules was +beside her, and glanced at him as if to order him to kneel as well. They +both sank down beside the platform and remained in prayer for the proper +interval, she very dignified in her grief and he even surpassing her, +with the perfect sorrow-stricken bearing of a man who knew how to conduct +himself in every circumstance of life, even the gravest. And afterwards +they rose together, and slowly betook themselves to the entrance of the +private apartments where the Cardinal and Donna Serafina were receiving +their relatives and friends. + +Five ladies then came in one after the other, while two Capuchins and the +Spanish ambassador to the Holy See went off. And Victorine, who for a few +minutes had remained silent, suddenly resumed. “Ah! there’s the little +Princess, she’s much afflicted too, and, no wonder, she was so fond of +our Benedetta.” + +Pierre himself had just noticed Celia coming in. She also had attired +herself in full mourning for this abominable visit of farewell. Behind +her was a maid, who carried on either arm a huge sheaf of white roses. + +“The dear girl!” murmured Victorine, “she wanted her wedding with her +Attilio to take place on the same day as that of the poor lovers who lie +there. And they, alas! have forestalled her, their wedding’s over; there +they sleep in their bridal bed.” + +Celia had at once crossed herself and knelt down beside the bed, but it +was evident that she was not praying. She was indeed looking at the +lovers with desolate stupefaction at finding them so white and cold with +a 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 at +the ball of that other night, so resplendent and triumphant with their +living 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 hateful +idiocy of death. And her anger and affright and grief, as she thus found +herself face to face with the annihilation which chills every passion, +could be read on her ingenuous, candid, lily-like face. She herself stood +on the threshold of a life of passion of which she yet knew nothing, and +behold! on that very threshold she encountered the corpses of those +dearly loved ones, the loss of whom racked her soul with grief. + +She gently closed her eyes and tried to pray, whilst big tears fell from +under her lowered eyelids. Some time went by amidst the quivering +silence, which only the murmur of the mass near by disturbed. At last she +rose and took the sheaves of flowers from her maid; and standing on the +platform she hesitated for a moment, then placed the roses to the right +and left of the cushion on which the lovers’ heads were resting, as if +she wished to crown them with those blossoms, perfume their young brows +with that sweet and powerful aroma. Then, though her hands remained empty +she did not retire, but remained there leaning over the dead ones, +trembling and seeking what she might yet say to them, what she might +leave them of herself for ever more. An inspiration came to her, and she +stooped forward, and with her whole, deep, loving soul set a long, long +kiss on the brow of either spouse. + +“Ah! the dear girl!” said Victorine, whose tears were again flowing. “You +saw that she kissed them, and nobody had yet thought of that, not even +the poor young Prince’s mother. Ah! the dear little heart, she surely +thought of her Attilio.” + +However, as Celia turned to descend from the platform she perceived La +Pierina, whose figure was still thrown back in an attitude of mute and +dolorous adoration. And she recognised the girl and melted with pity on +seeing such a fit of sobbing come over her that her whole body, her +goddess-like hips and bosom, shook as with frightful anguish. That agony +of love quite upset the little Princess, and she could be heard murmuring +in a tone of infinite compassion, “Calm yourself, my dear, calm yourself. +Be reasonable, my dear, I beg you.” + +Then as La Pierina, thunderstruck at thus being pitied and succoured, +began to sob yet more loudly so as to create quite a stir in the room, +Celia raised her and held her up with both arms, for fear lest she should +fall again. And she led her away in a sisterly clasp, like a sister of +affection and despair, lavishing the most gentle, consoling words upon +her as they went. + +“Follow them, go and see what becomes of them,” Victorine said to Pierre. +“I do not want to stir from here, it quiets me to watch over my two poor +children.” + +A Capuchin was just beginning a fresh mass at the improvised altar, and +the low Latin psalmody went on again, while in the adjoining +ante-chamber, where another mass was being celebrated, a bell was heard +tinkling for the elevation of the host. The perfume of the flowers was +becoming more violent and oppressive amidst the motionless and mournful +atmosphere of the spacious throne-room. The four servants standing at the +head of the bed, as for a _gala_ reception, did not stir, and the +procession of visitors ever continued, men and women entering in silence, +suffocating there for a moment, and then withdrawing, carrying away with +them the never-to-be-forgotten vision of the two tragic lovers sleeping +their eternal sleep. + +Pierre joined Celia and La Pierina in the _anticamera nobile_, where +stood Don Vigilio. The few seats belonging to the throne-room had there +been placed in a corner, and the little Princess had just compelled the +work-girl to sit down in an arm-chair, in order that she might recover +self-possession. Celia was in ecstasy before her, enraptured at finding +her so beautiful, more beautiful than any other, as she said. Then she +spoke of the two dead ones, who also had seemed to her very beautiful, +endowed with an extraordinary beauty, at once superb and sweet; and +despite all her tears, she still remained in a transport of admiration. +On speaking with La Pierina, Pierre learnt that her brother Tito was at +the hospital in great danger from the effects of a terrible knife thrust +dealt him in the side; and since the beginning of the winter, said the +girl, the misery in the district of the castle fields had become +frightful. It was a source of great suffering to every one, and those +whom death carried off had reason to rejoice. + +Celia, however, with a gesture of invincible hopefulness, brushed all +idea of suffering, even of death, aside. “No, no, we must live,” she +said. “And beauty is sufficient for life. Come, my dear, do not remain +here, do not weep any more; live for the delight of being beautiful.” + +Then she led La Pierina away, and Pierre remained seated in one of the +arm-chairs, overcome by such sorrow and weariness that he would have +liked to remain there for ever. Don Vigilio was still bowing to each +fresh visitor that arrived. A severe attack of fever had come on him +during the night, and he was shivering from it, with his face very +yellow, and his eyes ablaze and haggard. He constantly glanced at Pierre, +as if anxious to speak to him, but his dread lest he should be seen by +Abbé Paparelli, who stood in the next ante-room, the door of which was +wide open, doubtless restrained him, for he did not cease to watch the +train-bearer. At last the latter was compelled to absent himself for a +moment, and the secretary thereupon approached the young Frenchman. + +“You saw his Holiness last night,” he said; and as Pierre gazed at him in +stupefaction he added: “Oh! everything gets known, I told you so before. +Well, and you purely and simply withdrew your book, did you not?” The +young priest’s increasing stupor was sufficient answer, and without +leaving him time to reply, Don Vigilio went on: “I suspected it, but I +wished to make certain. Ah! that’s just the way they work! Do you believe +me now, have you realised that they stifle those whom they don’t poison?” + +He was no doubt referring to the Jesuits. However, after glancing into +the adjoining room to make sure that Abbé Paparelli had not returned +thither, he resumed: “And what has Monsignor Nani just told you?” + +“But I have not yet seen Monsignor Nani,” was Pierre’s reply. + +“Oh! I thought you had. He passed through before you arrived. If you did +not see him in the throne-room he must have gone to pay his respects to +Donna Serafina and his Eminence. However, he will certainly pass this way +again; you will see him by and by.” Then with the bitterness of one who +was weak, ever terror-smitten and vanquished, Don Vigilio added: “I told +you that you would end by doing what Monsignor Nani desired.” + +With these words, fancying that he heard the light footfall of Abbé +Paparelli, he hastily returned to his place and bowed to two old ladies +who just then walked in. And Pierre, still seated, overcome, his eyes +wearily closing, at last saw the figure of Nani arise before him in all +its reality so typical of sovereign intelligence and address. He +remembered what Don Vigilio, on the famous night of his revelations, had +told him of this man who was far too shrewd to have labelled himself, so +to say, with an unpopular robe, and who, withal, was a charming prelate +with thorough knowledge of the world, acquired by long experience at +different nunciatures and at the Holy Office, mixed up in everything, +informed with regard to everything, one of the heads, one of the chief +minds in fact of that modern black army, which by dint of Opportunism +hopes to bring this century back to the Church. And all at once, full +enlightenment fell on Pierre, he realised by what supple, clever strategy +that man had led him to the act which he desired of him, the pure and +simple withdrawal of his book, accomplished with every appearance of free +will. First there had been great annoyance on Nani’s part on learning +that the book was being prosecuted, for he feared lest its excitable +author might be prompted to some dangerous revolt; then plans had at once +been formed, information had been collected concerning this young priest +who seemed so capable of schism, he had been urged to come to Rome, +invited to stay in an ancient mansion whose very walls would chill and +enlighten him. And afterwards had come the ever recurring obstacles, the +system of prolonging his sojourn in Rome by preventing him from seeing +the Pope, but promising him the much-desired interview when the proper +time should come, that is after he had been sent hither and thither and +brought into collision with one and all. And finally, when every one and +everything had shaken, wearied, and disgusted him, and he was restored +once more to his old doubts, there had come the audience for which he had +undergone all this preparation, that visit to the Pope which was destined +to shatter whatever remained to him of his dream. Pierre could picture +Nani smiling at him and speaking to him, declaring that the repeated +delays were a favour of Providence, which would enable him to visit Rome, +study and understand things, reflect, and avoid blunders. How delicate +and how profound had been the prelate’s diplomacy in thus crushing his +feelings beneath his reason, appealing to his intelligence to suppress +his work without any scandalous struggle as soon as his knowledge of the +real Rome should have shown him how supremely ridiculous it was to dream +of a new one! + +At that moment Pierre perceived Nani in person just coming from the +throne-room, and did not feel the irritation and rancour which he had +anticipated. On the contrary he was glad when the prelate, in his turn +seeing him, drew near and held out his hand. Nani, however, did not wear +his wonted smile, but looked very grave, quite grief-stricken. “Ah! my +dear son,” he said, “what a frightful catastrophe! I have just left his +Eminence, he is in tears. It is horrible, horrible!” + +He seated himself on one of the chairs, inviting the young priest, who +had risen, to do the same; and for a moment he remained silent, weary +with emotion no doubt, and needing a brief rest to free himself of the +weight of thoughts which visibly darkened his usually bright face. Then, +with a gesture, he strove to dismiss that gloom, and recover his amiable +cordiality. “Well, my dear son,” he began, “you saw his Holiness?” + +“Yes, Monseigneur, yesterday evening; and I thank you for your great +kindness in satisfying my desire.” + +Nani looked at him fixedly, and his invincible smile again returned to +his lips. “You thank me.... I can well see that you behaved sensibly +and laid your full submission at his Holiness’s feet. I was certain of +it, I did not expect less of your fine intelligence. But, all the same, +you render me very happy, for I am delighted to find that I was not +mistaken concerning you.” And then, setting aside his reserve, the +prelate went on: “I never discussed things with you. What would have been +the good of it, since facts were there to convince you? And now that you +have withdrawn your book a discussion would be still more futile. +However, just reflect that if it were possible for you to bring the +Church back to her early period, to that Christian community which you +have sketched so delightfully, she could only again follow the same +evolutions as those in which God the first time guided her; so that, at +the end of a similar number of centuries, she would find herself exactly +in the position which she occupies to-day. No, what God has done has been +well done, the Church such as she is must govern the world, such as it +is; it is for her alone to know how she will end by firmly establishing +her reign here below. And this is why your attack upon the temporal power +was an unpardonable fault, a crime even, for by dispossessing the papacy +of her domains you hand her over to the mercy of the nations. Your new +religion is but the final downfall of all religion, moral anarchy, the +liberty of schism, in a word, the destruction of the divine edifice, that +ancient Catholicism which has shown such prodigious wisdom and solidity, +which has sufficed for the salvation of mankind till now, and will alone +be able to save it to-morrow and always.” + +Pierre felt that Nani was sincere, pious even, and really unshakable in +his faith, loving the Church like a grateful son, and convinced that she +was the only social organisation which could render mankind happy. And if +he were bent on governing the world, it was doubtless for the pleasure of +governing, but also in the conviction that no one could do so better than +himself. + +“Oh! certainly,” said he, “methods are open to discussion. I desire them +to be as affable and humane as possible, as conciliatory as can be with +this present century, which seems to be escaping us, precisely because +there is a misunderstanding between us. But we shall bring it back, I am +sure of it. And that is why, my dear son, I am so pleased to see you +return to the fold, thinking as we think, and ready to battle on our +side, is that not so?” + +In Nani’s words the young priest once more found the arguments of Leo +XIII. Desiring to avoid a direct reply, for although he now felt no anger +the wrenching away of his dream had left him a smarting wound, he bowed, +and replied slowly in order to conceal the bitter tremble of his voice: +“I repeat, Monseigneur, that I deeply thank you for having amputated my +vain illusions with the skill of an accomplished surgeon. A little later, +when I shall have ceased to suffer, I shall think of you with eternal +gratitude.” + +Monsignor Nani still looked at him with a smile. He fully understood that +this young priest would remain on one side, that as an element of +strength he was lost to the Church. What would he do now? Something +foolish no doubt. However, the prelate had to content himself with having +helped him to repair his first folly; he could not foresee the future. +And he gracefully waved his hand as if to say that sufficient unto the +day was the evil thereof. + +“Will you allow me to conclude, my dear son?” he at last exclaimed. “Be +sensible, your happiness as a priest and a man lies in humility. You will +be terribly unhappy if you use the great intelligence which God has given +you 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 other +affair came back to make him gloomy, that other affair which also was +drawing to a close, but so tragically, with those two poor children +slumbering in the adjoining room. “Ah!” he resumed, “that poor Princess +and that poor Cardinal quite upset my heart! Never did catastrophe fall +so cruelly on a house. No, no, it is indeed too much, misfortune goes too +far--it revolts one’s soul!” + +Just as he finished a sound of voices came from the second ante-room, and +Pierre was thunderstruck to see Cardinal Sanguinetti go by, escorted with +the greatest obsequiousness by Abbé Paparelli. + +“If your most Reverend Eminence will have the extreme kindness to follow +me,” the train-bearer was saying, “I will conduct your most Reverend +Eminence 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 and +offer consolation.” + +“Your Eminence will perhaps condescend to remain for a moment near the +bodies. I will afterwards escort your Eminence to the private +apartments.” + +“Yes, by all means. I desire every one to know how greatly I participate +in the sorrow which has fallen on this illustrious house.” + +Then Sanguinetti entered the throne-room, leaving Pierre quite aghast at +his quiet audacity. The young priest certainly did not accuse him of +direct complicity with Santobono, he did not even dare to measure how far +his moral complicity might go. But on seeing him pass by like that, his +brow so lofty, his speech so clear, he had suddenly felt convinced that +he knew the truth. How or through whom, he could not have told; but +doubtless crimes become known in those shady spheres by those whose +interest it is to know of them. And Pierre remained quite chilled by the +haughty fashion in which that man presented himself, perhaps to stifle +suspicion and certainly to accomplish an act of good policy by giving his +rival 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, in +which all could be read, pretended to mistake the sense of his +exclamation. “Yes,” said he, “I learnt that the Cardinal returned to Rome +yesterday evening. He did not wish to remain away any longer; the Holy +Father being so much better that he might perhaps have need of him.” + +Although these words were spoken with an air of perfect innocence, Pierre +was not for a moment deceived by them. And having in his turn glanced at +the 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 the +ferocity which fate had imparted to it. Nani, an old intimate of the +Palazzo Boccanera, was not heartless, he had surely loved Benedetta with +affection, charmed by so much grace and beauty. One could thus explain +the victorious manner in which he had at last caused her marriage to be +annulled. But if Don Vigilio were to be believed, that divorce, obtained +by 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 of +discrediting the Cardinal and destroying his chances of the tiara on the +eve of the Conclave which everybody thought imminent. It seemed certain, +too, that the Cardinal, uncompromising as he was, could not be the +candidate of Nani, who was so desirous of universal agreement, and so the +latter’s long labour in that house, whilst conducing to the happiness of +the Contessina, had been designed to frustrate Donna Serafina and +Cardinal Pio in their burning ambition, that third triumphant elevation +to the papacy which they sought to secure for their ancient family. +However, if Nani had always desired to baulk this ambition, and had even +at one moment placed his hopes in Sanguinetti and fought for him, he had +never imagined that Boccanera’s foes would go to the point of crime, to +such an abomination as poison which missed its mark and killed the +innocent. No, no, as he himself said, that was too much, and made one’s +soul rebel. He employed more gentle weapons; such brutality filled him +with indignation; and his face, so pinky and carefully tended, still wore +the grave expression of his revolt in presence of the tearful Cardinal +and 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 baleful +affair might go. So he resumed the conversation by saying: “It is +asserted that his Holiness is on bad terms with his Eminence Cardinal +Sanguinetti. Of course the reigning pope cannot look on the future pope +with a very kindly eye.” + +At this, Nani for a moment became quite gay in all frankness. “Oh,” said +he, “the Cardinal has quarrelled and made things up with the Vatican +three or four times already. And, in any event, the Holy Father has no +motive for posthumous jealousy; he knows very well that he can give his +Eminence a good greeting.” Then, regretting that he had thus expressed a +certainty, he added: “I am joking, his Eminence is altogether worthy of +the high fortune which perhaps awaits him.” + +Pierre knew what to think however; Sanguinetti was certainly Nani’s +candidate no longer. It was doubtless considered that he had used himself +up too much by his impatient ambition, and was too dangerous by reason of +the equivocal alliances which in his feverishness he had concluded with +every party, even that of patriotic young Italy. And thus the situation +became clearer. Cardinals Sanguinetti and Boccanera devoured and +suppressed one another; the first, ever intriguing, accepting every +compromise, dreaming of winning Rome back by electoral methods; and the +other, erect and motionless in his stern maintenance of the past, +excommunicating the century, and awaiting from God alone the miracle +which would save the Church. And, indeed, why not leave the two theories, +thus placed face to face, to destroy one another, including all the +extreme, disquieting views which they respectively embodied? If Boccanera +had escaped the poison, he had none the less become an impossible +candidate, killed by all the stories which had set Rome buzzing; while if +Sanguinetti could say that he was rid of a rival, he had at the same time +dealt a mortal blow to his own candidature, by displaying such passion +for power, and such unscrupulousness with regard to the methods he +employed, as to be a danger for every one. Monsignor Nani was visibly +delighted with this result; neither candidate was left, it was like the +legendary story of the two wolves who fought and devoured one another so +completely that nothing of either of them was found left, not even their +tails! And in the depths of the prelate’s pale eyes, in the whole of his +discreet person, there remained nothing but redoubtable mystery: the +mystery of the yet unknown, but definitively selected candidate who would +be patronised by the all-powerful army of which he was one of the most +skilful 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. “I +doubt if I shall see you again, my dear son,” he said; “I wish you a good +journey.” + +Still he did not go off, but continued to look at Pierre with his +penetrating eyes, and finally made him sit down again and did the same +himself. “I feel sure,” he said, “that you will go to pay your respects +to Cardinal Bergerot as soon as you have returned to France. Kindly tell +him that I respectfully desired to be reminded to him. I knew him a +little at the time when he came here for his hat. He is one of the great +luminaries of the French clergy. Ah! a man of such intelligence would +only work for a good understanding in our holy Church. Unfortunately I +fear that race and environment have instilled prejudices into him, for he +does not always help us.” + +Pierre, who was surprised to hear Nani speak of the Cardinal for the +first time at this moment of farewell, listened with curiosity. Then in +all frankness he replied: “Yes, his Eminence has very decided ideas about +our old Church of France. For instance, he professes perfect horror of +the Jesuits.” + +With a light exclamation Nani stopped the young man. And he wore the most +sincerely, frankly astonished air that could be imagined. “What! horror +of 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 they +troubled you in any way, those poor Jesuits who haven’t even a stone of +their own left here on which to lay their heads? No, no, that bogey +mustn’t be brought up again, it’s childish.” + +Pierre in his turn looked at him, marvelling at his perfect ease, his +quiet courage in dealing with this burning subject. He did not avert his +eyes, but displayed an open face like a book of truth. “Ah!” he +continued, “if by Jesuits you mean the sensible priests who, instead of +entering into sterile and dangerous struggles with modern society, seek +by human methods to bring it back to the Church, why, then of course we +are all of us more or less Jesuits, for it would be madness not to take +into account the times in which one lives. And besides, I won’t haggle +over words; they are of no consequence! Jesuits, well, yes, if you like, +Jesuits!” He was again smiling with that shrewd smile of his in which +there was so much raillery and so much intelligence. “Well, when you see +Cardinal Bergerot tell him that it is unreasonable to track the Jesuits +and treat them as enemies of the nation. The contrary is the truth. The +Jesuits are for France, because they are for wealth, strength, and +courage. France is the only great Catholic country which has yet remained +erect and sovereign, the only one on which the papacy can some day lean. +Thus the Holy Father, after momentarily dreaming of obtaining support +from victorious Germany, has allied himself with France, the vanquished, +because he has understood that apart from France there can be no +salvation for the Church. And in this he has only followed the policy of +the Jesuits, those frightful Jesuits, whom your Parisians execrate. And +tell Cardinal Bergerot also that it would be grand of him to work for +pacification by making people understand how wrong it is for your +Republic 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 may +be neglected; and that is dangerous, for although he may seem to have no +political means of action he remains an immense moral force, and can at +any moment raise consciences in rebellion and provoke a religious +agitation of the most far-reaching consequences. It is still he who +disposes of the nations, since he disposes of their souls, and the +Republic acts most inconsiderately, from the standpoint of its own +interests, in showing that it no longer even suspects it. And tell the +Cardinal too, that it is really pitiful to see in what a wretched way +your Republic selects its bishops, as though it intentionally desired to +weaken its episcopacy. Leaving out a few fortunate exceptions, your +bishops are men of small brains, and as a result your cardinals, likewise +mere mediocrities, have no influence, play no part here in Rome. Ah! what +a sorry figure you Frenchmen will cut at the next Conclave! And so why do +you show such blind and foolish hatred of those Jesuits, who, +politically, are your friends? Why don’t you employ their intelligent +zeal, which is ready to serve you, so that you may assure yourselves the +help of the next, the coming pope? It is necessary for you that he should +be on your side, that he should continue the work of Leo XIII, which is +so badly judged and so much opposed, but which cares little for the petty +results of to-day, since its purpose lies in the future, in the union of +all the nations under their holy mother the Church. Tell Cardinal +Bergerot, tell him plainly that he ought to be with us, that he ought to +work for his country by working for us. The coming pope, why the whole +question lies in that, and woe to France if in him she does not find a +continuator of Leo XIII!” + +Nani had again risen, and this time he was going off. Never before had he +unbosomed himself at such length. But most assuredly he had only said +what he desired to say, for a purpose that he alone knew of, and in a +firm, gentle, and deliberate voice by which one could tell that each word +had been weighed and determined beforehand. “Farewell, my dear son,” he +said, “and once again think over all you have seen and heard in Rome. Be +as sensible as you can, and do not spoil your life.” + +Pierre bowed, and pressed the small, plump, supple hand which the prelate +offered him. “Monseigneur,” he replied, “I again thank you for all your +kindness; 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 as +if marching to all the victories of the future. No, no, he, Pierre, would +forget nothing of his journey! He well knew that union of all the nations +under their holy mother the Church, that temporal bondage in which the +law of Christ would become the dictatorship of Augustus, master of the +world! And as for those Jesuits, he had no doubt that they did love +France, the eldest daughter of the Church, and the only daughter that +could yet help her mother to reconquer universal sovereignty, but they +loved her even as the black swarms of locusts love the harvests which +they swoop upon and devour. Infinite sadness had returned to the young +man’s heart as he dimly realised that in that sorely-stricken mansion, in +all that mourning and downfall, it was they, they again, who must have +been the artisans of grief and disaster. + +As this thought came to him he turned round and perceived Don Vigilio +leaning against the credence in front of the large portrait of the +Cardinal. Holding his hands to his face as if he desired to annihilate +himself, the secretary was shivering in every limb as much with fear as +with fever. At a moment when no fresh visitors were arriving he had +succumbed 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 gasp +between 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 quivering +desire to confide in some one. “Eh? what he has done to me? Can’t you +feel anything, can’t you see anything then? Didn’t you notice the manner +in which he took possession of Cardinal Sanguinetti so as to conduct him +to his Eminence? To impose that suspected, hateful rival on his Eminence +at such a moment as this, what insolent audacity! And a few minutes +previously did you notice with what wicked cunning he bowed out an old +lady, a very old family friend, who only desired to kiss his Eminence’s +hand and show a little real affection which would have made his Eminence +so happy! Ah! I tell you that he’s the master here, he opens or closes +the door as he pleases, and holds us all between his fingers like a pinch +of 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 myself +unwillingly witnessed? No, you don’t know it; well, I will tell you.” + +Thereupon he related that Donna Serafina, on returning home on the +previous day to face the terrible catastrophe awaiting her, had already +been overcome by the bad news which she had learnt when calling on the +Cardinal Secretary and various prelates of her acquaintance. She had then +acquired a certainty that her brother’s position was becoming extremely +bad, for he had made so many fresh enemies among his colleagues of the +Sacred College, that his election to the pontifical throne, which a year +previously had seemed probable, now appeared an impossibility. Thus, all +at once, the dream of her life collapsed, the ambition which she had so +long nourished lay in dust at her feet. On despairingly seeking the why +and wherefore of this change, she had been told of all sorts of blunders +committed by the Cardinal, acts of rough sternness, unseasonable +manifestations of opinion, inconsiderate words or actions which had +sufficed to wound people, in fact such provoking demeanour that one might +have thought it adopted with the express intention of spoiling +everything. And the worst was that in each of the blunders she had +recognised errors of judgment which she herself had blamed, but which her +brother had obstinately insisted on perpetrating under the unacknowledged +influence of Abbé Paparelli, that humble and insignificant train-bearer, +in whom she detected a baneful and powerful adviser who destroyed her own +vigilant and devoted influence. And so, in spite of the mourning in which +the house was plunged, she did not wish to delay the punishment of the +traitor, particularly as his old friendship with that terrible Santobono, +and the story of that basket of figs which had passed from the hands of +the one to those of the other, chilled her blood with a suspicion which +she even recoiled from elucidating. However, at the first words she +spoke, directly she made a formal request that the traitor should be +immediately turned out of the house, she was confronted by invincible +resistance on her brother’s part. He would not listen to her, but flew +into 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, after +killing Monsignor Gallo, were seeking to poison his sole remaining +affection for that poor, insignificant priest. He treated all the stories +he was told as abominable inventions, and swore that he would keep the +train-bearer in his service if only to show his disdain for calumny. And +she was thereupon obliged to hold her peace. + +However, Don Vigilio’s shuddering fit had again come back; he carried his +hands to his face stammering: “Ah! Paparelli, Paparelli!” And muttered +invectives followed: the train-bearer was an artful hypocrite who feigned +modesty and humility, a vile spy appointed to pry into everything, listen +to everything, and pervert everything that went on in the palace; he was +a loathsome, destructive insect, feeding on the most noble prey, +devouring the lion’s mane, a Jesuit--the Jesuit who is at once lackey and +tyrant, in all his base horror as he accomplishes the work of vermin. + +“Calm yourself, calm yourself,” repeated Pierre, who whilst allowing for +foolish exaggeration on the secretary’s part could not help shivering at +thought of all the threatening things which he himself could divine astir +in the gloom. + +However, since Don Vigilio had so narrowly escaped eating those horrible +figs, his fright was such that nothing could calm it. Even when he was +alone at night, in bed, with his door locked and bolted, sudden terror +fell on him and made him hide his head under the sheet and vent stifled +cries as if he thought that men were coming through the wall to strangle +him. 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 had +a 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 by +telling you all that they were capable of. I was sure they would learn +it, and you see they did learn it, since they tried to kill me.... Why +it’s even wrong of me to tell you this, for it will reach their ears and +they 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 feverish +brain was haunted by nightmares, and whose life was being finally wrecked +by the anguish of persecution mania. “But you must run away in that +case!” 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, they +would be there. They are everywhere, I should always be surrounded by +them! No, no, I prefer to stay here and would rather die at once if his +Eminence can no longer defend me.” With an expression of ardent entreaty +in which a last gleam of hope tried to assert itself, he raised his eyes +to the large painting in which the Cardinal stood forth resplendent in +his cassock of red moire; but his attack came back again and overwhelmed +him 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 he +should come back and see us and hear me speak.... Oh! I’ll never say +anything again. I’ll tie up my tongue, I’ll cut it off. Leave me, you are +killing 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 face +against it, and immure his lips in tomb-like silence; and Pierre resolved +to leave him to himself, fearing lest he should provoke a yet more +serious attack if he went on endeavouring to succour him. + +On returning to the throne-room the young priest again found himself +amidst all the frightful mourning. Mass was following mass; without +cessation murmured prayers entreated the divine mercy to receive the two +dear departed souls with loving kindness. And amidst the dying perfume of +the fading roses, in front of the pale stars of the lighted candles, +Pierre thought of that supreme downfall of the Boccaneras. Dario was the +last of the name, and one could well understand that the Cardinal, whose +only sin was family pride, should have loved that one remaining scion by +whom alone the old stock might yet blossom afresh. And indeed, if he and +Donna Serafina had desired the divorce, and then the marriage of the +cousins, it had been less with the view of putting an end to scandal than +with the hope of seeing a new line of Boccaneras spring up. But the +lovers were dead, and the last remains of a long series of dazzling +princes of sword and of gown lay there on that bed, soon to rot in the +grave. It was all over; that old maid and that aged Cardinal could leave +no posterity. They remained face to face like two withered oaks, sole +remnants of a vanished forest, and their fall would soon leave the plain +quite clear. And how terrible the grief of surviving in impotence, what +anguish to have to tell oneself that one is the end of everything, that +with oneself all life, all hope for the morrow will depart! Amidst the +murmur of the prayers, the dying perfume of the roses, the pale gleams of +the two candies, Pierre realised what a downfall was that bereavement, +how heavy was the gravestone which fell for ever on an extinct house, a +vanished world. + +He well understood that as one of the familiars of the mansion he must +pay his respects to Donna Serafina and the Cardinal, and he at once +sought admission to the neighbouring room where the Princess was +receiving her friends. He found her robed in black, very slim and very +erect in her arm-chair, whence she rose with slow dignity to respond to +the bow of each person that entered. She listened to the condolences but +answered never a word, overcoming her physical pain by rigidity of +bearing. Pierre, who had learnt to know her, could divine, however, by +the hollowness of her cheeks, the emptiness of her eyes, and the bitter +twinge of her mouth, how frightful was the collapse within her. Not only +was her race ended, but her brother would never be pope, never secure the +elevation which she had so long fancied she was winning for him by dint +of devotion, dint of feminine renunciation, giving brain and heart, care +and money, foregoing even wifehood and motherhood, spoiling her whole +life, in order to realise that dream. And amidst all the ruin of hope, it +was perhaps the nonfulfilment of that ambition which most made her heart +bleed. She rose for the young priest, her guest, as she rose for the +other persons who presented themselves; but she contrived to introduce +shades of meaning into the manner in which she quitted her chair, and +Pierre fully realised that he had remained in her eyes a mere petty +French priest, an insignificant domestic of the Divinity who had not +known how to acquire even the title of prelate. When she had again seated +herself after acknowledging his compliment with a slight inclination of +the head, he remained for a moment standing, out of politeness. Not a +word, not a sound disturbed the mournful quiescence of the room, for +although there were four or five lady visitors seated there they remained +motionless and silent as with grief. Pierre was most struck, however, by +the sight of Cardinal Sarno, who was lying back in an arm-chair with his +eyes closed. The poor puny lopsided old man had lingered there +forgetfully after expressing his condolences, and, overcome by the heavy +silence and close atmosphere, had just fallen asleep. And everybody +respected his slumber. Was he dreaming as he dozed of that map of +Christendom which he carried behind his low obtuse-looking brow? Was he +continuing in dreamland his terrible work of conquest, that task of +subjecting and governing the earth which he directed from his dark room +at the Propaganda? The ladies glanced at him affectionately and +deferentially; he was gently scolded at times for over-working himself, +the sleepiness which nowadays frequently overtook him in all sorts of +places being attributed to excess of genius and zeal. And of this +all-powerful Eminence Pierre was destined to carry off only this last +impression: an exhausted old man, resting amidst the emotion of a +mourning-gathering, sleeping there like a candid child, without any one +knowing whether this were due to the approach of senile imbecility, or to +the fatigues of a night spent in organising the reign of God over some +distant continent. + +Two ladies went off and three more arrived. Donna Serafina rose, bowed, +and then reseated herself, reverting to her rigid attitude, her bust +erect, her face stern and full of despair. Cardinal Sarno was still +asleep. Then Pierre felt as if he would stifle, a kind of vertigo came on +him, and his heart beat violently. So he bowed and withdrew: and on +passing through the dining-room on his way to the little study where +Cardinal Boccanera received his visitors, he found himself in the +presence of Paparelli who was jealously guarding the door. When the +train-bearer had sniffed at the young man, he seemed to realise that he +could not refuse him admittance. Moreover, as this intruder was going +away the very next day, defeated and covered with shame, there was +nothing 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 back +to the other end of the room, for fear no doubt lest he should overhear +anything. “His Eminence is still engaged with his Eminence Cardinal +Sanguinetti. Wait, wait there!” + +Sanguinetti indeed had made a point of kneeling for a long time in front +of the bodies in the throne-room, and had then spun out his visit to +Donna Serafina in order to mark how largely he shared the family sorrow. +And for more than ten minutes now he had been closeted with Cardinal +Boccanera, nothing but an occasional murmur of their voices being heard +through the closed door. + +Pierre, however, on finding Paparelli there, was again haunted by all +that Don Vigilio had told him. He looked at the train-bearer, so fat and +short, puffed out with bad fat in his dirty cassock, his face flabby and +wrinkled, and his whole person at forty years of age suggestive of that +of a very old maid: and he felt astonished. How was it that Cardinal +Boccanera, that superb prince who carried his head so high, and who was +so supremely proud of his name, had allowed himself to be captured and +swayed by such a frightful creature reeking of baseness and abomination? +Was it not the man’s very physical degradation and profound humility that +had struck him, disturbed him, and finally fascinated him, as wondrous +gifts conducing to salvation, which he himself lacked? Paparelli’s person +and disposition were like blows dealt to his own handsome presence and +his own pride. He, who could not be so deformed, he who could not +vanquish his passion for glory, must, by an effort of faith, have grown +jealous of that man who was so extremely ugly and so extremely +insignificant, he must have come to admire him as a superior force of +penitence and human abasement which threw the portals of heaven wide +open. Who can ever tell what ascendency is exercised by the monster over +the hero; by the horrid-looking saint covered with vermin over the +powerful of this world in their terror at having to endure everlasting +flames in payment of their terrestrial joys? And ’twas indeed the lion +devoured by the insect, vast strength and splendour destroyed by the +invisible. Ah! to have that fine soul which was so certain of paradise, +which for its welfare was enclosed in such a disgusting body, to possess +the happy humility of that wide intelligence, that remarkable theologian, +who scourged himself with rods each morning on rising, and was content to +be the lowest of servants. + +Standing there a heap of livid fat, Paparelli on his side watched Pierre +with his little grey eyes blinking amidst the myriad wrinkles of his +face. And the young priest began to feel uneasy, wondering what their +Eminences could be saying to one another, shut up together like that for +so long a time. And what an interview it must be if Boccanera suspected +Sanguinetti of counting Santobono among his clients. What serene audacity +it was on Sanguinetti’s part to have dared to present himself in that +house, and what strength of soul there must be on Boccanera’s part, what +empire over himself, to prevent all scandal by remaining silent and +accepting the visit as a simple mark of esteem and affection! What could +they be saying to one another, however? How interesting it would have +been to have seen them face to face, and have heard them exchange the +diplomatic phrases suited to such an interview, whilst their souls were +raging with furious hatred! + +All at once the door opened and Cardinal Sanguinetti appeared with calm +face, no ruddier than usual, indeed a trifle paler, and retaining the +fitting measure of sorrow which he had thought it right to assume. His +restless eyes alone revealed his delight at being rid of a difficult +task. And he was going off, all hope, in the conviction that he was the +only eligible candidate to the papacy that remained. + +Abbé Paparelli had darted forward: “If your Eminence will kindly follow +me--I will escort your Eminence to the door.” Then, turning towards +Pierre, he added: “You may go in now.” + +Pierre watched them walk away, the one so humble behind the other, who +was so triumphant. Then he entered the little work-room, furnished simply +with a table and three chairs, and in the centre of it he at once +perceived Cardinal Boccanera still standing in the lofty, noble attitude +which he had assumed to take leave of Sanguinetti, his hated rival to the +pontifical throne. And, visibly, Boccanera also believed himself the only +possible pope, the one whom the coming Conclave would elect. + +However, when the door had been closed, and the Cardinal beheld that +young priest, his guest, who had witnessed the death of those two dear +children lying in the adjoining room, he was again mastered by emotion, +an unexpected attack of weakness in which all his energy collapsed. His +human feelings were taking their revenge now that his rival was no longer +there to see him. He staggered like an old tree smitten with the axe, and +sank 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 halting +voice: “No, no, my dear son! Seat yourself there, wait--Excuse me, leave +me to myself for a moment, my heart is bursting.” + +He sobbed with his hands to his face, unable to master himself, unable to +drive back his grief with those yet vigorous fingers which were pressed +to his cheeks and temples. + +Tears came into Pierre’s eyes, for he also lived through all that woe +afresh, and was much upset by the weeping of that tall old man, that +saint and prince, usually so haughty, so fully master of himself, but now +only a poor, suffering, agonising man, as weak and as lost as a child. +However, although the young priest was likewise stifling with grief, he +desired to present his condolences, and sought for kindly words by which +he might soothe the other’s despair. “I beg your Eminence to believe in +my profound grief,” he said. “I have been overwhelmed with kindness here, +and desired at once to tell your Eminence how much that irreparable +loss--” + +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 he +was waging, his efforts to regain sufficient strength to overcome +himself. 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 so +hard a blow to that house, God had doubtless had His reasons, and he, the +Cardinal, one of God’s ministers, one of the high dignitaries of His +terrestrial court, was in duty bound to bow to it. The silence lasted for +another moment, and then, in a voice which he managed to render natural +and cordial, Boccanera said: “You are leaving us, you are going back to +France 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 condemned +your book, as was inevitable?” + +“Yes, I obtained the signal favour of being received by his Holiness, and +in 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 a +priest, but there are so many nowadays who do not even do their duty! As +a member of the Congregation I kept the promise I gave you to read your +book, particularly the incriminated pages. And if I afterwards remained +neutral, to such a point even as to miss the sitting in which judgment +was pronounced, it was only to please my poor, dear niece, who was so +fond of you, and who pleaded your cause to me.” + +Tears were coming into his eyes again, and he paused, feeling that he +would once more be overcome if he evoked the memory of that adored and +lamented Benedetta. And so it was with a pugnacious bitterness that he +resumed: “But what an execrable book it was, my dear son, allow me to +tell you so. You told me that you had shown respect for dogma, and I +still wonder what aberration can have come over you that you should have +been so blind to all consciousness of your offences. Respect for +dogma--good Lord! when the entire work is the negation of our holy +religion! Did you not realise that by asking for a new religion you +absolutely 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 the +most deadly of poisons, one of those infamous books which in former times +were burnt by the hangman, and which one is nowadays compelled to leave +in circulation after interdicting them and thereby designating them to +evil curiosity, which explains the contagious rottenness of the century. +Ah! I well recognised there some of the ideas of our distinguished and +poetical relative, that dear Viscount Philibert de la Choue. A man of +letters, yes! a man of letters! Literature, mere literature! I beg God to +forgive him, for he most surely does not know what he is doing, or +whither he is going with his elegiac Christianity for talkative working +men and young persons of either sex, to whom scientific notions have +given vagueness of soul. And I only feel angry with his Eminence Cardinal +Bergerot, 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 the +Church, and is against God.” + +Although Pierre had resolved that he would not reply or argue, he had +allowed a gesture of protest to escape him on hearing this furious attack +upon the man whom he most respected in the whole world. However, he +yielded to Cardinal Boccanera’s injunction and again bowed. + +“I cannot sufficiently express my horror,” the Cardinal roughly +continued; “yes, my horror for all that hollow dream of a new religion! +That appeal to the most hideous passions which stir up the poor against +the rich, by promising them I know not what division of wealth, what +community of possession which is nowadays impossible! That base flattery +shown to the lower orders to whom equality and justice are promised but +never given, for these can come from God alone, it is only He who can +finally make them reign on the day appointed by His almighty power! And +there is even that interested charity which people abuse of to rail +against Heaven itself and accuse it of iniquity and indifference, that +lackadaisical weakening charity and compassion, unworthy of strong firm +hearts, 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 supreme +happiness, the more and more we suffer!” + +He was growing excited, full of anguish, and superb. It was his +bereavement, his heart wound, which thus exasperated him, the great blow +which 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, who +was the master of mankind, and reserved felicity to those whom He +selected. Again, however, he made an effort to calm himself, and resumed +in a more gentle voice: “At all events the fold is always open, my dear +son, and here you are back in it since you have repented. You cannot +imagine how happy it makes me.” + +In his turn Pierre strove to show himself conciliatory in order that he +might not further ulcerate that violent, grief-stricken soul: “Your +Eminence,” said he, “may be sure that I shall endeavour to remember every +one of the kind words which your Eminence has spoken to me, in the same +way as I shall remember the fatherly greeting of his Holiness Leo XIII.” + +This sentence seemed to throw Boccanera into agitation again. At first +only murmured, restrained words came from him, as if he were struggling +against a desire to question the young priest. “Ah yes! you saw his +Holiness, you spoke to him, and he told you I suppose, as he tells all +the foreigners who go to pay their respects to him, that he desires +conciliation and peace. For my part I now only see him when it is +absolutely necessary; for more than a year I have not been received in +private audience.” + +This proof of disfavour, of the covert struggle which as in the days of +Pius IX kept the Holy Father and the _Camerlingo_ at variance, filled the +latter with bitterness. He was unable to restrain himself and spoke out, +reflecting no doubt that he had a familiar before him, one whose +discretion was certain, and who moreover was leaving Rome on the morrow. +“One may go a long way,” said he, “with those fine words, peace and +conciliation, which are so often void of real wisdom and courage. The +terrible truth is that Leo XIII’s eighteen years of concessions have +shaken everything in the Church, and should he long continue to reign +Catholicism would topple over and crumble into dust like a building whose +pillars have been undermined.” + +Interested by this remark, Pierre in his desire for knowledge began to +raise objections. “But hasn’t his Holiness shown himself very prudent?” + he asked; “has he not placed dogma on one side in an impregnable +fortress? If he seems to have made concessions on many points, have they +not 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 he +will make no surrender, he will readily yield in matters of form! It’s a +deplorable axiom, an equivocal form of diplomacy even when it isn’t so +much low hypocrisy! My soul revolts at the thought of that Opportunism, +that Jesuitism which makes artifice its weapon, and only serves to cast +doubt among true believers, the confusion of a _sauve-qui-peut_, which by +and by must lead to inevitable defeat. It is cowardice, the worst form of +cowardice, abandonment of one’s weapons in order that one may retreat the +more speedily, shame of oneself, assumption of a mask in the hope of +deceiving the enemy, penetrating into his camp, and overcoming him by +treachery! No, no, form is everything in a traditional and immutable +religion, which for eighteen hundred years has been, is now, and till the +end of time will be the very law of God!” + +The Cardinal’s feelings so stirred him that he was unable to remain +seated, and began to walk about the little room. And it was the whole +reign, the whole policy of Leo XIII which he discussed and condemned. +“Unity too,” he continued, “that famous unity of the Christian Church +which his Holiness talks of bringing about, and his desire for which +people turn to his great glory, why, it is only the blind ambition of a +conqueror enlarging his empire without asking himself if the new nations +that he subjects may not disorganise, adulterate, and impregnate his old +and hitherto faithful people with every error. What if all the +schismatical nations on returning to the Catholic Church should so +transform it as to kill it and make it a new Church? There is only one +wise course, which is to be what one is, and that firmly. Again, isn’t +there both shame and danger in that pretended alliance with the democracy +which in itself gives the lie to the ancient spirit of the papacy? The +right of kings is divine, and to abandon the monarchical principle is to +set oneself against God, to compound with revolution, and harbour a +monstrous scheme of utilising the madness of men the better to establish +one’s power over them. All republics are forms of anarchy, and there can +be no more criminal act, one which must for ever shake the principle of +authority, order, and religion itself, than that of recognising a +republic as legitimate for the sole purpose of indulging a dream of +impossible conciliation. And observe how this bears on the question of +the temporal power. He continues to claim it, he makes a point of no +surrender on that question of the restoration of Rome; but in reality, +has he not made the loss irreparable, has he not definitively renounced +Rome, by admitting that nations have the right to drive away their kings +and live like wild beasts in the depths of the forest?” + +All at once the Cardinal stopped short and raised his arms to Heaven in a +burst of holy anger. “Ah! that man, ah! that man who by his vanity and +craving for success will have proved the ruin of the Church, that man who +has never ceased corrupting everything, dissolving everything, crumbling +everything in order to reign over the world which he fancies he will +reconquer by those means, why, Almighty God, why hast Thou not already +called him to Thee?” + +So sincere was the accent in which that appeal to Death was raised, to +such a point was hatred magnified by a real desire to save the Deity +imperilled here below, that a great shudder swept through Pierre also. He +now understood that Cardinal Boccanera who religiously and passionately +hated Leo XIII; he saw him in the depths of his black palace, waiting and +watching for the Pope’s death, that death which as _Camerlingo_ he must +officially certify. How feverishly he must wait, how impatiently he must +desire the advent of the hour, when with his little silver hammer he +would deal the three symbolic taps on the skull of Leo XIII, while the +latter 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 more +would answer from within, that nothing beyond night and silence was left +there. And the three calls would ring out: “Gioachino! Gioachino! +Gioachino!” And, the corpse making no answer, the _Camerlingo_ after +waiting 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 to +make sure of conquering that the Holy Father yields in matters of form.” + +“He will not conquer, he will be conquered,” cried Boccanera. “Never has +the Church been victorious save in stubbornly clinging to its +integrality, the immutable eternity of its divine essence. And it would +for a certainty fall on the day when it should allow a single stone of +its edifice to be touched. Remember the terrible period through which it +passed at the time of the Council of Trent. The Reformation had just +deeply shaken it, laxity of discipline and morals was everywhere +increasing, there was a rising tide of novelties, ideas suggested by the +spirit of evil, unhealthy projects born of the pride of man, running riot +in full license. And at the Council itself many members were disturbed, +poisoned, ready to vote for the wildest changes, a fresh schism added to +all 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 because +with divinely inspired obstinacy it kept itself within the narrow limits +of dogma, it was because it made no concession, none, whether in +substance or in form! Nowadays the situation is certainly not worse than +it was at the time of the Council of Trent. Let us suppose it to be much +the same, and tell me if it is not nobler, braver, and safer for the +Church to show the courage which she showed before and declare aloud what +she is, what she has been, and what she will be. There is no salvation +for her otherwise than in her complete, indisputable sovereignty; and +since she has always conquered by non-surrender, all attempts to +conciliate 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 the +wall of steel which bars the road, the block of granite which marks the +limit 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 would +die basely and shamefully instead of dying erect, proud, and dignified in +its old glorious royalty! Ah! to die standing, denying nought of the +past, braving the future and confessing one’s whole faith!” + +That old man of seventy seemed to grow yet loftier as he spoke, free from +all dread of final annihilation, and making the gesture of a hero who +defies futurity. Faith had given him serenity of peace; he believed, he +knew, he had neither doubt nor fear of the morrow of death. Still his +voice 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 all +should crumble to-morrow, though the Holy Church should disappear among +the ruins, though the most venerated sanctuaries should be crushed by the +falling 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 wills +it. If really the temples be shaken, if Catholicism be fated to fall +to-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 world +with which others threaten us. The worthiest, the loftiest are struck +down 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 been +stricken with that frightful bereavement which precipitates it into the +gulf which casts it back into night everlasting!” + +He again evoked those two dear dead ones who were always present in his +mind. Sobs were once more rising in his throat, his hands trembled, his +lofty figure quivered with the last revolt of grief. Yes, if God had +stricken him so severely by suppressing his race, if the greatest and +most faithful were thus punished, it must be that the world was +definitively condemned. Did not the end of his house mean the approaching +end of all? And in his sovereign pride as priest and as prince, he found +a 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 the +night of chaos! I shall remain standing in this ruined palace, waiting to +be buried beneath its fragments. And if Thy will should summon me to bury +Thy holy religion, be without fear, I shall do nothing unworthy to +prolong 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 yield +nothing, whether in discipline, or in rite, or in dogma. And when the day +shall come I will bury it with myself, carrying it whole into the grave +rather than yielding aught of it, encompassing it with my cold arms to +restore it to Thee, even as Thou didst commit it to the keeping of Thy +Church. O mighty God and sovereign Master, dispose of me, make me if such +be Thy good pleasure the pontiff of destruction, the pontiff of the death +of the world.” + +Pierre, who was thunderstruck, quivered with fear and admiration at the +extraordinary vision this evoked: the last of the popes interring +Catholicism. He understood that Boccanera must at times have made that +dream; he could see him in the Vatican, in St. Peter’s which the +thunderbolts had riven asunder, he could see him erect and alone in the +spacious halls whence his terrified, cowardly pontifical Court had fled. +Clad in his white cassock, thus wearing white mourning for the Church, he +once more descended to the sanctuary, there to wait for heaven to fall on +the evening of Time’s accomplishment and annihilate the earth. Thrice he +raised the large crucifix, overthrown by the supreme convulsions of the +soil. Then, when the final crack rent the steps apart, he caught it in +his arms and was annihilated with it beneath the falling vaults. And +nothing could be more instinct with fierce and kingly grandeur. + +Voiceless, but without weakness, his lofty stature invincible and erect +in spite of all, Cardinal Boccanera made a gesture dismissing Pierre, who +yielding to his passion for truth and beauty found that he alone was +great and right, and respectfully kissed his hand. + +It was in the throne-room, with closed doors, at nightfall, after the +visits had ceased, that the two bodies were laid in their coffin. The +religious services had come to an end, and in the close silent atmosphere +there only lingered the dying perfume of the roses and the warm odour of +the candles. As the latter’s pale stars scarcely lighted the spacious +room, some lamps had been brought, and servants held them in their hands +like torches. According to custom, all the servants of the house were +present to bid a last farewell to the departed. + +There was a little delay. Morano, who had been giving himself no end of +trouble ever since morning, was forced to run off again as the triple +coffin did not arrive. At last it came, some servants brought it up, and +then they were able to begin. The Cardinal and Donna Serafina stood side +by side near the bed. Pierre also was present, as well as Don Vigilio. It +was Victorine who sewed the lovers up in the white silk shroud, which +seemed like a bridal robe, the gay pure robe of their union. Then two +servants came forward and helped Pierre and Don Vigilio to lay the bodies +in the first coffin, of pine wood lined with pink satin. It was scarcely +broader than an ordinary coffin, so young and slim were the lovers and so +tightly were they clasped in their last embrace. When they were stretched +inside they there continued their eternal slumber, their heads half +hidden by their odorous, mingling hair. And when this first coffin had +been placed in the second one, a leaden shell, and the second had been +enclosed in the third, of stout oak, and when the three lids had been +soldered and screwed down, the lovers’ faces could still be seen through +the circular opening, covered with thick glass, which in accordance with +the Roman custom had been left in each of the coffins. And then, for ever +parted from the living, alone together, they still gazed at one another +with their eyes obstinately open, having all eternity before them wherein +to exhaust their infinite love. + + + + +XVI. + +ON the following day, on his return from the funeral Pierre lunched alone +in his room, having decided to take leave of the Cardinal and Donna +Serafina during the afternoon. He was quitting Rome that evening by the +train which started at seventeen minutes past ten. There was nothing to +detain 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 chat +prior to his departure. And so a little before two o’clock he sent for a +cab which took him to the Via Venti Settembre. A fine rain had fallen all +night, its moisture steeping the city in grey vapour; and though this +rain had now ceased the sky remained very dark, and the huge new mansions +of the Via Venti Settembre were quite livid, interminably mournful with +their balconies ever of the same pattern and their regular and endless +rows of windows. The Ministry of Finances, that colossal pile of masonry +and sculpture, looked in particular like a dead town, a huge bloodless +body whence all life had withdrawn. On the other hand, although all was +so gloomy the rain had made the atmosphere milder, in fact it was almost +warm, damply and feverishly warm. + +In the hall of Prada’s little palazzo Pierre was surprised to find four +or five gentlemen taking off their overcoats; however he learnt from a +servant that Count Luigi had a meeting that day with some contractors. As +he, Pierre, wished to see the Count’s father he had only to ascend to the +third floor, added the servant. He must knock at the little door on the +right-hand side of the landing there. + +On the very first landing, however, the priest found himself face to face +with the young Count who was there receiving the contractors, and who on +recognising him became frightfully pale. They had not met since the +tragedy at the Boccanera mansion, and Pierre well realised how greatly +his glance disturbed that man, what a troublesome recollection of moral +complicity it evoked, and what mortal dread lest he should have guessed +the truth. + +“Have you come to see me, have you something to tell me?” the Count +inquired. + +“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 is +to 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 feared +from Pierre, some imprudent word, perhaps even a final mission, the +malediction of that man and woman whom he had killed. And surely if his +father 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, how +annoyed I am. As soon as possible, however, I will join you, yes, as soon +as possible.” + +He knew not how to stop the young priest, whom he must evidently allow to +remain with his father, whilst he himself stayed down below, kept there +by his pecuniary worries. But how distressful were the eyes with which he +watched Pierre climb the stairs, how he seemed to supplicate him with his +whole quivering form. His father, good Lord, the only true love, the one +great, pure, faithful passion of his life! + +“Don’t make him talk too much, brighten him, won’t you?” were his parting +words. + +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 any +attention. 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 of +infinite mournfulness. Old Orlando, however, had in no wise changed, but +still displayed the superb head of an old blanched lion, a powerful +muzzle and youthful eyes, which yet sparkled with the passions which had +growled in a soul of fire. Pierre found the stricken hero in the same +arm-chair as previously, near the same table littered with newspapers, +and with his legs buried in the same black wrapper, as if he were there +immobilised in a sheath of stone, to such a point that after months and +years one was sure to perceive him quite unchanged, with living bust, and +face glowing with strength and intelligence. + +That grey day, however, he seemed gloomy, low in spirits. “Ah! so here +you are, my dear Monsieur Froment,” he exclaimed, “I have been thinking +of you these three days past, living the awful days which you must have +lived in that tragic Palazzo Boccanera. Ah, God! What a frightful +bereavement! My heart is quite overwhelmed, these newspapers have again +just upset me with the fresh details they give!” He pointed as he spoke +to the papers scattered over the table. Then with a gesture he strove to +brush 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 quit +Rome without pressing your brave hands.” + +“You are leaving? But your book?” + +“My book--I have been received by the Holy Father, I have made my +submission and reprobated my book.” + +Orlando looked fixedly at the priest. There was a short interval of +silence, during which their eyes told one another all that they had to +tell respecting the affair. Neither felt the necessity of any longer +explanation. The old man merely spoke these concluding words: “You have +done well, your book was a chimera.” + +“Yes, a chimera, a piece of childishness, and I have condemned it myself +in the name of truth and reason.” + +A smile appeared on the dolorous lips of the impotent hero. “Then you +have seen things, you understand and know them now?” + +“Yes, I know them; and that is why I did not wish to go off without +having that frank conversation with you which we agreed upon.” + +Orlando was delighted, but all at once he seemed to remember the young +fellow who had opened the door to Pierre, and who had afterwards modestly +resumed his seat on a chair near the window. This young fellow was a +youth of twenty, still beardless, of a blonde handsomeness such as +occasionally flowers at Naples, with long curly hair, a lily-like +complexion, a rosy mouth, and soft eyes full of a dreamy languor. The old +man presented him in fatherly fashion, Angiolo Mascara his name was, and +he was the grandson of an old comrade in arms, the epic Mascara of the +Thousand, 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 you +know that this fine fellow with his girlish airs goes in for the new +ideas? He is an Anarchist, one of the three or four dozen Anarchists that +we have in Italy. He’s a good little lad at bottom, he has only his +mother left him, and supports her, thanks to the little berth which he +holds, 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 decent +poverty, made answer in a grave and musical voice: “I am reasonable, it +is the others, all the others who are not. When all men are reasonable +and desire truth and justice, the world will be happy.” + +“Ah! if you fancy that he’ll give way!” cried Orlando. “But, my poor +child, just ask Monsieur l’Abbé if one ever knows where truth and justice +are. Well, well, one must leave you the time to live, and see, and +understand 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 ardently +fixed on them, and with open, quivering ears lost not a word they said. + +“I told you, my dear Monsieur Froment,” resumed Orlando, “that your ideas +would change, and that acquaintance with Rome would bring you to accurate +views far more readily than any fine speeches I could make to you. So I +never doubted but what you would of your own free will withdraw your book +as soon as men and things should have enlightened you respecting the +Vatican 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 and +inevitably into ruin. What interests me is our Italian Rome, which you +treated as an element to be neglected, but which you have now seen and +studied, so that we can both speak of it with the necessary knowledge!” + +He thereupon at once granted a great many things, acknowledged that +blunders had been committed, that the finances were in a deplorable +state, and that there were serious difficulties of all kinds. They, the +Italians, had sinned by excess of legitimate pride, they had proceeded +too hastily with their attempt to improvise a great nation, to change +ancient 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 mad +speculation in land and shares, which had brought the country within a +hair’s breadth of bankruptcy. + +At this Pierre gently interrupted him to tell him of the view which he +himself had arrived at after his peregrinations and studies through Rome. +“That fever of the first hour, that financial _debâcle_,” said he, “is +after all nothing. All pecuniary sores can be healed. But the grave point +is that your Italy still remains to be created. There is no aristocracy +left, and as yet there is no people, nothing but a devouring middle +class, dating from yesterday, which preys on the rich harvest of the +future before it is ripe.” + +Silence fell. Orlando sadly wagged his old leonine head. The cutting +harshness of Pierre’s formula struck him in the heart. “Yes, yes,” he +said at last, “that is so, you have seen things plainly; and why say no +when facts are there, patent to everybody? I myself had already spoken to +you of that middle class which hungers so ravenously for place and +office, distinctions and plumes, and which at the same time is so +avaricious, so suspicious with regard to its money which it invests in +banks, never risking it in agriculture or manufactures or commerce, +having indeed the one desire to enjoy life without doing anything, and so +unintelligent that it cannot see it is killing its country by its +loathing for labour, its contempt for the poor, its one ambition to live +in a petty way with the barren glory of belonging to some official +administration. And, as you say, the aristocracy is dying, discrowned, +ruined, sunk into the degeneracy which overtakes races towards their +close, most of its members reduced to beggary, the others, the few who +have clung to their money, crushed by heavy imposts, possessing nought +but dead fortunes which constant sharing diminishes and which must soon +disappear with the princes themselves. And then there is the people, +which has suffered so much and suffers still, but is so used to suffering +that it can seemingly conceive no idea of emerging from it, blind and +deaf as it is, almost regretting its ancient bondage, and so ignorant, so +abominably ignorant, which is the one cause of its hopeless, morrowless +misery, for it has not even the consolation of understanding that if we +have conquered and are trying to resuscitate Rome and Italy in their +ancient glory, it is for itself, the people, alone. Yes, yes, no +aristocracy left, no people as yet, and a middle class which really +alarms one. How can one therefore help yielding at times to the terrors +of 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, towards +the light, and Pierre, deeply moved, remembered how Cardinal Boccanera on +the previous day had made a similar gesture of supplicant distress when +appealing to the divine power. And both men, Cardinal and patriot, so +hostile in their beliefs, were instinct with the same fierce and +despairing grandeur. + +“As I told you, however, on the first day,” continued Orlando, “we only +sought to accomplish logical and inevitable things. As for Rome, with her +past history of splendour and domination which weighs so heavily upon us, +we could not do otherwise than take her for capital, for she alone was +the bond, the living symbol of our unity at the same time as the promise +of eternity, the renewal offered to our great dream of resurrection and +glory.” + +He went on, recognising the disastrous conditions under which Rome +laboured as a capital. She was a purely decorative city with exhausted +soil, she had remained apart from modern life, she was unhealthy, she +offered no possibility of commerce or industry, she was invincibly preyed +upon by death, standing as she did amidst that sterile desert of the +Campagna. Then he compared her with the other cities which are jealous of +her; first Florence, which, however, has become so indifferent and so +sceptical, impregnated with a happy heedlessness which seems inexplicable +when one remembers the frantic passions, and the torrents of blood +rolling through her history; next Naples, which yet remains content with +her bright sun, and whose childish people enjoy their ignorance and +wretchedness so indolently that one knows not whether one ought to pity +them; next Venice, which has resigned herself to remaining a marvel of +ancient art, which one ought to put under glass so as to preserve her +intact, slumbering amid the sovereign pomp of her annals; next Genoa, +which is absorbed in trade, still active and bustling, one of the last +queens of that Mediterranean, that insignificant lake which was once the +opulent central sea, whose waters carried the wealth of the world; and +then particularly Turin and Milan, those industrial and commercial +centres, which are so full of life and so modernised that tourists +disdain them as not being “Italian” cities, both of them having saved +themselves from ruin by entering into that Western evolution which is +preparing the next century. Ah! that old land of Italy, ought one to +leave it all as a dusty museum for the pleasure of artistic souls, leave +it to crumble away, even as its little towns of Magna Graecia, Umbria, +and Tuscany are already crumbling, like exquisite _bibelots_ which one +dares not repair for fear that one might spoil their character. At all +events, there must either be death, death soon and inevitable, or else +the pick of the demolisher, the tottering walls thrown to the ground, and +cities 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 to +the new civilisation into which humanity is entering. + +“However, why despair?” Orlando continued energetically. “Rome may weigh +heavily 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 the +population does not increase it at least remains stationary at a figure +of some 400,000 souls, and the movement of increase may set in again when +the causes which stopped it shall have ceased. Our blunder was to think +that Rome would become a Paris or Berlin; but, so far, all sorts of +social, historical, even ethnical considerations seem opposed to it; yet +who can tell what may be the surprises of to-morrow? Are we forbidden to +hope, to put faith in the blood which courses in our veins, the blood of +the 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 in +the invincibility and immortality of Rome, and wait for the two millions +of people who must come to populate those dolorous new districts which +you have seen so empty and already falling into ruins! And certainly they +will come! Why not? You will see, you will see, everything will be +populated, and even more houses will have to be built. Moreover, can you +call a nation poor, when it possesses Lombardy? Is there not also +inexhaustible wealth in our southern provinces? Let peace settle down, +let the South and the North mingle together, and a new generation of +workers grow up. Since we have the soil, such a fertile soil, the great +harvest which is awaited will surely some day sprout and ripen under the +burning 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 make +men!” + +“Exactly!” cried Orlando. “I don’t cease repeating it, one must make +Italy. 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 people +is not like yours in France, a reservoir of men and money from which one +can draw as plentifully as one pleases. It is such another inexhaustible +reservoir that I wish to see created among us. And one must begin at the +bottom. There must be schools everywhere, ignorance must be stamped out, +brutishness and idleness must be fought with books, intellectual and +moral instruction must give us the industrious people which we need if we +are not to disappear from among the great nations. And once again for +whom, if not for the democracy of to-morrow, have we worked in taking +possession of Rome? And how easily one can understand that all should +collapse here, and nothing grow up vigorously since such a democracy is +absolutely absent. Yes, yes, the solution of the problem does not lie +elsewhere; we must make a people, make an Italian democracy.” + +Pierre had grown calm again, feeling somewhat anxious yet not daring to +say that it is by no means easy to modify a nation, that Italy is such as +soil, history, and race have made her, and that to seek to transform her +so radically and all at once might be a dangerous enterprise. Do not +nations like beings have an active youth, a resplendent prime, and a more +or less prolonged old age ending in death? A modern democratic Rome, good +heavens! The modern Romes are named Paris, London, Chicago. So he +contented himself with saying: “But pending this great renovation of the +people, don’t you think that you ought to be prudent? Your finances are +in such a bad condition, you are passing through such great social and +economic difficulties, that you run the risk of the worst catastrophes +before you secure either men or money. Ah! how prudent would that +minister be who should say in your Chamber: ‘Our pride has made a +mistake, it was wrong of us to try to make ourselves a great nation in +one day; more time, labour, and patience are needed; and we consent to +remain for the present a young nation, which will quietly reflect and +labour at self-formation, without, for a long time yet, seeking to play a +dominant part. So we intend to disarm, to strike out the war and naval +estimates, all the estimates intended for display abroad, in order to +devote ourselves to our internal prosperity, and to build up by +education, physically and morally, the great nation which we swear we +will be fifty years hence!’ Yes, yes, strike out all needless +expenditure, 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 who +should use such language would be hooted. It would be too hard a +confession, such as one cannot ask a nation to make. Every heart would +bound, leap forth at the idea. And, besides, would not the danger perhaps +be even greater if all that has been done were allowed to crumble? How +many 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 desired +to effect the unity which others have required two hundred years to +arrive at. Well, we must pay for our haste, we must wait for the harvest +to ripen, and fill our barns.” Then, with another and more sweeping wave +of the arm, he stubbornly strengthened himself in his hopes. “You know,” + said he, “that I was always against the alliance with Germany. As I +predicted, it has ruined us. We were not big enough to march side by side +with 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 from +having to support the budgets of a great nation. Ah! that war which has +never come, it is that which has exhausted the best part of our blood and +sap and money without the slightest profit. To-day we have nothing before +us but the necessity of breaking with our ally, who speculated on our +pride, who has never helped us in any way, who has never given us +anything 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, and +people even feel some spite against me on that account. However, explain +to your compatriots, that on the morrow of our conquest of Rome, in our +frantic desire to resume our ancient rank, it was absolutely necessary +that we should play our part in Europe and show that we were a power with +whom the others must henceforth count. And hesitation was not allowable, +all our interests impelled us toward Germany, the evidence was so binding +as to impose itself. The stern law of the struggle for life weighs as +heavily on nations as on individuals, and this it is which explains and +justifies the rupture between the two sisters, France and Italy, the +forgetting of so many ties, race, commercial intercourse, and, if you +like, services also. The two sisters, ah! they now pursue each other with +so much hatred that all common sense even seems at an end. My poor old +heart bleeds when I read the articles which your newspapers and ours +exchange like poisoned darts. When will this fratricidal massacre cease, +which of the two will first realise the necessity of peace, the necessity +of the alliance of the Latin races, if they are to remain alive amidst +those torrents of other races which more and more invade the world?” Then +gaily, with the _bonhomie_ of a hero disarmed by old age, and seeking a +refuge in his dreams, Orlando added: “Come, you must promise to help me +as 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 and +Italy; there can be no more holy task. Relate all you have seen here, all +you have heard, oh! as frankly as possible. If we have faults, you +certainly have faults as well. And, come, family quarrels can’t last for +ever!” + +“No doubt,” Pierre answered in some embarrassment. “Unfortunately they +are the most tenacious. In families, when blood becomes exasperated with +blood, hate goes as far as poison and the knife. And pardon becomes +impossible.” + +He dared not fully express his thoughts. Since he had been in Rome, +listening, and considering things, the quarrel between Italy and France +had resumed itself in his mind in a fine tragic story. Once upon a time +there were two princesses, daughters of a powerful queen, the mistress of +the world. The elder one, who had inherited her mother’s kingdom, was +secretly grieved to see her sister, who had established herself in a +neighbouring land, gradually increase in wealth, strength, and +brilliancy, whilst she herself declined as if weakened by age, +dismembered, so exhausted, and so sore, that she already felt defeated on +the day when she attempted a supreme effort to regain universal power. +And so how bitter were her feelings, how hurt she always felt on seeing +her sister recover from the most frightful shocks, resume her dazzling +_gala_, and continue to reign over the world by dint of strength and +grace and wit. Never would she forgive it, however well that envied and +detested sister might act towards her. Therein lay an incurable wound, +the life of one poisoned by that of the other, the hatred of old blood +for 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 the +younger sister’s evident triumph, the other would always harbour deep +within her heart an endless grief at being the elder yet the vassal. + +“However, you may rely on me,” Pierre affectionately resumed. “This +quarrel between the two countries is certainly a great source of grief +and a great peril. And assuredly I will only say what I think to be the +truth 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 of +every nation who at various times have written on Rome have intoxicated +you with so much praise that you are scarcely fitted to hear the real +truth about your Rome of to-day. No matter how superb a share of praise +one 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 as +you ever are, susceptible too like women, whom the slightest hint of a +wrinkle sends into despair.” + +Orlando began to laugh. “Well, certainly, one must always beautify things +a little,” said he. “Why speak of ugly faces at all? We in our theatres +only care for pretty music, pretty dancing, pretty pieces which please +one. As for the rest, whatever is disagreeable let us hide it, for +mercy’s sake!” + +“On the other hand,” the priest continued, “I will cheerfully confess the +great error of my book. The Italian Rome which I neglected and sacrificed +to papal Rome not only exists but is already so powerful and triumphant +that it is surely the other one which is bound to disappear in course of +time. However much the Pope may strive to remain immutable within his +Vatican, a steady evolution goes on around him, and the black world, by +mingling with the white, has already become a grey world. I never +realised that more acutely than at the _fête_ given by Prince +Buongiovanni for the betrothal of his daughter to your grand-nephew. I +came away quite enchanted, won over to the cause of your resurrection.” + +The old man’s eyes sparkled. “Ah! you were present?” said he, “and you +witnessed a never-to-be-forgotten scene, did you not, and you no longer +doubt our vitality, our growth into a great people when the difficulties +of to-day are overcome? What does a quarter of a century, what does even +a century matter! Italy will again rise to her old glory, as soon as the +great people of to-morrow shall have sprung from the soil. And if I +detest that man Sacco it is because to my mind he is the incarnation of +all the enjoyers and intriguers whose appetite for the spoils of our +conquest has retarded everything. But I live again in my dear +grand-nephew Attilio, who represents the future, the generation of brave +and worthy men who will purify and educate the country. Ah! may some of +the great ones of to-morrow spring from him and that adorable little +Princess Celia, whom my niece Stefana, a sensible woman at bottom, +brought to see me the other day. If you had seen that child fling her +arms about me, call me endearing names, and tell me that I should be +godfather to her first son, so that he might bear my name and once again +save Italy! Yes, yes, may peace be concluded around that coming cradle; +may the union of those dear children be the indissoluble marriage of Rome +and the whole nation, and may all be repaired, and all blossom anew in +their love!” + +Tears came to his eyes, and Pierre, touched by his inextinguishable +patriotism, sought to please him. “I myself,” said he, “expressed to your +son much the same wish on the evening of the betrothal _fête_, when I +told him I trusted that their nuptials might be definitive and fruitful, +and that from them and all the others there might arise the great nation +which, now that I begin to know you, I hope you will soon become!” + +“You said that!” exclaimed Orlando. “Well, I forgive your book, for you +have understood at last; and new Rome, there she is, the Rome which is +ours, which we wish to make worthy of her glorious past, and for the +third time the queen of the world.” + +With one of those broad gestures into which he put all his remaining +life, he pointed to the curtainless window where Rome spread out in +solemn majesty from one horizon to the other. But, suddenly he turned his +head and in a fit of paternal indignation began to apostrophise young +Angiolo Mascara. “You young rascal!” said he, “it’s our Rome which you +dream of destroying with your bombs, which you talk of razing like a +rotten, tottering house, so as to rid the world of it for ever!” + +Angiolo had hitherto remained silent, passionately listening to the +others. His pretty, girlish, beardless face reflected the slightest +emotion in sudden flashes; and his big blue eyes also had glowed on +hearing what had been said of the people, the new people which it was +necessary to create. “Yes!” he slowly replied in his pure and musical +voice, “we mean to raze it and not leave a stone of it, but raze it in +order to build it up again.” + +Orlando interrupted him with a soft, bantering laugh: “Oh! you would +build it up again; that’s fortunate!” he said. + +“I would build it up again,” the young man replied, in the trembling +voice of an inspired prophet. “I would build it up again oh, so vast, so +beautiful, and so noble! Will not the universal democracy of to-morrow, +humanity when it is at last freed, need an unique city, which shall be +the ark of alliance, the very centre of the world? And is not Rome +designated, Rome which the prophecies have marked as eternal and +immortal, where the destinies of the nations are to be accomplished? But +in order that it may become the final definitive sanctuary, the capital +of the destroyed kingdoms, where the wise men of all countries shall meet +once every year, one must first of all purify it by fire, leave nothing +of its old stains remaining. Then, when the sun shall have absorbed all +the pestilence of the old soil, we will rebuild the city ten times more +beautiful and ten times larger than it has ever been. And what a city of +truth and justice it will at last be, the Rome that has been announced +and 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 inhabitants +after regulating the law of labour will live with the unique joy of +being. Yes, yes, Rome the Mother, Rome the Queen, alone on the face of +the earth and for all eternity!” + +Pierre listened to him, aghast. What! did the blood of Augustus go to +such a point as this? The popes had not become masters of Rome without +feeling impelled to rebuild it in their passion to rule over the world; +young Italy, likewise yielding to the hereditary madness of universal +domination, had in its turn sought to make the city larger than any +other, erecting whole districts for people who had never come, and now +even the Anarchists were possessed by the same stubborn dream of the +race, 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 and +sovereignty which had scorched the veins of that race ever since Augustus +had bequeathed it the inheritance of his absolute empire, with the +furious instinct that the world legally belonged to it, and that its +mission was to conquer it again. This idea had intoxicated all the +children of that historic soil, impelling all of them to make their city +The City, the one which had reigned and which would reign again in +splendour when the days predicted by the oracles should arrive. And +Pierre remembered the four fatidical letters, the S.P.Q.R. of old and +glorious Rome, which like an order of final triumph given to Destiny he +had everywhere found in present-day Rome, on all the walls, on all the +insignia, even on the municipal dust-carts! And he understood the +prodigious vanity of these people, haunted by the glory of their +ancestors, spellbound by the past of their city, declaring that she +contains everything, that they themselves cannot know her thoroughly, +that she is the sphinx who will some day explain the riddle of the +universe, that she is so great and noble that all within her acquires +increase of greatness and nobility, in such wise that they demand for her +the idolatrous respect of the entire world, so vivacious in their minds +is the illusive legend which clings to her, so incapable are they of +realising that what was once great may be so no longer. + +“But I know your fourth Rome,” resumed Orlando, again enlivened. “It’s +the Rome of the people, the capital of the Universal Republic, which +Mazzini dreamt of. Only he left the pope in it. Do you know, my lad, that +if we old Republicans rallied to the monarchy, it was because we feared +that in the event of revolution the country might fall into the hands of +dangerous madmen such as those who have upset your brain? Yes, that was +why we resigned ourselves to our monarchy, which is not much different +from a parliamentary republic. And now, goodbye and be sensible, remember +that your poor mother would die of it if any misfortune should befall +you. 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 but +politely inclining his head to the priest. Silence continued till +Orlando’s eyes encountered the newspapers scattered on the table, when he +once more spoke of the terrible bereavement of the Boccaneras. He had +loved Benedetta like a dear daughter during the sad days when she had +dwelt near him; and finding the newspaper accounts of her death somewhat +singular, worried in fact by the obscure points which he could divine in +the tragedy, he was asking Pierre for particulars, when his son Luigi +suddenly entered the room, breathless from having climbed the stairs so +quickly and with his face full of anxious fear. He had just dismissed his +contractors with impatient roughness, giving no thought to his serious +financial position, the jeopardy in which his fortune was now placed, so +anxious was he to be up above beside his father. And when he was there +his first uneasy glance was for the old man, to make sure whether the +priest by some imprudent word had not dealt him his death blow. + +He shuddered on noticing how Orlando quivered, moved to tears by the +terrible affair of which he was speaking; and for a moment he thought he +had arrived too late, that the harm was done. “Good heavens, father!” he +exclaimed, “what is the matter with you, why are you crying?” And as he +spoke he knelt at the old man’s feet, taking hold of his hands and giving +him such a passionate, loving glance that he seemed to be offering all +the blood of his heart to spare him the slightest grief. + +“It is about the death of that poor woman,” Orlando sadly answered. “I +was telling Monsieur Froment how it grieved me, and I added that I could +not yet understand it all. The papers talk of a sudden death which is +always so extraordinary.” + +The young Count rose again looking very pale. The priest had not yet +spoken. 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 addressing +Pierre. “You saw everything. Tell me then how the thing happened.” + +Luigi Prada looked at Pierre. Their eyes met fixedly, plunging into one +another’s souls. All began afresh in their minds, Destiny on the march, +Santobono encountered with his little basket, the drive across the +melancholy Campagna, the conversation about poison while the little +basket was gently rocked on the priest’s knees; then, in particular, the +sleepy _osteria_, and the little black hen, so suddenly killed, lying on +the ground with a tiny streamlet of violet blood trickling from her beak. +And next there was that splendid ball at the Buongiovanni mansion, with +all its _odore di femina_ and its triumph of love: and finally, before +the Palazzo Boccanera, so black under the silvery moon, there was the man +who lighted a cigar and went off without once turning his head, allowing +dim Destiny to accomplish its work of death. Both of them, Pierre and +Prada, knew that story and lived it over again, having no need to recall +it aloud in order to make certain that they had fully penetrated one +another’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 us +all. In presence of death my son has freely forgiven.” + +The young Count’s gaze again sought that of Pierre with such weight, such +ardent entreaty that the priest felt deeply stirred. He had just +remembered that man’s anguish during the ball, the atrocious torture of +jealousy which he had undergone before allowing Destiny to avenge him. +And he pictured also what must have been his feelings after the terrible +outcome of it all: at first stupefaction at Destiny’s harshness, at this +full vengeance which he had never desired so ferocious; then icy calmness +like that of the cool gambler who awaits events, reading the newspapers, +and feeling no other remorse than that of the general whose victory has +cost him too many men. He must have immediately realised that the +Cardinal would stifle the affair for the sake of the Church’s honour; and +only retained one weight on his heart, regret possibly for that woman +whom he had never won, with perhaps a last horrible jealousy which he did +not confess to himself but from which he would always suffer, jealousy at +knowing that she lay in another’s arms in the grave, for all eternity. +But behold, after that victorious effort to remain calm, after that cold +and remorseless waiting, Punishment arose, the fear that Destiny, +travelling on with its poisoned figs, might have not yet ceased its +march, and might by a rebound strike down his own father. Yet another +thunderbolt, yet another victim, the most unexpected, the being he most +adored! At that thought all his strength of resistance had in one moment +collapsed, and he was there, in terror of Destiny, more at a loss, more +trembling than a child. + +“The newspapers, however,” slowly said Pierre as if he were seeking his +words, “the newspapers must have told you that the Prince succumbed +first, and that the Contessina died of grief whilst embracing him for the +last time.... As for the cause of death, _mon Dieu_, you know that +doctors themselves in sudden cases scarcely dare to pronounce an exact +opinion--” + +He stopped short, for within him he had suddenly heard the voice of +Benedetta giving him just before she died that terrible order: “You, who +will see his father, I charge you to tell him that I cursed his son. I +wish that he should know, it is necessary that he should know, for the +sake of truth and justice.” And was he, oh! Lord, about to obey that +order, was it one of those divine commands which must be executed even if +the result be a torrent of blood and tears? For a few seconds Pierre +suffered from a heart-rending combat within him, hesitating between the +act of truth and justice which the dead woman had called for and his own +personal desire for forgiveness, and the horror he would feel should he +kill that poor old man by fulfilling his implacable mission which could +benefit nobody. And certainly the other one, the son, must have +understood what a supreme struggle was going on in the priest’s mind, a +struggle which would decide his own father’s fate, for his glance became +yet 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 the +doctor was sent for--” + +Ah! Prada’s eyes, they had become so despairing, so full of the most +touching and weightiest things, that the priest could read in them all +the decisive reasons which were about to stay his tongue. No, no, he +would not strike an innocent old man, he had promised nothing, and to +obey the last expression of the dead woman’s hatred would have seemed to +him like charging her memory with a crime. The young Count, too, during +those few minutes of anguish, had suffered a whole life of such +abominable torture, that after all some little justice was done. + +“And then,” Pierre concluded, “when the doctor arrived he at once +recognised that it was a case of infectious fever. There can be no doubt +of it. This morning I attended the funeral, it was very splendid and very +touching.” + +Orlando did not insist, but contented himself with saying that he also +had 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 trembling +hands, his son, icy cold with perspiration, staggering and clinging to +the back of a chair in order that he might not fall, again gave Pierre a +long glance, but a very soft one, full of distracted gratitude. + +“I am leaving this evening,” resumed Pierre, who felt exhausted and +wished 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, he +added, “Yes, I have, though! You remember that book written by my old +comrade in arms, Théophile Morin, one of Garibaldi’s Thousand, that +manual for the bachelor’s degree which he desired to see translated and +adopted here. Well, I am pleased to say that I have a promise that it +shall be used in our schools, but on condition that he makes some +alterations 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 notes +which he had pencilled on the margins, and explained to him the +modifications which were desired in the general scheme of the work. “Will +you 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 spare +me the trouble of writing him a very long letter; in ten minutes you can +explain matters to him more clearly and completely than I could do in ten +pages.... And you must embrace Morin for me, and tell him that I still +love him, oh! with all my heart of the bygone days, when I could still +use my legs and we two fought like devils side by side under a hail of +bullets.” + +A short silence followed, that pause, that embarrassment tinged with +emotion which precedes the moment of farewell. “Come, good-bye,” said +Orlando, “embrace me for him and for yourself, embrace me affectionately +like that lad did just now. I am so old and so near my end, my dear +Monsieur Froment, that you will allow me to call you my child and to kiss +you like a grandfather, wishing you all courage and peace, and that faith +in life which alone helps one to live.” + +Pierre was so touched that tears rose to his eyes, and when with all his +soul he kissed the stricken hero on either cheek, he felt that he +likewise was weeping. With a hand yet as vigorous as a vice, Orlando +detained him for a moment beside his arm-chair, whilst with his other +hand 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 love +her 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 desires +to be! Do not say that her end has come, love her, love her so that she +may live again, that she may live for ever!” + +Pierre again embraced him, unable to find any other response, upset as he +was by all the passion displayed by that old warrior, who spoke of his +city as a man of thirty might speak of the woman he adores. And he found +him so handsome and so lofty with his old blanched, leonine mane and his +stubborn belief in approaching resurrection, that once more the other old +Roman, Cardinal Boccanera, arose before him, equally stubborn in his +faith and relinquishing nought of his dream, even though he might be +crushed on the spot by the fall of the heavens. These twain ever stood +face to face, at either end of their city, alone rearing their lofty +figures above the horizon, whilst awaiting the future. + +Then, when Pierre had bowed to Count Luigi, and found himself outside +again in the Via Venti Settembre he was all eagerness to get back to the +Boccanera mansion so as to pack up his things and depart. His farewell +visits were made, and he now only had to take leave of Donna Serafina and +the Cardinal, and to thank them for all their kind hospitality. For him +alone did their doors open, for they had shut themselves up on returning +from the funeral, resolved to see nobody. At twilight, therefore, Pierre +had 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 told +him that the latter had also shut himself in his room. Desirous as he was +of at least shaking hands with the secretary for the last time, Pierre +went to knock at the door, which was so near his own, but could obtain no +reply, and divined that the poor fellow, overcome by a fresh attack of +fever and suspicion, desired not to see him again, in terror at the idea +that he might compromise himself yet more than he had done already. +Thereupon, it was settled that as the train only started at seventeen +minutes past ten Victorine should serve Pierre his supper on the little +table in his sitting-room at eight o’clock. She brought him a lamp and +spoke 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 hold +all the linen and winter clothing which had been sent to him from Paris +as his stay in Rome became more and more protracted. However, the packing +was soon accomplished; the wardrobe was emptied, the drawers were +visited, 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 his +eyes whilst travelling round the walls to make sure that he had forgotten +nothing, encountered that old painting by some unknown master, which had +so 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 blow +which was all the deeper, as now, at his parting hour, he found a symbol +of his defeat at Rome in that dolent, tragic, half-naked woman, draped in +a shred of linen, and weeping between her clasped hands whilst seated on +the threshold of the palace whence she had been driven. Did not that +rejected one, that stubborn victim of love, who sobbed so bitterly, and +of whom one knew nothing, neither what her face was like, nor whence she +had come, nor what her fault had been--did she not personify all man’s +useless efforts to force the doors of truth, and all the frightful +abandonment into which he falls as soon as he collides with the wall +which shuts the unknown off from him? For a long while did Pierre look at +her, again worried at being obliged to depart without having seen her +face behind her streaming golden hair, that face of dolorous beauty which +he pictured radiant with youth and delicious in its mystery. And as he +gazed he was just fancying that he could see it, that it was becoming his +at last, when there was a knock at the door and Narcisse Habert entered. + +Pierre was surprised to see the young _attaché_, for three days +previously he had started for Florence, impelled thither by one of the +sudden whims of his artistic fancy. However, he at once apologised for +his unceremonious intrusion. “Ah! there is your luggage!” he said; “I +heard that you were going away this evening, and I was unwilling to let +you leave Rome without coming to shake hands with you. But what frightful +things have happened since we met! I only returned this afternoon, so +that I could not attend the funeral. However, you may well imagine how +thunderstruck I was by the news of those frightful deaths.” + +Then, suspecting some unacknowledged tragedy, like a man well acquainted +with the legendary dark side of Rome, he put some questions to Pierre but +did not insist on them, being at bottom far too prudent to burden himself +uselessly with redoubtable secrets. And after Pierre had given him such +particulars as he thought fit, the conversation changed and they spoke at +length of Italy, Rome, Naples, and Florence. “Ah! Florence, Florence!” + Narcisse repeated languorously. He had lighted a cigarette and his words +fell more slowly, as he glanced round the room. “You were very well +lodged here,” he said, “it is very quiet. I had never come up to this +floor before.” + +His eyes continued wandering over the walls until they were at last +arrested by the old painting which the lamp illumined, and thereupon he +remained for a moment blinking as if surprised. And all at once he rose +and approached the picture. “Dear me, dear me,” said he, “but that’s very +good, that’s very fine.” + +“Isn’t it?” rejoined Pierre. “I know nothing about painting but I was +stirred by that picture on the very day of my arrival, and over and over +again it has kept me here with my heart beating and full of indescribable +feelings.” + +Narcisse no longer spoke but examined the painting with the care of a +connoisseur, an expert, whose keen glance decides the question of +authenticity, and appraises commercial value. And the most extraordinary +delight appeared upon the young man’s fair, rapturous face, whilst his +fingers began to quiver. “But it’s a Botticelli, it’s a Botticelli! There +can be no doubt about it,” he exclaimed. “Just look at the hands, and +look at the folds of the drapery! And the colour of the hair, and the +technique, the flow of the whole composition. A Botticelli, ah! _mon +Dieu_, a Botticelli.” + +He became quite faint, overflowing with increasing admiration as he +penetrated more and more deeply into the subject, at once so simple and +so poignant. Was it not acutely modern? The artist had foreseen our +pain-fraught century, our anxiety in presence of the invisible, our +distress at being unable to cross the portal of mystery which was for +ever closed. And what an eternal symbol of the world’s wretchedness was +that woman, whose face one could not see, and who sobbed so distractedly +without it being possible for one to wipe away her tears. Yes, a +Botticelli, unknown, uncatalogued, what a discovery! Then he paused to +inquire of Pierre: “Did you know it was a Botticelli?” + +“Oh no! I spoke to Don Vigilio about it one day, but he seemed to think +it of no account. And Victorine, when I spoke to her, replied that all +those old things only served to harbour dust.” + +Narcisse protested, quite stupefied: “What! they have a Botticelli here +and don’t know it! Ah! how well I recognise in that the Roman princes +who, unless their masterpieces have been labelled, are for the most part +utterly at sea among them! No doubt this one has suffered a little, but a +simple cleaning would make a marvel, a famous picture of it, for which a +museum would at least give--” + +He abruptly stopped, completing his sentence with a wave of the hand and +not mentioning the figure which was on his lips. And then, as Victorine +came 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. The +young priest’s attention was aroused, however, and he could well divine +what was passing in the other’s mind. Under that make-believe Florentine, +all angelicalness, there was an experienced business man, who well knew +how to look after his pecuniary interests and was even reported to be +somewhat avaricious. Pierre, who was aware of it, could not help smiling +therefore when he saw him take his stand before another picture--a +frightful Virgin, badly copied from some eighteenth-century canvas--and +exclaim: “Dear me! that’s not at all bad! I’ve a friend, I remember, who +asked me to buy him some old paintings. I say, Victorine, now that Donna +Serafina and the Cardinal are left alone do you think they would like to +rid 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 a +lot to keep up, and money would be welcome.” + +Pierre then vainly endeavoured to persuade Narcisse to stay and sup with +him, but the young man gave his word of honour that he was expected +elsewhere and was even late. And thereupon he ran off, after pressing the +priest’s hands and affectionately wishing him a good journey. + +Eight o’clock was striking, and Pierre seated himself at the little +table, Victorine remaining to serve him after dismissing Giacomo, who had +brought the supper things upstairs in a basket. “The people here make me +wild,” 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, Monsieur +l’Abbé. I’ve had a little French dinner cooked for you, a _sole au +gratin_ and a roast fowl.” + +Pierre was touched by this attention, and pleased to have the company of +a compatriot whilst he partook of his final meal amidst the deep silence +of the old, black, deserted mansion. The buxom figure of Victorine was +still instinct with mourning, with grief for the loss of her dear +Contessina, but her daily toil was already setting her erect again, +restoring her quick activity; and she spoke almost cheerfully whilst +passing plates and dishes to Pierre. “And to think Monsieur l’Abbé,” said +she, “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 their +poor stuff here which smells of sulphur! And the pretty fresh willows +beside our stream, too, and the little wood so full of moss! They’ve no +moss here, their trees look like tin under that stupid sun of theirs +which burns up the grass. _Mon Dieu_! in the early times I would have +given I don’t know what for a good fall of rain to soak me and wash away +all the dust. Ah! I shall never get used to their awful Rome. What a +country 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 horrified +with that city of crude light and black vegetation, true daughter as she +was of a smiling and temperate clime which of a morning was steeped in +rosy mist. “But now that your young mistress is dead,” said he, “what +keeps 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’Abbé. It would be too ungrateful to begin +with, for Donna Serafina is accustomed to me, and it would be bad on my +part to forsake her and his Eminence now that they are in trouble. And +besides, 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 of +sulphur?” + +She burst into a frank laugh. “Oh!” she said, “I don’t mind where I am +when I’m dead. One sleeps well everywhere. And it’s funny that you should +be 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 over +and that I shall have a rest. The good God owes us that after we’ve +worked so hard. You know that I’m not devout, oh! dear no. Still that +doesn’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 in +priests and yet without a sin upon her conscience. And Pierre once more +marvelled at the simple courage and great practical common sense of this +laborious and devoted creature, who for him personified the whole +unbelieving lowly class of France, those who no longer believe and will +believe never more. Ah! to be as she was, to do one’s work and lie down +for the eternal sleep without any revolt of pride, satisfied with the one +joy of having accomplished one’s share of toil! + +When Pierre had finished his supper Victorine summoned Giacomo to clear +the things away. And as it was only half-past eight she advised the +priest to spend another quiet hour in his room. Why go and catch a chill +by 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 luggage +carried down. He might be easy as to that, and need trouble himself about +nothing. + +When she had gone off Pierre soon sank into a deep reverie. It seemed to +him, indeed, as if he had already quitted Rome, as if the city were far +away and he could look back on it, and his experiences within it. His +book, “New Rome,” arose in his mind; and he remembered his first morning +on the Janiculum, his view of Rome from the terrace of San Pietro in +Montorio, a Rome such as he had dreamt of, so young and ethereal under +the pure sky. It was then that he had asked himself the decisive +question: Could Catholicism be renewed? Could it revert to the spirit of +primitive Christianity, become the religion of the democracy, the faith +which the distracted modern world, in danger of death, awaits in order +that it may be pacified and live? His heart had then beaten with hope and +enthusiasm. After his disaster at Lourdes from which he had scarcely +recovered, he had come to attempt another and supreme experiment by +asking Rome what her reply to his question would be. And now the +experiment had failed, he knew what answer Rome had returned him through +her ruins, her monuments, her very soil, her people, her prelates, her +cardinals, her pope! No, Catholicism could not be renewed: no, it could +not revert to the spirit of primitive Christianity; no, it could not +become the religion of the democracy, the new faith which might save the +old toppling societies in danger of death. Though it seemed to be of +democratic origin, it was henceforth riveted to that Roman soil, it +remained kingly in spite of everything, forced to cling to the principle +of temporal power under penalty of suicide, bound by tradition, enchained +by dogma, its evolutions mere simulations whilst in reality it was +reduced 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 with +priestly faith exalted by love of the suffering and the poor, he had come +to seek life and a resurrection of the Christian communion, he had found +death, the dust of a destroyed world in which nothing more could +germinate, an exhausted soil whence now there could never grow aught but +that despotic papacy, the master of bodies as it was of souls. To his +distracted cry asking for a new religion, Rome had been content to reply +by condemning his book as a work tainted with heresy, and he himself had +withdrawn it amidst the bitter grief of his disillusions. He had seen, he +had understood, and all had collapsed. And it was himself, his soul and +his brain, which lay among the ruins. + +Pierre was stifling. He rose, threw the window overlooking the Tiber wide +open, and leant out. The rain had begun to fall again at the approach of +evening, 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 illumined +with a vague, yellow, mournful light. And under that slumberous glimmer +the vast horizon showed blackly and phantom-like: the Janiculum in front +with the close-packed houses of the Trastevere; the river flowing away +yonder on the left towards the dim height of the Palatine; whilst on the +right the dome of St. Peter’s showed forth, round and domineering in the +pale atmosphere. Pierre could not see the Quirinal but divined it to be +behind him, and could picture its long façade shutting off part of the +sky. And what a collapsing Rome, half-devoured by the gloom, was this, so +different from the Rome all youth and dreamland which he had beheld and +passionately loved on the day of his arrival! He remembered the three +symbolic summits which had then summed up for him the whole long history +of Rome, the ancient, the papal, and the Italian city. But if the +Palatine had remained the same discrowned mount on which there only rose +the phantom of the ancestor, Augustus, emperor and pontiff, master of the +world, 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 to +him like a flat, low barrack, to that new Government which had brought +him the impression of some attempt at sacrilegious modernity, he now +accorded the large, increasing space that they occupied in the panorama, +the whole of which they would apparently soon fill; whilst, on the +contrary, St. Peter’s, that dome which he had found so triumphal, all +azure, reigning over the city like a gigantic and unshakable monarch, at +present seemed to him full of cracks and already shrinking, as if it were +one of those huge old piles, which, through the secret, unsuspected decay +of their timbers, at times fall to the ground in one mass. + +A murmur, a growling plaint rose from the swollen Tiber, and Pierre +shivered at the icy abysmal breath which swept past his face. And his +thoughts of the three summits and their symbolic triangle aroused within +him the memory of the sufferings of the great silent multitude of poor +and lowly for whom pope and king had so long disputed. It all dated from +long ago, from the day when, in dividing the inheritance of Augustus, the +emperor had been obliged to content himself with men’s bodies, leaving +their souls to the pope, whose one idea had henceforth been to gain the +temporal power of which God, in his person, was despoiled. All the middle +ages had been disturbed and ensanguined by the quarrel, till at last the +silent multitude weary of vexations and misery spoke out; threw off the +papal 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 been +offered to the pope, that of reverting to the ancient dream, by +dissociating himself from the fallen thrones and placing himself on the +side of the wretched in the hope that this time he would conquer the +people, win it entirely for himself. Was it not prodigious to see that +man, Leo XIII, despoiled of his kingdom and allowing himself to be called +a socialist, assembling under his banner the great flock of the +disinherited, and marching against the kings at the head of that fourth +estate to whom the coming century will belong? The eternal struggle for +possession of the people continued as bitterly as ever even in Rome +itself, where pope and king, who could see each other from their windows, +contended together like falcon and hawk for the little birds of the +woods. And in this for Pierre lay the reason why Catholicism was fatally +condemned; for it was of monarchical essence to such a point that the +Apostolic and Roman papacy could not renounce the temporal power under +penalty of becoming something else and disappearing. In vain did it feign +a return to the people, in vain did it seek to appear all soul; there was +no room in the midst of the world’s democracies for any such total and +universal sovereignty as that which it claimed to hold from God. Pierre +ever beheld the Imperator sprouting up afresh in the Pontifex Maximus, +and it was this in particular which had killed his dream, destroyed his +book, heaped up all those ruins before which he remained distracted +without 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 and +fell on a chair near his luggage. Never before had he experienced such +distress of spirit, it seemed like the death of his soul. After his +disaster at Lourdes he had not come to Rome in search of the candid and +complete faith of a little child, but the superior faith of an +intellectual being, rising above rites and symbols, and seeking to ensure +the greatest possible happiness of mankind based on its need of +certainty. And if this collapsed, if Catholicism could not be rejuvenated +and become the religion and moral law of the new generations, if the Pope +at Rome and with Rome could not be the Father, the arch of alliance, the +spiritual leader whom all hearkened to and obeyed, why then, in Pierre’s +eyes, the last hope was wrecked, the supreme rending which must plunge +present-day society into the abyss was near at hand. That scaffolding of +Catholic socialism which had seemed to him so happily devised for the +consolidation of the old Church, now appeared to him lying on the ground; +and he judged it severely as a mere passing expedient which might perhaps +for some years prop up the ruined edifice, but which was simply based on +an intentional misunderstanding, on a skilful lie, on politics and +diplomacy. No, no, that the people should once again, as so many times +before, be duped and gained over, caressed in order that it might be +enthralled--this was repugnant to one’s reason, and the whole system +appeared degenerate, dangerous, temporary, calculated to end in the worst +catastrophes. So this then was the finish, nothing remained erect and +stable, the old world was about to disappear amidst the frightful +sanguinary crisis whose approach was announced by such indisputable +signs. 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 had +felt 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, what +should he do now that he was all doubt again, all dolorous negation, and +that his cassock weighed more heavily than it had ever weighed upon his +shoulders? He remembered having told Monsignor Nani that he would never +submit, would never be able to resign himself and kill his hope in +salvation by love, but would rather reply by a fresh book, in which he +would say in what new soil the new religion would spring up. Yes, a +flaming book against Rome, in which he would set down all he had seen, a +book which would depict the real Rome, the Rome which knows neither +charity nor love, and is dying in the pride of its purple! He had spoken +of returning to Paris, leaving the Church and going to the point of +schism. Well, his luggage now lay there packed, he was going off and he +would write that book, he would be the great schismatic who was awaited! +Did not everything foretell approaching schism amidst that great movement +of men’s minds, weary of old mummified dogmas and yet hungering for the +divine? Even Leo XIII must be conscious of it, for his whole policy, his +whole effort towards Christian unity, his assumed affection for the +democracy had no other object than that of grouping the whole family +around the papacy, and consolidating it so as to render the Pope +invincible in the approaching struggle. But the times had come, +Catholicism would soon find that it could grant no more political +concessions without perishing, that at Rome it was reduced to the +immobility of an ancient hieratic idol, and that only in the lands of +propaganda, where it was fighting against other religions, could further +evolution take place. It was, indeed, for this reason that Rome was +condemned, the more so as the abolition of the temporal power, by +accustoming men’s minds to the idea of a purely spiritual papacy, seemed +likely to conduce to the rise of some anti-pope, far away, whilst the +successor of St. Peter was compelled to cling stubbornly to his Apostolic +and Roman fiction. A bishop, a priest would arise--where, who could tell? +Perhaps yonder in that free America, where there are priests whom the +struggle for life has turned into convinced socialists, into ardent +democrats, who are ready to go forward with the coming century. And +whilst Rome remains unable to relinquish aught of her past, aught of her +mysteries and dogmas, that priest will relinquish all of those things +which fall from one in dust. Ah! to be that priest, to be that great +reformer, 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 a +moment Pierre was transported as by a breeze of hope and triumph. If that +great change did not come in France, in Paris, it would come elsewhere, +yonder across the ocean, or farther yet, wherever there might be a +sufficiently fruitful soil for the new seed to spring from it in +overflowing harvests. A new religion! a new religion! even as he had +cried on returning from Lourdes, a religion which in particular should +not be an appetite for death, a religion which should at last realise +here below that Kingdom of God referred to in the Gospel, and which +should equitably divide terrestrial wealth, and with the law of labour +ensure the rule of truth and justice. + +In the fever of this fresh dream Pierre already saw the pages of his new +book flaring before him when his eyes fell on an object lying upon a +chair, which at first surprised him. This also was a book, that work of +Théophile Morin’s which Orlando had commissioned him to hand to its +author, and he felt annoyed with himself at having left it there, for he +might have forgotten it altogether. Before putting it into his valise he +retained it for a moment in his hand turning its pages over, his ideas +changing as by a sudden mental revolution. The work was, however, a very +modest one, one of those manuals for the bachelor’s degree containing +little beyond the first elements of the sciences; still all the sciences +were represented in it, and it gave a fair summary of the present state +of human knowledge. And it was indeed Science which thus burst upon +Pierre’s reverie with the energy of sovereign power. Not only was +Catholicism swept away from his mind, but all his religious conceptions, +every hypothesis of the divine tottered and fell. Only that little school +book, nothing but the universal desire for knowledge, that education +which ever extends and penetrates the whole people, and behold the +mysteries became absurdities, the dogmas crumbled, and nothing of ancient +faith was left. A nation nourished upon Science, no longer believing in +mysteries and dogmas, in a compensatory system of reward and punishment, +is a nation whose faith is for ever dead: and without faith Catholicism +cannot be. Therein is the blade of the knife, the knife which falls and +severs. If one century, if two centuries be needed, Science will take +them. She alone is eternal. It is pure _naïveté_ to say that reason is +not contrary to faith. The truth is, that now already in order to save +mere fragments of the sacred writings, it has been necessary to +accommodate them to the new certainties, by taking refuge in the +assertion that they are simply symbolical! And what an extraordinary +attitude is that of the Catholic Church, expressly forbidding all those +who may discover a truth contrary to the sacred writings to pronounce +upon it in definitive fashion, and ordering them to await events in the +conviction that this truth will some day be proved an error! Only the +Pope, says the Church, is infallible; Science is fallible, her constant +groping is exploited against her, and divines remain on the watch +striving to make it appear that her discoveries of to-day are in +contradiction with her discoveries of yesterday. What do her sacrilegious +assertions, what do her certainties rending dogma asunder, matter to a +Catholic since it is certain that at the end of time, she, Science, will +again join Faith, and become the latter’s very humble slave! Voluntary +blindness and impudent denial of things as evident as the sunlight, can +no further go. But all the same the insignificant little book, the manual +of truth travels on continuing its work, destroying error and building up +the new world, even as the infinitesimal agents of life built up our +present continents. + +In the sudden great enlightenment which had come on him Pierre at last +felt himself upon firm ground. Has Science ever retreated? It is +Catholicism which has always retreated before her, and will always be +forced to retreat. Never does Science stop, step by step she wrests truth +from error, and to say that she is bankrupt because she cannot explain +the world in one word and at one effort, is pure and simple nonsense. If +she leaves, and no doubt will always leave a smaller and smaller domain +to mystery, and if supposition may always strive to explain that mystery, +it is none the less certain that she ruins, and with each successive hour +will add to the ruin of the ancient hypotheses, those which crumble away +before the acquired truths. And Catholicism is in the position of those +ancient hypotheses, and will be in it yet more thoroughly to-morrow. Like +all religions it is, at the bottom, but an explanation of the world, a +superior social and political code, intended to bring about the greatest +possible sum of peace and happiness on earth. This code which embraces +the universality of things thenceforth becomes human, and mortal like +everything that is human. One cannot put it on one side and say that it +exists 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 breaches +incessantly effected in its ramparts till the day of victory shall come +with the final assault of resplendent truth. Frankly, it makes one laugh +to hear people assign a _rôle_ to Science, forbid her to enter such and +such a domain, predict to her that she shall go no further, and declare +that at this end of the century she is already so weary that she +abdicates! Oh! you little men of shallow or distorted brains, you +politicians planning expedients, you dogmatics at bay, you authoritarians +so obstinately clinging to the ancient dreams, Science will pass on, and +sweep you all away like withered leaves! + +Pierre continued glancing through the humble little book, listening to +all it told him of sovereign Science. She cannot become bankrupt, for she +does not promise the absolute, she is simply the progressive conquest of +truth. Never has she pretended that she could give the whole truth at one +effort, that sort of edifice being precisely the work of metaphysics, of +revelation, of faith. The _rôle_ of Science, on the contrary, is only to +destroy error as she gradually advances and increases enlightenment. And +thus, far from becoming bankrupt, in her march which nothing stops, she +remains the only possible truth for well-balanced and healthy minds. As +for those whom she does not satisfy, who crave for immediate and +universal knowledge, they have the resource of seeking refuge in no +matter what religious hypothesis, provided, if they wish to appear in the +right, that they build their fancy upon acquired certainties. Everything +which is raised on proven error falls. However, although religious +feeling persists among mankind, although the need of religion may be +eternal, it by no means follows that Catholicism is eternal, for it is, +after all, but one form of religion, which other forms preceded and which +others will follow. Religions may disappear, but religious feeling will +create new ones even with the help of Science. Pierre thought of that +alleged repulse of Science by the present-day awakening of mysticism, the +causes of which he had indicated in his book: the discredit into which +the idea of liberty has fallen among the people, duped in the last social +reorganisation, and the uneasiness of the _élite_, in despair at the void +in which their liberated minds and enlarged intelligences have left them. +It is the anguish of the Unknown springing up again; but it is also only +a natural and momentary reaction after so much labour, on finding that +Science does not yet calm our thirst for justice, our desire for +security, or our ancient idea of an eternal after-life of enjoyment. In +order, however, that Catholicism might be born anew, as some seem to +think it will be, the social soil would have to change, and it cannot +change; it no longer possesses the sap needful for the renewal of a +decaying formula which schools and laboratories destroy more and more +each day. The ground is other than it once was, a different oak must +spring from it. May Science therefore have her religion, for such a +religion will soon be the only one possible for the coming democracies, +for the nations, whose knowledge ever increases whilst their Catholic +faith is already nought but dust. + +And all at once, by way of conclusion, Pierre bethought himself of the +idiocy of the Congregation of the Index. It had condemned his book, and +would surely condemn the other one that he had thought of, should he ever +write it. A fine piece of work truly! To fall tooth and nail on the poor +books of an enthusiastic dreamer, in which chimera contended with +chimera! Yet the Congregation was so foolish as not to interdict that +little book which he held in his hands, that humble book which alone was +to be feared, which was the ever triumphant enemy that would surely +overthrow the Church. Modest it was in its cheap “get up” as a school +manual, 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 very +Creation, as described by Holy Writ, into question. However, the Index +dared not attempt to suppress those humble volumes, those terrible +soldiers of truth, those destroyers of faith. What was the use, then, of +all the money which Leo XIII drew from his hidden treasure of the Peter’s +Pence to subvention Catholic schools, with the thought of forming the +believing 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 the +purchase of similar insignificant yet formidable volumes, which could +never be sufficiently “cooked” and expurgated, but would always contain +too much Science, that growing Science which one day would blow up both +Vatican and St. Peter’s? Ah! that idiotic and impotent Index, what +wretchedness and what derision! + +Then, when Pierre had placed Théophile Morin’s book in his valise, he +once more returned to the window, and while leaning out, beheld an +extraordinary vision. Under the cloudy, coppery sky, in the mild and +mournful night, patches of wavy mist had risen, hiding many of the +house-roofs with trailing shreds which looked like shrouds. Entire +edifices had disappeared, and he imagined that the times were at last +accomplished, and that truth had at last destroyed St. Peter’s dome. In a +hundred or a thousand years, it would be like that, fallen, obliterated +from the black sky. One day, already, he had felt it tottering and +cracking beneath him, and had foreseen that this temple of Catholicism +would fall even as Jove’s temple had fallen on the Capitol. And it was +over now, the dome had strewn the ground with fragments, and all that +remained standing, in addition to a portion of the apse, where five +columns of the central nave, still upholding a shred of entablature, and +four cyclopean buttress-piers on which the dome had rested--piers which +still arose, isolated and superb, looking indestructible among all the +surrounding downfall. But a denser mist flowed past, another thousand +years no doubt went by, and then nothing whatever remained. The apse, the +last pillars, the giant piers themselves were felled! The wind had swept +away their dust, and it would have been necessary to search the soil +beneath the brambles and the nettles to find a few fragments of broken +statues, marbles with mutilated inscriptions, on the sense of which +learned men were unable to agree. And, as formerly, on the Capitol, among +the buried remnants of Jupiter’s temple, goats strayed and climbed +through the solitude, browsing upon the bushes, amidst the deep silence +of the oppressive summer sunlight, which only the buzzing flies +disturbed. + +Then, only then, did Pierre feel the supreme collapse within him. It was +really all over, Science was victorious, nothing of the old world +remained. What use would it be then to become the great schismatic, the +reformer who was awaited? Would it not simply mean the building up of a +new dream? Only the eternal struggle of Science against the Unknown, the +searching, pursuing inquiry which incessantly moderated man’s thirst for +the divine, now seemed to him of import, leaving him waiting to know if +she would ever triumph so completely as to suffice mankind, by satisfying +all its wants. And in the disaster which had overcome his apostolic +enthusiasm, in presence of all those ruins, having lost his faith, and +even his hope of utilising old Catholicism for social and moral +salvation, there only remained reason that held him up. She had at one +moment given way. If he had dreamt that book, and had just passed through +that terrible crisis, it was because sentiment had once again overcome +reason within him. It was his mother, so to say, who had wept in his +heart, who had filled him with an irresistible desire to relieve the +wretched and prevent the massacres which seemed near at hand; and his +passion for charity had thus swept aside the scruples of his +intelligence. But it was his father’s voice that he now heard, lofty and +bitter reason which, though it had fled, at present came back in all +sovereignty. As he had done already after Lourdes, he protested against +the glorification of the absurd and the downfall of common sense. Reason +alone enabled him to walk erect and firm among the remnants of the old +beliefs, even amidst the obscurities and failures of Science. Ah! Reason, +it was through her alone that he suffered, through her alone that he +could content himself, and he swore that he would now always seek to +satisfy 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 to +do. Everything remained in suspense, the world stretched before him still +littered with the ruins of the past, of which, to-morrow, it would +perhaps be rid. Yonder, in that dolorous faubourg of Paris, he would find +good Abbé Rose, who but a few days previously had written begging him to +return and tend, love, and save his poor, since Rome, so dazzling from +afar, was dead to charity. And around the good and peaceful old priest he +would find the ever growing flock of wretched ones; the little fledglings +who had fallen from their nests, and whom he found pale with hunger and +shivering with cold; the households of abominable misery in which the +father drank and the mother became a prostitute, while the sons and the +daughters sank into vice and crime; the dwellings, too, through which +famine swept, where all was filth and shameful promiscuity, where there +was neither furniture nor linen, nothing but purely animal life. And then +there would also come the cold blasts of winter, the disasters of slack +times, the hurricanes of consumption carrying off the weak, whilst the +strong clenched their fists and dreamt of vengeance. One evening, too, +perhaps, he might again enter some room of horror and find that another +mother had killed herself and her five little ones, her last-born in her +arms clinging to her drained breast, and the others scattered over the +bare tiles, at last contented, feeling hunger no more, now that they were +dead! But no, no, such awful things were no longer possible: such black +misery conducting to suicide in the heart of that great city of Paris, +which is brimful of wealth, intoxicated with enjoyment, and flings +millions out of window for mere pleasure! The very foundations of the +social edifice were rotten; all would soon collapse amidst mire and +blood. Never before had Pierre so acutely realised the derisive futility +of Charity. And all at once he became conscious that the long-awaited +word, the word which was at last springing from the great silent +multitude, the crushed and gagged people was _Justice_! Aye, Justice not +Charity! Charity had only served to perpetuate misery, Justice perhaps +would cure it. It was for Justice that the wretched hungered; an act of +Justice alone could sweep away the olden world so that the new one might +be reared. After all, the great silent multitude would belong neither to +Vatican nor to Quirinal, neither to pope nor to king. If it had covertly +growled through the ages in its long, sometimes mysterious, and sometimes +open contest; if it had struggled betwixt pontiff and emperor who each +had wished to retain it for himself alone, it had only done so in order +that it might free itself, proclaim its resolve to belong to none on the +day when it should cry Justice! Would to-morrow then at last prove that +day of Justice and Truth? For his part, Pierre amidst his anguish--having +on one hand that need of the divine which tortures man, and on the other +sovereignty of reason which enables man to remain erect--was only sure of +one thing, that he would keep his vows, continue a priest, watching over +the belief of others though he could not himself believe, and would thus +chastely and honestly follow his profession, amidst haughty sadness at +having been unable to renounce his intelligence in the same way as he had +renounced his flesh and his dream of saving the nations. And again, as +after Lourdes, he would wait. + +So deeply was he plunged in reflection at that window, face to face with +the mist which seemed to be destroying the dark edifices of Rome, that he +did not hear himself called. At last, however, he felt a tap on the +shoulder: “Monsieur l’Abbé!” And then as he turned he saw Victorine, who +said to him: “It is half-past nine; the cab is there. Giacomo has already +taken your luggage down. You must come away, Monsieur l’Abbé.” + +Then seeing him blink, still dazed as it were, she smiled and added: “You +were 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 to +be shared between herself and the other servants. And she apologised for +going down before him with the lamp, explaining that the old palace was +so dark that evening one could scarcely see. + +Ah! that departure, that last descent through the black and empty +mansion, it quite upset Pierre’s heart. He gave his room that glance of +farewell which always saddened him, even when he was leaving a spot where +he had suffered. Then, on passing Don Vigilio’s chamber, whence there +only came a quivering silence, he pictured the secretary with his head +buried in his pillows, holding his breath for fear lest he should speak +and attract vengeance. But it was in particular on the second and first +floor landings, on passing the closed doors of Donna Serafina and the +Cardinal, that Pierre quivered with apprehension at hearing nothing but +the silence of the grave. And as he followed Victorine, who, lamp in +hand, was still descending, he thought of the brother and sister who were +left alone in the ruined palace, last relics of a world which had half +passed away. All hope of life had departed with Benedetta and Dario, no +resurrection could come from that old maid and that priest who was bound +to chastity. Ah! those interminable and lugubrious passages, that frigid +and gigantic staircase which seemed to descend into nihility, those huge +halls with cracking walls where all was wretchedness and abandonment! And +that inner court, looking like a cemetery with its weeds and its damp +porticus, where remnants of Apollos and Venuses were rotting! And the +little deserted garden, fragrant with ripe oranges, whither nobody now +would ever stray, where none would ever meet that adorable Contessina +under the laurels near the sarcophagus! All was now annihilated in +abominable mourning, in a death-like silence, amidst which the two last +Boccaneras must wait, in savage grandeur, till their palace should fall +about their heads. Pierre could only just detect a faint sound, the +gnawing of a mouse perhaps, unless it were caused by Abbé Paparelli +attacking the walls of some out-of-the-way rooms, preying on the old +edifice down below, so as to hasten its fall. + +The cab stood at the door, already laden with the luggage, the box beside +the 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 the +foot-pavement. “Nothing has been forgotten. I’m glad to see you go off +comfortably.” + +And indeed at that last moment Pierre was comforted by the presence of +that worthy woman, his compatriot, who had greeted him on his arrival and +now attended his departure. “I won’t say ‘till we meet again,’ Monsieur +l’Abbé,” she exclaimed, “for I don’t fancy that you’ll soon be back in +this horrid city. Good-bye, Monsieur l’Abbé.” + +“Good-bye, Victorine, and thank you with all my heart.” + +The cab was already going off at a fast trot, turning into the narrow +sinuous street which leads to the Corso Vittoria Emanuele. It was not +raining and so the hood had not been raised, but although the damp +atmosphere was comparatively mild, Pierre at once felt a chill. However, +he was unwilling to stop the driver, a silent fellow whose only desire +seemingly was to get rid of his fare as soon as possible. When the cab +came out into the Corso Vittoria Emanuele, the young man was astonished +to find it already quite deserted, the houses shut, the footways bare, +and the electric lamps burning all alone in melancholy solitude. In +truth, however, the temperature was far from warm and the fog seemed to +be increasing, hiding the house-fronts more and more. When Pierre passed +the 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 Ara +Coeli, starred by a few smoky gas lamps, the Capitol had quite vanished +in the gloom. Then the thoroughfare narrowed, and the cab went on between +the dark heavy masses of the Gesù and the Altieri palace; and there in +that contracted passage, where even on fine sunny days one found all the +dampness of old times, the quivering priest yielded to a fresh train of +thought. It was an idea which had sometimes made him feel anxious, the +idea that mankind, starting from over yonder in Asia, had always marched +onward with the sun. An east wind had always carried the human seed for +future harvest towards the west. And for a long while now the cradle of +humanity had been stricken with destruction and death, as if indeed the +nations could only advance by stages, leaving exhausted soil, ruined +cities, and degenerate populations behind, as they marched from orient to +occident, towards their unknown goal. Nineveh and Babylon on the banks of +the Euphrates, Thebes and Memphis on the banks of the Nile, had been +reduced to dust, sinking from old age and weariness into a deadly +numbness beyond possibility of awakening. Then decrepitude had spread to +the shores of the great Mediterranean lake, burying both Tyre and Sidon +with dust, and afterwards striking Carthage with senility whilst it yet +seemed in full splendour. In this wise as mankind marched on, carried by +the hidden forces of civilisation from east to west, it marked each day’s +journey with ruins; and how frightful was the sterility nowadays +displayed by the cradle of History, that Asia and that Egypt, which had +once more lapsed into childhood, immobilised in ignorance and degeneracy +amidst the ruins of ancient cities that once had been queens of the +world! + +It was thus Pierre reflected as the cab rolled on. Still he was not +unconscious of his surroundings. As he passed the Palazzo di Venezia it +seemed to him to be crumbling beneath some assault of the invisible, for +the mist had already swept away its battlements, and the lofty, bare, +fearsome walls looked as if they were staggering from the onslaught of +the growing darkness. And after passing the deep gap of the Corso, which +was also deserted amidst the pallid radiance of its electric lights, the +Palazzo Torlonia appeared on the right-hand, with one wing ripped open by +the picks of demolishers, whilst on the left, farther up, the Palazzo +Colonna showed its long, mournful façade and closed windows, as if, now +that it was deserted by its masters and void of its ancient pomp, it +awaited the demolishers in its turn. + +Then, as the cab at a slower pace began to climb the ascent of the Via +Nazionale, Pierre’s reverie continued. Was not Rome also stricken, had +not the hour come for her to disappear amidst that destruction which the +nations on the march invariably left behind them? Greece, Athens, and +Sparta slumbered beneath their glorious memories, and were of no account +in the world of to-day. Moreover, the growing paralysis had already +invaded the lower portion of the Italic peninsula; and after Naples +certainly came the turn of Rome. She was on the very margin of the death +spot which ever extends over the old continent, that margin where agony +begins, where the impoverished soil will no longer nourish and support +cities, where men themselves seem stricken with old age as soon as they +are born. For two centuries Rome had been declining, withdrawing little +by little from modern life, having neither manufactures nor trade, and +being incapable even of science, literature, or art. And in Pierre’s +thoughts it was no longer St. Peter’s only that fell, but all +Rome--basilicas, palaces, and entire districts--which collapsed amidst a +supreme rending, and covered the seven hills with a chaos of ruins. Like +Nineveh and Babylon, and like Thebes and Memphis, Rome became but a +plain, bossy with remnants, amidst which one vainly sought to identify +the sites of ancient edifices, whilst its sole denizens were coiling +serpents and bands of rats. + +The cab turned, and on the right, in a huge gap of darkness Pierre +recognised Trajan’s column, but it was no longer gilded by the sun as +when he had first seen it; it now rose up blackly like the dead trunk of +a giant tree whose branches have fallen from old age. And farther on, +when he raised his eyes while crossing the little triangular piazza, and +perceived a real tree against the leaden sky, that parasol pine of the +Villa Aldobrandini which rises there like a symbol of Rome’s grace and +pride, it seemed to him but a smear, a little cloud of soot ascending +from the downfall of the whole city. + +With the anxious, fraternal turn of his feelings, fear was coming over +him as he reached the end of his tragic dream. When the numbness which +spreads across the aged world should have passed Rome, when Lombardy +should have yielded to it, and Genoa, Turin, and Milan should have fallen +asleep as Venice has fallen already, then would come the turn of France. +The Alps would be crossed, Marseilles, like Tyre and Sidon, would see its +port choked up by sand, Lyons would sink into desolation and slumber, and +at last Paris, invaded by the invincible torpor, and transformed into a +sterile waste of stones bristling with nettles, would join Rome and +Nineveh and Babylon in death, whilst the nations continued their march +from orient to occident following the sun. A great cry sped through the +gloom, the death cry of the Latin races! History, which seemed to have +been born in the basin of the Mediterranean, was being transported +elsewhere, and the ocean had now become the centre of the world. How many +hours of the human day had gone by? Had mankind, starting from its cradle +over yonder at daybreak, strewing its road with ruins from stage to +stage, now accomplished one-half of its day and reached the dazzling hour +of noon? If so, then the other half of the day allotted to it was +beginning, the new world was following the old one, the new world of +those American cities where democracy was forming and the religion of +to-morrow was sprouting, those sovereign queens of the coming century, +with yonder, across another ocean, on the other side of the globe, that +motionless Far East, mysterious China and Japan, and all the threatening +swarm 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 lighter +atmosphere, and he came back into a renewal of hope and courage. Yet the +Banca d’Italia, with its brand-new ugliness, its chalky hugeness, looked +to him like a phantom in a shroud; whilst above a dim expanse of gardens +the Quirinal formed but a black streak barring the heavens. However, the +street ever ascended and broadened, and on the summit of the Viminal, on +the 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 not +finish, it was eternal, and the stages of civilisation would follow and +follow without end! What mattered that eastern wind which carried the +nations towards the west, as if borne on by the power of the sun! If +necessary, they would return across the other side of the globe, they +would again and again make the circuit of the earth, until the day should +come when they could establish themselves in peace, truth, and justice. +After the next civilisation on the shores of the Atlantic, which would +become the world’s centre, skirted by queenly cities, there would spring +up yet another civilisation, having the Pacific for its centre, with +seaport capitals that could not be yet foreseen, whose germs yet +slumbered on unknown shores. And in like way there would be still other +civilisations and still others! And at that last moment, the inspiriting +thought came to Pierre that the great movement of the nations was the +instinct, the need which impelled them to return to unity. Originating in +one sole family, afterwards parted and dispersed in tribes, thrown into +collision by fratricidal hatred, their tendency was none the less to +become one sole family again. The provinces united in nations, the +nations would unite in races, and the races would end by uniting in one +immortal mankind--mankind at last without frontiers, or possibility of +wars, mankind living by just labour amidst an universal commonwealth. Was +not this indeed the evolution, the object of the labour progressing +everywhere, the finish reserved to History? Might Italy then become a +strong and healthy nation, might concord be established between her and +France, and might that fraternity of the Latin races become the beginning +of universal fraternity! Ah! that one fatherland, the whole earth +pacified and happy, in how many centuries would that come--and what a +dream! + +Then, on reaching the station the scramble prevented Pierre from thinking +any further. He had to take his ticket and register his luggage, and +afterwards he at once climbed into the train. At dawn on the next day but +one, he would be back in Paris. + + +END + + ***** + + + + + +PARIS + +FROM THE THREE CITIES + + +By Émile Zola + + +Translated By Ernest A. Vizetelly + + + + +BOOK I. + + + + +TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE + +WITH the present work M. Zola completes the “Trilogy of the Three +Cities,” which he began with “Lourdes” and continued with “Rome”; and +thus the adventures and experiences of Abbé Pierre Froment, the doubting +Catholic priest who failed to find faith at the miraculous grotto by the +Cave, and hope amidst the crumbling theocracy of the Vatican, are here +brought to what, from M. Zola’s point of view, is their logical +conclusion. From the first pages of “Lourdes,” many readers will have +divined that Abbé 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 essentially +symbolical. Abbé Froment is Man, and his struggles are the struggles +between Religion, as personified by the Roman Catholic Church, on the one +hand, and Reason and Life on the other. In the Abbé’s case the victory +ultimately rests with the latter; and we may take it as being M. Zola’s +opinion that the same will eventually be the case with the great bulk of +mankind. English writers are often accused of treating subjects from an +insular point of view, and certainly there may be good ground for such a +charge. But they are not the only writers guilty of the practice. The +purview of French authors is often quite as limited: they regard French +opinion as the only good opinion, and judge the rest of the world by +their own standard. In the present case, if we leave the world and +mankind generally on one side, and apply M. Zola’s facts and theories to +France alone, it will be found, I think, that he has made out a +remarkably good case for himself. For it is certain that Catholicism, I +may say Christianity, is fast crumbling in France. There may be revivals +in certain limited circles, efforts of the greatest energy to prop up the +tottering edifice by a “rallying” of believers to the democratic cause, +and by a kindling of the most bitter anti-Semitic warfare; but all these +revivals and efforts, although they are extremely well-advertised and +create no little stir, produce very little impression on the bulk of the +population. So far as France is concerned, the policy of Leo XIII. seems +to have come too late. The French masses regard Catholicism or +Christianity, whichever one pleases, as a religion of death,--a religion +which, taking its stand on the text “There shall always be poor among +you,” condemns them to toil and moil in poverty and distress their whole +life long, with no other consolation than the promise of happiness in +heaven. And, on the other hand, they see the ministers of the Deity, +“whose kingdom is not of this world,” supporting the wealthy and +powerful, and striving to secure wealth and power for themselves. Charity +exists, of course, but the masses declare that it is no remedy; they do +not ask for doles, they ask for Justice. It is largely by reason of all +this that Socialism and Anarchism have made such great strides in France +of recent years. Robespierre, as will be remembered, once tried to +suppress Christianity altogether, and for a time certainly there was a +virtually general cessation of religious observances in France. But no +such Reign of Terror prevails there to-day. Men are perfectly free to +believe if they are inclined to do so; and yet never were there fewer +religious marriages, fewer baptisms or smaller congregations in the +French churches. I refer not merely to Paris and other large cities, but +to the smaller towns, and even the little hamlets of many parts. Old +village priests, men practising what they teach and possessed of the most +loving, benevolent hearts, have told me with tears in their eyes of the +growing infidelity of their parishioners. + +I have been studying this matter for some years, and write without +prejudice, merely setting down what I believe to be the truth. Of course +we are all aware that the most stupendous efforts are being made by the +Catholic clergy and zealous believers to bring about a revival of the +faith, 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, in +my own opinion, as in M. Zola’s, France as a whole is lost to the +Christian religion. On this proposition, combined with a second one, +namely, that even as France as a nation will be the first to discard +Christianity, so she will be the first to promulgate a new faith based on +reason, science and the teachings of life, is founded the whole argument +of M. Zola’s Trilogy. + +Having thus dealt with the Trilogy’s religious aspects, I would now speak +of “Paris,” its concluding volume. This is very different from “Lourdes” + and “Rome.” Whilst recounting the struggles and fate of Abbé Froment and +his brother Guillaume, and entering largely into the problem of Capital +and Labour, which problem has done so much to turn the masses away from +Christianity, it contains many an interesting and valuable picture of the +Parisian world at the close of the nineteenth century. It is no +guide-book to Paris; but it paints the city’s social life, its rich and +poor, its scandals and crimes, its work and its pleasures. Among the +households to which the reader is introduced are those of a banker, an +aged Countess of the old _noblesse_, a cosmopolitan Princess, of a kind +that Paris knows only too well, a scientist, a manufacturer, a working +mechanician, a priest, an Anarchist, a petty clerk and an actress of a +class that so often dishonours the French stage. Science and art and +learning and religion, all have their representatives. Then, too, the +political world is well to the front. There are honest and unscrupulous +Ministers of State, upright and venal deputies, enthusiastic and cautious +candidates for power, together with social theoreticians of various +schools. And the _blasé_, weak-minded man of fashion is here, as well as +the young “symbolist” of perverted, degraded mind. The women are of all +types, from the most loathsome to the most lovable. Then, too, the +journalists are portrayed in such life-like fashion that I might give +each of them his real name. And journalism, Parisian journalism, is +flagellated, shown as it really is,--if just a few well-conducted organs +be excepted,--that is, venal and impudent, mendacious and even petty. + +The actual scenes depicted are quite as kaleidoscopic as are the +characters in their variety. We enter the banker’s gilded saloon and the +hovel of the pauper, the busy factory, the priest’s retired home and the +laboratory of the scientist. We wait in the lobbies of the Chamber of +Deputies, and afterwards witness “a great debate”; we penetrate into the +private sanctum of a Minister of the Interior; we attend a fashionable +wedding at the Madeleine and a first performance at the Comédie +Française; we dine at the Cafe Anglais and listen to a notorious vocalist +in a low music hall at Montmartre; we pursue an Anarchist through the +Bois de Boulogne; we slip into the Assize Court and see that Anarchist +tried there; we afterwards gaze upon his execution by the guillotine; we +are also on the boulevards when the lamps are lighted for a long night of +revelry, and we stroll along the quiet streets in the small hours of the +morning, 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 for +the stage; as, for instance, Baroness Duvillard’s interview with her +daughter in the chapter which I have called “The Rivals.” And side by +side with baseness there is heroism, while beauty of the flesh finds its +counterpart in beauty of the mind. M. Zola has often been reproached for +showing us the vileness of human nature; and no doubt such vileness may +be found in “Paris,” but there are contrasting pictures. If some of M. +Zola’s characters horrify the reader, there are others that the latter +can but admire. Life is compounded of good and evil, and unfortunately it +is usually the evil that makes the most noise and attracts the most +attention. Moreover, in M. Zola’s case, it has always been his purpose to +expose the evils from which society suffers in the hope of directing +attention to them and thereby hastening a remedy, and thus, in the course +of his works, he could not do otherwise than drag the whole frightful +mass of human villany and degradation into the full light of day. But if +there 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 readers +will, I imagine, agree with his opinion that, despite much social +injustice, much crime, vice, cupidity and baseness, we are ever marching +on to better things. + +In the making of the coming, though still far-away, era of truth and +justice, Paris, he thinks, will play the leading part, for whatever the +stains upon her, they are but surface-deep; her heart remains good and +sound; she has genius and courage and energy and wit and fancy. She can +be generous, too, when she chooses, and more than once her ideas have +irradiated the world. Thus M. Zola hopes much from her, and who will +gainsay him? Not I, who can apply to her the words which Byron addressed +to 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 I +struggled and found love and happiness, whose every woe and disaster and +triumph I have shared for over thirty years, may, however dark the clouds +that still pass over her, some day fully justify M. Zola’s confidence, +and bring to pass his splendid dream of perfect truth and perfect +justice. + +E. A. V. + +MERTON, SURREY, ENGLAND, + +Feb. 5, 1898. + + + + + +I. THE PRIEST AND THE POOR + +THAT morning, one towards the end of January, Abbé Pierre Froment, who +had 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 in +he 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 a +mournful, quivering thaw. From the far-spreading, leaden-hued heavens a +thick mist fell like a mourning shroud. All the eastern portion of the +city, the abodes of misery and toil, seemed submerged beneath ruddy +steam, amid which the panting of workshops and factories could be +divined; while westwards, towards the districts of wealth and enjoyment, +the fog broke and lightened, becoming but a fine and motionless veil of +vapour. The curved line of the horizon could scarcely be divined, the +expanse 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 the +loftier 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 its +immensity concealed. + +Thin and sombre in his flimsy cassock, Pierre was looking on when Abbé +Rose, who seemed to have sheltered himself behind a pillar of the porch +on purpose to watch for him, came forward: “Ah! it’s you at last, my dear +child,” said he, “I have something to ask you.” + +He seemed embarrassed and anxious, and glanced round distrustfully to +make sure that nobody was near. Then, as if the solitude thereabouts did +not suffice to reassure him, he led Pierre some distance away, through +the icy, biting wind, which he himself did not seem to feel. “This is the +matter,” he resumed, “I have been told that a poor fellow, a former +house-painter, an old man of seventy, who naturally can work no more, is +dying of hunger in a hovel in the Rue des Saules. So, my dear child, I +thought of you. I thought you would consent to take him these three +francs from me, so that he may at least have some bread to eat for a few +days.” + +“But why don’t you take him your alms yourself?” + +At this Abbé Rose again grew anxious, and cast vague, frightened glances +about him. “Oh, no, oh, no!” he said, “I can no longer do that after all +the worries that have befallen me. You know that I am watched, and should +get another scolding if I were caught giving alms like this, scarcely +knowing to whom I give them. It is true that I had to sell something to +get these three francs. But, my dear child, render me this service, I +pray you.” + +Pierre, with heart oppressed, stood contemplating the old priest, whose +locks were quite white, whose full lips spoke of infinite kindliness, and +whose eyes shone clear and childlike in his round and smiling face. And +he bitterly recalled the story of that lover of the poor, the +semi-disgrace into which he had fallen through the sublime candour of his +charitable goodness. His little ground-floor of the Rue de Charonne, +which he had turned into a refuge where he offered shelter to all the +wretchedness of the streets, had ended by giving cause for scandal. His +_naïveté_ and innocence had been abused; and abominable things had gone +on under his roof without his knowledge. Vice had turned the asylum into +a meeting-place; and at last, one night, the police had descended upon it +to arrest a young girl accused of infanticide. Greatly concerned by this +scandal, the diocesan authorities had forced Abbé Rose to close his +shelter, and had removed him from the church of Ste. Marguerite to that +of St. Pierre of Montmartre, where he now again acted as curate. Truth to +tell, it was not a disgrace but a removal to another spot. However, he +had been scolded and was watched, as he said; and he was much ashamed of +it, and very unhappy at being only able to give alms by stealth, much +like some harebrained prodigal who blushes for his faults. + +Pierre took the three francs. “I promise to execute your commission, my +friend, oh! with all my heart,” he said. + +“You will go after your mass, won’t you? His name is Laveuve, he lives in +the Rue des Saules in a house with a courtyard, just before reaching the +Rue Marcadet. You are sure to find it. And if you want to be very kind +you will tell me of your visit this evening at five o’clock, at the +Madeleine, where I am going to hear Monseigneur Martha’s address. He has +been so good to me! Won’t you also come to hear him?” + +Pierre made an evasive gesture. Monseigneur Martha, Bishop of Persepolis +and all powerful at the archiepiscopal palace, since, like the genial +propagandist he was, he had been devoting himself to increasing the +subscriptions for the basilica of the Sacred Heart, had indeed supported +Abbé Rose; in fact, it was by his influence that the abbé had been kept +in 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, “but +in any case I will go there to meet you.” + +The north wind was blowing, and the gloomy cold penetrated both of them +on that deserted summit amidst the fog which changed the vast city into a +misty ocean. However, some footsteps were heard, and Abbé Rose, again +mistrustful, saw a man go by, a tall and sturdy man, who wore clogs and +was bareheaded, showing his thick and closely-cut white hair. “Is not +that your brother?” asked the old priest. + +Pierre had not stirred. “Yes, it is my brother Guillaume,” he quietly +responded. “I have found him again since I have been coming occasionally +to the Sacred Heart. He owns a house close by, where he has been living +for more than twenty years, I think. When we meet we shake hands, but I +have never even been to his house. Oh! all is quite dead between us, we +have nothing more in common, we are parted by worlds.” + +Abbé Rose’s tender smile again appeared, and he waved his hand as if to +say that one must never despair of love. Guillaume Froment, a savant of +lofty intelligence, a chemist who lived apart from others, like one who +rebelled against the social system, was now a parishioner of the abbé’s, +and when the latter passed the house where Guillaume lived with his three +sons--a house all alive with work--he must often have dreamt of leading +him back to God. + +“But, my dear child,” he resumed, “I am keeping you here in this dark +cold, and you are not warm. Go and say your mass. Till this evening, at +the Madeleine.” Then, in entreating fashion, after again making sure that +none 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 be +said 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 grow +thicker under the gusts of the icy north wind. And at last Pierre entered +the basilica, his heart upset, overflowing with the bitterness stirred up +by the recollection of Abbé Rose’s story--that bankruptcy of charity, the +frightful irony of a holy man punished for bestowing alms, and hiding +himself that he might still continue to bestow them. Nothing could calm +the smart of the wound reopened in Pierre’s heart--neither the warm +peacefulness into which he entered, nor the silent solemnity of the +broad, deep fabric, whose new stonework was quite bare, without a single +painting or any kind of decoration; the nave being still half-barred by +the scaffoldings which blocked up the unfinished dome. At that early hour +the masses of entreaty had already been said at several altars, under the +grey light falling from the high and narrow windows, and the tapers of +entreaty were burning in the depths of the apse. So Pierre made haste to +go to the sacristy, there to assume his vestments in order that he might +say his mass in the chapel of St. Vincent de Paul. + +But the floodgates of memory had been opened, and he had no thought but +for his distress whilst, in mechanical fashion, he performed the rites +and made the customary gestures. Since his return from Rome three years +previously, he had been living in the very worst anguish that can fall on +man. At the outset, in order to recover his lost faith, he had essayed a +first experiment: he had gone to Lourdes, there to seek the innocent +belief of the child who kneels and prays, the primitive faith of young +nations bending beneath the terror born of ignorance; but he had rebelled +yet more than ever in presence of what he had witnessed at Lourdes: that +glorification of the absurd, that collapse of common sense; and was +convinced that salvation, the peace of men and nations nowadays, could +not lie in that puerile relinquishment of reason. And afterwards, again +yielding to the need of loving whilst yet allowing reason, so hard to +satisfy, her share in his intellect, he had staked his final peace on a +second experiment, and had gone to Rome to see if Catholicism could there +be renewed, could revert to the spirit of primitive Christianity and +become the religion of the democracy, the faith which the modern world, +upheaving and in danger of death, was awaiting in order to calm down and +live. And he had found there naught but ruins, the rotted trunk of a tree +that could never put forth another springtide; and he had heard there +naught but the supreme rending of the old social edifice, near to its +fall. Then it was, that, relapsing into boundless doubt, total negation, +he had been recalled to Paris by Abbé Rose, in the name of their poor, +and had returned thither that he might forget and immolate himself and +believe in them--the poor--since they and their frightful sufferings +alone remained certain. And then it was too, that for three years he came +into 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 forever +dead; dead, too, even his hope of utilising the faith of the multitudes +for the general salvation. He denied everything, he anticipated nothing +but the final, inevitable catastrophe: revolt, massacre and +conflagration, 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 the +thought that he had been unable to renounce his mind as he had renounced +his flesh and his dream of being a saviour of the nations, he withal +remained erect, full of fierce yet solitary grandeur. And this +despairing, denying priest, who had dived to the bottom of nothingness, +retained such a lofty and grave demeanour, perfumed by such pure +kindness, that in his parish of Neuilly he had acquired the reputation of +being a young saint, one beloved by Providence, whose prayers wrought +miracles. He was but a personification of the rules of the Church; of the +priest he retained only the gestures; he was like an empty sepulchre in +which not even the ashes of hope remained; yet grief-stricken weeping +women worshipped him and kissed his cassock; and it was a tortured mother +whose infant was in danger of death, who had implored him to come and ask +that infant’s cure of Jesus, certain as she felt that Jesus would grant +her the boon in that sanctuary of Montmartre where blazed the prodigy of +His heart, all burning with love. + +Clad in his vestments, Pierre had reached the chapel of St. Vincent de +Paul. He there ascended the altar-step and began the mass; and when he +turned round with hands spread out to bless the worshippers he showed his +hollow cheeks, his gentle mouth contracted by bitterness, his loving eyes +darkened by suffering. He was no longer the young priest whose +countenance had glowed with tender fever on the road to Lourdes, whose +face had been illumined by apostolic fervour when he started for Rome. +The two hereditary influences which were ever at strife within him--that +of his father to whom he owed his impregnable, towering brow, that of his +mother who had given him his love-thirsting lips, were still waging war, +the whole human battle of sentiment and reason, in that now ravaged face +of his, whither in moments of forgetfulness ascended all the chaos of +internal suffering. The lips still confessed that unquenched thirst for +love, self-bestowal and life, which he well thought he could nevermore +content, whilst the solid brow, the citadel which made him suffer, +obstinately refused to capitulate, whatever might be the assaults of +error. But he stiffened himself, hid the horror of the void in which he +struggled, and showed himself superb, making each gesture, repeating each +word in sovereign fashion. And gazing at him through her tears, the +mother who was there among the few kneeling women, the mother who awaited +a supreme intercession from him, who thought him in communion with Jesus +for the salvation of her child, beheld him radiant with angelic beauty +like some messenger of the divine grace. + +When, after the offertory, Pierre uncovered the chalice he felt contempt +for himself. The shock had been too great, and he thought of those things +in spite of all. What puerility there had been in his two experiments at +Lourdes and Rome, the _naïveté_ of a poor distracted being, consumed by +desire to love and believe. To have imagined that present-day science +would in his person accommodate itself to the faith of the year One +Thousand, and in particular to have foolishly believed that he, petty +priest that he was, would be able to indoctrinate the Pope and prevail on +him to become a saint and change the face of the world! It all filled him +with shame; how people must have laughed at him! Then, too, his idea of a +schism made him blush. He again beheld himself at Rome, dreaming of +writing a book by which he would violently sever himself from Catholicism +to preach the new religion of the democracies, the purified, human and +living Gospel. But what ridiculous folly! A schism? He had known in Paris +an abbé of great heart and mind who had attempted to bring about that +famous, predicted, awaited schism. Ah! the poor man, the sad, the +ludicrous labour in the midst of universal incredulity, the icy +indifference of some, the mockery and the reviling of others! If Luther +were to come to France in our days he would end, forgotten and dying of +hunger, on a Batignolles fifth-floor. A schism cannot succeed among a +people that no longer believes, that has ceased to take all interest in +the Church, and sets its hope elsewhere. And it was all Catholicism, in +fact all Christianity, that would be swept away, for, apart from certain +moral maxims, the Gospel no longer supplied a possible code for society. +And this conviction increased Pierre’s torment on the days when his +cassock weighed more heavily on his shoulders, when he ended by feeling +contempt 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 his +hands and again perceived the mother with her face of ardent entreaty. +Then he thought it was for her that, with the charitable leanings of a +vow-bound man, he had remained a priest, a priest without belief, feeding +the belief of others with the bread of illusion. But this heroic conduct, +the haughty spirit of duty in which he imprisoned himself, was not +practised by him without growing anguish. Did not elementary probity +require that he should cast aside the cassock and return into the midst +of men? At certain times the falsity of his position filled him with +disgust for his useless heroism; and he asked himself if it were not +cowardly and dangerous to leave the masses in superstition. Certainly the +theory of a just and vigilant Providence, of a future paradise where all +these sufferings of the world would receive compensation, had long seemed +necessary to the wretchedness of mankind; but what a trap lay in it, what +a pretext for the tyrannical grinding down of nations; and how far more +virile it would be to undeceive the nations, however brutally, and give +them courage to live the real life, even if it were in tears. If they +were already turning aside from Christianity was not this because they +needed a more human ideal, a religion of health and joy which should not +be a religion of death? On the day when the idea of charity should +crumble, Christianity would crumble also, for it was built upon the idea +of divine charity correcting the injustice of fate, and offering future +rewards to those who might suffer in this life. And it was crumbling; for +the poor no longer believed in it, but grew angry at the thought of that +deceptive paradise, with the promise of which their patience had been +beguiled so long, and demanded that their share of happiness should not +always be put off until the morrow of death. A cry for justice arose from +every lip, for justice upon this earth, justice for those who hunger and +thirst, whom alms are weary of relieving after eighteen hundred years of +Gospel teaching, and who still and ever lack bread to eat. + +When Pierre, with his elbows on the altar, had emptied the chalice after +breaking the sacred wafer, he felt himself sinking into yet greater +distress. And so a third experiment was beginning for him, the supreme +battle of justice against charity, in which his heart and his mind would +struggle together in that great Paris, so full of terrible, unknown +things. The need for the divine still battled within him against +domineering intelligence. How among the masses would one ever be able to +content the thirst for the mysterious? Leaving the _élite_ on one side, +would science suffice to pacify desire, lull suffering, and satisfy the +dream? And what would become of himself in the bankruptcy of that same +charity, which for three years had alone kept him erect by occupying his +every hour, and giving him the illusion of self-devotion, of being useful +to others? It seemed, all at once, as if the ground sank beneath him, and +he heard nothing save the cry of the masses, silent so long, but now +demanding justice, growling and threatening to take their share, which +was withheld from them by force and ruse. Nothing more, it seemed, could +delay the inevitable catastrophe, the fratricidal class warfare that +would sweep away the olden world, which was condemned to disappear +beneath the mountain of its crimes. Every hour with frightful sadness he +expected the collapse, Paris steeped in blood, Paris in flames. And his +horror of all violence froze him; he knew not where to seek the new +belief which might dissipate the peril. Fully conscious, though he was, +that the social and religious problems are but one, and are alone in +question in the dreadful daily labour of Paris, he was too deeply +troubled himself, too far removed from ordinary things by his position as +a priest, and too sorely rent by doubt and powerlessness to tell as yet +where might be truth, and health, and life. Ah! to be healthy and to +live, 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 the +weeping mother, near whom he passed, caught hold of a corner of the +chasuble with her trembling hands, and kissed it with wild fervour, as +one may kiss some relic of a saint from whom one expects salvation. She +thanked him for the miracle which he must have accomplished, certain as +she felt that she would find her child cured. And he was deeply stirred +by that love, that ardent faith of hers, in spite of the sudden and yet +keener distress which he felt at being in no wise the sovereign minister +that she thought him, the minister able to obtain a respite from Death. +But he dismissed her consoled and strengthened, and it was with an ardent +prayer that he entreated the unknown but conscious Power to succour the +poor creature. Then, when he had divested himself in the sacristy, and +found himself again out of doors before the basilica, lashed by the keen +wintry wind, a mortal shiver came upon him, and froze him, while through +the mist he looked to see if a whirlwind of anger and justice had not +swept Paris away: that catastrophe which must some day destroy it, +leaving under the leaden heavens only the pestilential quagmire of its +ruins. + +Pierre wished to fulfil Abbé Rose’s commission immediately. He followed +the Rue des Norvins, on the crest of Montmartre; and, reaching the Rue +des Saules, descended by its steep slope, between mossy walls, to the +other side of Paris. The three francs which he was holding in his +cassock’s pocket, filled him at once with gentle emotion and covert anger +against the futility of charity. But as he gradually descended by the +sharp declivities and interminable storeys of steps, the mournful nooks +of misery which he espied took possession of him, and infinite pity wrung +his heart. A whole new district was here being built alongside the broad +thoroughfares opened since the great works of the Sacred Heart had begun. +Lofty middle-class houses were already rising among ripped-up gardens and +plots of vacant land, still edged with palings. And these houses with +their substantial frontages, all new and white, lent a yet more sombre +and leprous aspect to such of the old shaky buildings as remained, the +low pot-houses with blood-coloured walls, the _cités_ of workmen’s +dwellings, those abodes of suffering with black, soiled buildings in +which human cattle were piled. Under the low-hanging sky that day, the +pavement, dented by heavily-laden carts, was covered with mud; the thaw +soaked the walls with an icy dampness, whilst all the filth and +destitution brought terrible sadness to the heart. + +After going as far as the Rue Marcadet, Pierre retraced his steps; and in +the Rue des Saules, certain that he was not mistaken, he entered the +courtyard of a kind of barracks or hospital, encompassed by three +irregular buildings. This court was a quagmire, where filth must have +accumulated during the two months of terrible frost; and now all was +melting, and an abominable stench arose. The buildings were half falling, +the gaping vestibules looked like cellar holes, strips of paper streaked +the cracked and filthy window-panes, and vile rags hung about like flags +of death. Inside a shanty which served as the door-keeper’s abode Pierre +only saw an infirm man rolled up in a tattered strip of what had once +been a horse-cloth. + +“You have an old workman named Laveuve here,” said the priest. “Which +staircase 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 the +priest waited; then seeing a little girl on the other side of the +courtyard, 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 about +her meagre figure, stood there shivering, her hands covered with +chilblains. She raised her delicate face, which looked pretty though +nipped 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 her +poor, numbed and disfigured hands. Then, when the priest had given her a +little bit of silver, she began to prance through the mud like a joyful +goat, singing the while in a shrill voice: “Don’t know, don’t know.” + +Pierre decided to follow her. She vanished into one of the gaping +vestibules, and, in her rear, he climbed a dark and fetid staircase, +whose steps were half-broken and so slippery, on account of the vegetable +parings strewn over them, that he had to avail himself of the greasy rope +by which the inmates hoisted themselves upwards. But every door was +closed; he vainly knocked at several of them, and only elicited, at the +last, a stifled growl, as though some despairing animal were confined +within. Returning to the yard, he hesitated, then made his way to another +staircase, where he was deafened by piercing cries, as of a child who is +being butchered. He climbed on hearing this noise and at last found +himself in front of an open room where an infant, who had been left +alone, tied in his little chair, in order that he might not fall, was +howling 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 on +being questioned by him she gazed distrustfully at his cassock. “Laveuve, +Laveuve? I can’t say,” she replied. “If the door-keeper were there, she +might be able to tell you. There are five staircases, you see, and we +don’t all know each other. Besides, there are so many changes. Still try +over there; at the far end.” + +The staircase at the back of the yard was yet more abominable than the +others, its steps warped, its walls slimy, as if soaked with the sweat of +anguish. At each successive floor the drain-sinks exhaled a pestilential +stench, whilst from every lodging came moans, or a noise of quarrelling, +or some frightful sign of misery. A door swung open, and a man appeared +dragging a woman by the hair whilst three youngsters sobbed aloud. On the +next floor, Pierre caught a glimpse of a room where a young girl in her +teens, racked by coughing, was hastily carrying an infant to and fro to +quiet it, in despair that all the milk of her breast should be exhausted. +Then, in an adjoining lodging, came the poignant spectacle of three +beings, half clad in shreds, apparently sexless and ageless, who, amidst +the dire bareness of their room, were gluttonously eating from the same +earthen pan some pottage which even dogs would have refused. They barely +raised 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 the +entry of a passage, it occurred to him to make a last try by knocking at +the door. It was opened by a woman whose uncombed hair was already +getting grey, though she could not be more than forty; while her pale +lips, and dim eyes set in a yellow countenance, expressed utter +lassitude, the shrinking, the constant dread of one whom wretchedness has +pitilessly assailed. The sight of Pierre’s cassock disturbed her, and she +stammered anxiously: “Come in, come in, Monsieur l’Abbé.” + +However, a man whom Pierre had not at first seen--a workman also of some +forty years, tall, thin and bald, with scanty moustache and beard of a +washed-out reddish hue--made an angry gesture--a threat as it were--to +turn the priest out of doors. But he calmed himself, sat down near a +rickety table and pretended to turn his back. And as there was also a +child present--a fair-haired girl, eleven or twelve years old, with a +long and gentle face and that intelligent and somewhat aged expression +which great misery imparts to children--he called her to him, and held +her between his knees, doubtless to keep her away from the man in the +cassock. + +Pierre--whose heart was oppressed by his reception, and who realised the +utter destitution of this family by the sight of the bare, fireless room, +and the distressed mournfulness of its three inmates--decided all the +same to repeat his question: “Madame, do you know an old workman named +Laveuve in the house?” + +The woman--who now trembled at having admitted him, since it seemed to +displease 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 keep +her tongue still: “I say, mamma Théodore, it’s p’raps the Philosopher.” + +“A former house-painter,” continued Pierre, “an old man who is ill and +past work.” + +Madame Théodore was at once enlightened. “In that case it’s him, it’s +him. We call him the Philosopher, a nickname folks have given him in the +neighbourhood. But there’s nothing to prevent his real name from being +Laveuve.” + +With one of his fists raised towards the ceiling, Salvat seemed to be +protesting against the abomination of a world and a Providence that +allowed 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 priest +arrived. He was a journeyman engineer, and gazed obstinately at the table +where lay his little leather tool-bag, bulging with something it +contained--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 a +vain search for any kind of work during the two previous months of that +terrible winter. Or perhaps it was the coming bloody reprisals of the +starvelings that occupied the fiery reverie which set his large, strange, +vague blue eyes aglow. All at once he noticed that his daughter had taken +up 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 with +sudden emotion, which made him turn pale. “Céline, you must leave that +alone. I forbade you to touch my tools,” said he; then taking the bag, he +deposited it with great precaution against the wall behind him. + +“And so, madame,” asked Pierre, “this man Laveuve lives on this floor?” + +Madame Théodore directed a timid, questioning glance at Salvat. She was +not in favour of hustling priests when they took the trouble to call, for +at times there was a little money to be got from them. And when she +realised 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’Abbé is agreeable, I will conduct him. It’s just at the +end of the passage. But one must know the way, for there are still some +steps to climb.” + +Céline, finding a pastime in this visit, escaped from her father’s knees +and likewise accompanied the priest. And Salvat remained alone in that +den of poverty and suffering, injustice and anger, without a fire, +without bread, haunted by his burning dream, his eyes again fixed upon +his bag, as if there, among his tools, he possessed the wherewithal to +heal the ailing world. + +It indeed proved necessary to climb a few more steps; and then, following +Madame Théodore and Céline, Pierre found himself in a kind of narrow +garret under the roof, a loft a few yards square, where one could not +stand erect. There was no window, only a skylight, and as the snow still +covered it one had to leave the door wide open in order that one might +see. And the thaw was entering the place, the melting snow was falling +drop by drop, and coming over the tiled floor. After long weeks of +intense cold, dark dampness rained quivering over all. And there, lacking +even a chair, even a plank, Laveuve lay in a corner on a little pile of +filthy rags spread upon the bare tiles; he looked like some animal dying +on a dung-heap. + +“There!” said Céline in her sing-song voice, “there he is, that’s the +Philosopher!” + +Madame Théodore had bent down to ascertain if he still lived. “Yes, he +breathes; he’s sleeping I think. Oh! if he only had something to eat +every day, he would be well enough. But what would you have? He has +nobody left him, and when one gets to seventy the best is to throw +oneself into the river. In the house-painting line it often happens that +a man has to give up working on ladders and scaffoldings at fifty. He at +first found some work to do on the ground level. Then he was lucky enough +to get a job as night watchman. But that’s over, he’s been turned away +from everywhere, and, for two months now, he’s been lying in this nook +waiting to die. The landlord hasn’t dared to fling him into the street as +yet, though not for want of any inclination that way. We others sometimes +bring him a little wine and a crust, of course; but when one has nothing +oneself, how can one give to others?” + +Pierre, terrified, gazed at that frightful remnant of humanity, that +remnant into which fifty years of toil, misery and social injustice had +turned a man. And he ended by distinguishing Laveuve’s white, worn, +sunken, deformed head. Here, on a human face, appeared all the ruin +following upon hopeless labour. Laveuve’s unkempt beard straggled over +his features, suggesting an old horse that is no longer cropped; his +toothless jaws were quite askew, his eyes were vitreous, and his nose +seemed to plunge into his mouth. But above all else one noticed his +resemblance to some beast of burden, deformed by hard toil, lamed, worn +to death, and now only good for the knackers. + +“Ah! the poor fellow,” muttered the shuddering priest. “And he is left to +die of hunger, all alone, without any succour? And not a hospital, not an +asylum has given him shelter?” + +“Well,” resumed Madame Théodore in her sad yet resigned voice, “the +hospitals are built for the sick, and he isn’t sick, he’s simply +finishing off, with his strength at an end. Besides he isn’t always easy +to deal with. People came again only lately to put him in an asylum, but +he 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 talking +badly about the gentle-folks. But, thank Heaven, he will now soon be +delivered.” + +Pierre had leant forward on seeing Laveuve’s eyes open, and he spoke to +him tenderly, telling him that he had come from a friend with a little +money to enable him to buy what he might most pressingly require. At +first, on seeing Pierre’s cassock, the old man had growled some coarse +words; but, despite his extreme feebleness, he still retained the pert +chaffing spirit of the Parisian artisan: “Well, then, I’ll willingly +drink a drop,” he said distinctly, “and have a bit of bread with it, if +there’s the needful; for I’ve lost taste of both for a couple of days +past.” + +Céline offered her services, and Madame Théodore sent her to fetch a loaf +and a quart of wine with Abbé Rose’s money. And in the interval she told +Pierre how Laveuve was at one moment to have entered the Asylum of the +Invalids of Labour, a charitable enterprise whose lady patronesses were +presided over by Baroness Duvillard. However, the usual regulation +inquiries had doubtless led to such an unfavourable report that matters +had 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 man +to be left in such circumstances any longer.” + +Then, as Céline came back with the loaf and the wine, the three of them +tried 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 and +the loaf--a large four-pound loaf--near him, recommending him to wait +awhile before he finished the bread, as otherwise he might stifle. + +“Monsieur l’Abbé ought to give me his address in case I should have any +news to send him,” said Madame Théodore when she again found herself at +her door. + +Pierre had no card with him, and so all three went into the room. But +Salvat was no longer alone there. He stood talking in a low voice very +quickly, and almost mouth to mouth, with a young fellow of twenty. The +latter, who was slim and dark, with a sprouting beard and hair cut in +brush fashion, had bright eyes, a straight nose and thin lips set in a +pale and slightly freckled face, betokening great intelligence. With +stern and stubborn brow, he stood shivering in his well-worn jacket. + +“Monsieur l’Abbé wants to leave me his address for the Philosopher’s +affair,” gently explained Madame Théodore, annoyed to find another there +with 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 bitter +cold 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?” asked +Madame Théodore. + +He did not answer, but merely made an angry gesture, as if to say that he +would no longer have anything to do with work since work for so long a +time 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 he +could, perhaps never. And tears rising, despite all his efforts, to his +vague, blue, glowing eyes he caught hold of his daughter Céline, kissed +her violently, distractedly, and then went off, with his bag under his +arm, followed by his young companion. + +“Céline,” resumed Madame Théodore, “give Monsieur l’Abbé 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 chair +previously occupied by Salvat, she went on talking, seeking to excuse her +man for his scanty politeness: “He hasn’t a bad heart, but he’s had so +many worries in life that he has become a bit cracked. It’s like that +young man whom you just saw here, Monsieur Victor Mathis. There’s another +for you, who isn’t happy, a young man who was well brought up, who has a +lot of learning, and whose mother, a widow, has only just got the +wherewithal to buy bread. So one can understand it, can’t one? It all +upsets their heads, and they talk of blowing up everybody. For my part +those are not my notions, but I forgive them, oh! willingly enough.” + +Perturbed, yet interested by all the mystery and vague horror which he +could divine around him, Pierre made no haste to write his address, but +lingered listening, as if inviting confidence. + +“If you only knew, Monsieur l’Abbé, that poor Salvat was a forsaken +child, without father or mother, and had to scour the roads and try every +trade 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, and +tried to bring his mates over to his views; and so he was unable to stay +anywhere. At last, when he was thirty, he was stupid enough to go to +America with an inventor, who traded on him to such a point that after +six years of it he came back ill and penniless. I must tell you that he +had married my younger sister Léonie, and that she died before he went to +America, leaving him little Céline, who was then only a year old. I was +then living with my husband, Théodore Labitte, a mason; and it’s not to +brag that I say it, but however much I wore out my eyes with needlework +he used to beat me till he left me half-dead on the floor. But he ended +by deserting me and going off with a young woman of twenty, which, after +all, caused me more pleasure than grief. And naturally when Salvat came +back he sought me out and found me alone with his little Céline, whom he +had left in my charge when he went away, and who called me mamma. And +we’ve all three been living together since then--” + +She became somewhat embarrassed, and then, as if to show that she did not +altogether 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’s +married to a clerk, Monsieur Chrétiennot, and lives in a pretty lodging +on the Boulevard Rochechouart. There were three of us born of my father’s +second marriage,--Hortense, who’s the youngest, Léonie, who’s dead, and +myself, Pauline, the eldest. And of my father’s first marriage I’ve still +a brother Eugène Toussaint, who is ten years older than me and is an +engineer like Salvat, and has been working ever since the war in the same +establishment, the Grandidier factory, only a hundred steps away in the +Rue 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 fine +needlework. And now I can no longer even try to mend anything without my +eyes filling with water till I can’t see at all. I’ve tried to find +charwoman’s work, but I can’t get any; bad luck always follows us. And so +we are in need of everything; we’ve nothing but black misery, two or +three days sometimes going by without a bite, so that it’s like the +chance life of a dog that feeds on what it can find. And with these last +two months of bitter cold to freeze us, it’s sometimes made us think that +one morning we should never wake up again. But what would you have? I’ve +never been happy, I was beaten to begin with, and now I’m done for, left +in a corner, living on, I really don’t know why.” + +Her voice had begun to tremble, her red eyes moistened, and Pierre could +realise that she thus wept through life, a good enough woman but one who +had 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; he +only dreams of everybody’s happiness, and he doesn’t drink, and he works +when he can. Only it’s certain that he’d work more if he didn’t busy +himself with politics. One can’t discuss things with comrades, and go to +public meetings and be at the workshop at the same time. In that he’s at +fault, that’s evident. But all the same he has good reason to complain, +for one can’t imagine such misfortunes as have pursued him. Everything +has fallen on him, everything has beaten him down. Why, a saint even +would have gone mad, so that one can understand that a poor beggar who +has never had any luck should get quite wild. For the last two months he +has only met one good heart, a learned gentleman who lives up yonder on +the 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 ask +certain questions; but a singular feeling of uneasiness, in which fear +and discretion mingled, checked his tongue. He looked at Céline, who +stood before him, listening in silence with her grave, delicate air; and +Madame Théodore, seeing him smile at the child, indulged in a final +remark: “It’s just the idea of that child,” said she, “that throws Salvat +out of his wits. He adores her, and he’d kill everybody if he could, when +he sees her go supperless to bed. She’s such a good girl, she was +learning so nicely at the Communal School! But now she hasn’t even a +shift to go there in.” + +Pierre, who had at last written his address, slipped a five-franc piece +into the little girl’s hand, and, desirous as he was of curtailing any +thanks, he hastily said: “You will know now where to find me if you need +me for Laveuve. But I’m going to busy myself about him this very +afternoon, and I really hope that he will be fetched away this evening.” + +Madame Théodore did not listen, but poured forth all possible blessings; +whilst Céline, thunderstruck at seeing five francs in her hand, murmured: +“Oh! that poor papa, who has gone to hunt for money! Shall I run after +him 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 right +enough.” + +However, as Pierre, with buzzing head and grief-stricken heart, hastily +escaped out of that frightful house of suffering, he perceived to his +astonishment Salvat and Victor Mathis standing erect in a corner of the +filthy courtyard, where the stench was so pestilential. They had come +downstairs, there to continue their interrupted colloquy. And again, they +were talking in very low tones, and very quickly, mouth to mouth, +absorbed in the violent thoughts which made their eyes flare. But they +heard the priest’s footsteps, recognised him, and suddenly becoming cold +and calm, exchanged an energetic hand-shake without uttering another +word. Victor went up towards Montmartre, whilst Salvat hesitated like a +man who is consulting destiny. Then, as if trusting himself to stern +chance, drawing up his thin figure, the figure of a weary, hungry toiler, +he turned into the Rue Marcadet, and walked towards Paris, his tool-bag +still under his arm. + +For an instant Pierre felt a desire to run and call to him that his +little girl wished him to go back again. But the same feeling of +uneasiness as before came over the priest--a commingling of discretion +and fear, a covert conviction that nothing could stay destiny. And he +himself was no longer calm, no longer experienced the icy, despairing +distress of the early morning. On finding himself again in the street, +amidst the quivering fog, he felt the fever, the glow of charity which +the sight of such frightful wretchedness had ignited, once more within +him. No, no! such suffering was too much; he wished to struggle still, to +save Laveuve and restore a little joy to all those poor folk. The new +experiment presented itself with that city of Paris which he had seen +shrouded as with ashes, so mysterious and so perturbing beneath the +threat of inevitable justice. And he dreamed of a huge sun bringing +health and fruitfulness, which would make of the huge city the fertile +field 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 were +expected to _déjeuner_ at the Duvillards’, a few friends who more or less +invited themselves. And on that chilly day, all thaw and fog, the regal +mansion in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy near the Boulevard de la Madeleine +bloomed with the rarest flowers, for flowers were the greatest passion of +the Baroness, who transformed the lofty, sumptuous rooms, littered with +marvels, 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 the +spacious courtyard, and preceded by a little winter garden, which served +as a vestibule where two footmen in liveries of dark green and gold were +invariably on duty. A famous gallery of paintings, valued at millions of +francs, occupied the whole of the northern side of the house. And the +grand staircase, of a sumptuousness which also was famous, conducted to +the apartments usually occupied by the family, a large red drawing-room, +a small blue and silver drawing-room, a study whose walls were hung with +old stamped leather, and a dining-room in pale green with English +furniture, not to mention the various bedchambers and dressing-rooms. +Built in the time of Louis XIV. the mansion retained an aspect of noble +grandeur, subordinated to the epicurean tastes of the triumphant +_bourgeoisie_, which for a century now had reigned by virtue of the +omnipotence of money. + +Noon had not yet struck, and Baron Duvillard, contrary to custom, found +himself the first in the little blue and silver _salon_. He was a man of +sixty, tall and sturdy, with a large nose, full cheeks, broad, fleshy +lips, 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 face +clean-shaven. His grey eyes bespoke his audacity, and in his laugh there +was a ring of conquest, while the whole of his face expressed the fact +that this conquest was his own, that he wielded the sovereignty of an +unscrupulous master, who used and abused the power stolen and retained by +his caste. + +He took a few steps, and then halted in front of a basket of wonderful +orchids near the window. On the mantel-piece and table tufts of violets +sent forth their perfume, and in the warm, deep silence which seemed to +fall from the hangings, the Baron sat down and stretched himself in one +of the large armchairs, upholstered in blue satin striped with silver. He +had taken a newspaper from his pocket, and began to re-peruse an article +it contained, whilst all around him the entire mansion proclaimed his +immense fortune, his sovereign power, the whole history of the century +which had made him the master. His grandfather, Jerome Duvillard, son of +a petty advocate of Poitou, had come to Paris as a notary’s clerk in +1788, when he was eighteen; and very keen, intelligent and hungry as he +was, he had gained the family’s first three millions--at first in +trafficking with the _emigrés’_ estates when they were confiscated and +sold as national property, and later, in contracting for supplies to the +imperial army. His father, Gregoire Duvillard, born in 1805, and the real +great man of the family--he who had first reigned in the Rue +Godot-de-Mauroy, after King Louis Philippe had granted him the title of +Baron--remained one of the recognized heroes of modern finance by reason +of the scandalous profits which he had made in every famous thieving +speculation 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 Baron +Gregoire’s death soon after the Franco-German War. However, he had done +so with such a rageful appetite, that in a quarter of a century he had +again doubled the family fortune. He rotted and devoured, corrupted, +swallowed everything that he touched; and he was also the tempter +personified--the man who bought all consciences that were for +sale--having fully understood the new times and its tendencies in +presence of the democracy, which in its turn had become hungry and +impatient. Inferior though he was both to his father and his grandfather, +being a man of enjoyment, caring less for the work of conquest than the +division of the spoil, he nevertheless remained a terrible fellow, a +sleek triumpher, whose operations were all certainties, who amassed +millions at each stroke, and treated with governments on a footing of +equality, able as he was to place, if not France, at least a ministry in +his pocket. In one century and three generations, royalty had become +embodied in him: a royalty already threatened, already shaken by the +tempest close ahead. And at times his figure grew and expanded till it +became, as it were, an incarnation of the whole _bourgeoisie_--that +_bourgeoisie_ which at the division of the spoils in 1789 appropriated +everything, and has since fattened on everything at the expense of the +masses, and refuses to restore anything whatever. + +The article which the Baron was re-perusing in a halfpenny newspaper +interested him. “La Voix du Peuple” was a noisy sheet which, under the +pretence of defending outraged justice and morality, set a fresh scandal +circulating every morning in the hope of thereby increasing its sales. +And that morning, in big type on its front page, this sub-title was +displayed: “The Affair of the African Railways. Five Millions spent in +Bribes: Two Ministers Bought, Thirty Deputies and Senators Compromised.” + Then in an article of odious violence the paper’s editor, the famous +Sagnier, announced that he possessed and intended to publish the list of +the thirty-two members of Parliament, whose support Baron Duvillard had +purchased at the time when the Chambers had voted the bill for the +African Railway Lines. Quite a romantic story was mingled with all this, +the adventures of a certain Hunter, whom the Baron had employed as his +go-between and who had now fled. The Baron, however, re-perused each +sentence and weighed each word of the article very calmly; and although +he was alone he shrugged his shoulders and spoke aloud with the tranquil +assurance 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 and +thirty, elegantly dressed, dark and good looking, with a delicately +shaped nose, and curly hair and beard. As a rule, too, he had laughing +eyes, and something giddy, flighty, bird-like in his demeanour; but that +morning he seemed nervous, anxious even, and smiled in a scared way. + +“Ah! it’s you, Duthil,” said the Baron, rising. “Have you read this?” And +he showed the new comer the “Voix du Peuple,” which he was folding up to +replace it in his pocket. + +“Why yes, I’ve read it. It’s amazing. How can Sagnier have got hold of +the 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 Angoulême, 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 of +pleasure and idleness, even as he had formerly done when a student. +However, his pleasant bachelor’s quarters in the Rue de Suresnes, and his +success as a handsome man in the whirl of women among whom he lived, cost +him no little money; and gaily enough, devoid as he was of any moral +sense, he had already glided into all sorts of compromising and lowering +actions, like a light-headed, superior man, a charming, thoughtless +fellow, 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 is +always done in such matters of business.” + +Duthil, who for the first time in his life had felt anxious, listened +like 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 whole +affair.” + +He tried to laugh as usual, and no longer exactly knew how it was that he +had received some ten thousand francs in connection with the matter, +whether it were in the shape of a vague loan, or else under some pretext +of publicity, puffery, or advertising, for Hunter had acted with extreme +adroitness so as to give no offence to the susceptibilities of even the +least virginal consciences. + +“No, there’s not a cat to be whipped,” repeated Duvillard, who decidedly +seemed amused by the face which Duthil was pulling. “And besides, my dear +fellow, it’s well known that cats always fall on their feet. But have you +seen Silviane?” + +“I just left her. I found her in a great rage with you. She learnt this +morning that her affair of the Comédie is off.” + +A rush of anger suddenly reddened the Baron’s face. He, who could scoff +so calmly at the threat of the African Railways scandal, lost his balance +and 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 promise +only the day before yesterday.” + +He referred to a stubborn caprice of Silviane d’Aulnay, who, although she +had hitherto only reaped a success of beauty on the stage, obstinately +sought to enter the Comédie Française and make her _début_ there in the +part of “Pauline” in Corneille’s “Polyeucte,” which part she had been +studying desperately for several months past. Her idea seemed an insane +one, and all Paris laughed at it; but the young woman, with superb +assurance, kept herself well to the front, and imperiously demanded the +_rôle_, 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 soon +have that minister sent to the rightabout.” + +However, he had to cease speaking, for at that moment Baroness Duvillard +came into the little drawing-room. At forty-six years of age she was +still very beautiful. Very fair and tall, having hitherto put on but +little superfluous fat, and retaining perfect arms and shoulders, with +speckless silky skin, it was only her face that was spoiling, colouring +slightly with reddish blotches. And these blemishes were her torment, her +hourly thought and worry. Her Jewish origin was revealed by her somewhat +long and strangely charming face, with blue and softly voluptuous eyes. +As indolent as an Oriental slave, disliking to have to move, walk, or +even speak, she seemed intended for a harem life, especially as she was +for ever tending her person. That day she was all in white, gowned in a +white 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 and +muddy this morning.” + +However, a second guest entered the room, a tall and handsome man of five +or six and thirty; and the Baron, still disturbed by his passion, +profited by this opportunity to make his escape. He carried Duthil away +into his study, saying, “Come here an instant, my dear fellow. I have a +few more words to say to you about the affair in question. Monsieur de +Quinsac will keep my wife company for a moment.” + +The Baroness, as soon as she was alone with the new comer, who, like +Duthil, had most respectfully kissed her hand, gave him a long, silent +look, while her soft eyes filled with tears. Deep silence, tinged with +some slight embarrassment, had fallen, but she ended by saying in a very +low voice: “How happy I am, Gérard, to find myself alone with you for a +moment. For a month past I have not had that happiness.” + +The circumstances in which Henri Duvillard had married the younger +daughter of Justus Steinberger, the great Jew banker, formed quite a +story which was often recalled. The Steinbergers--after the fashion of +the Rothschilds--were originally four brothers--Justus, residing in +Paris, and the three others at Berlin, Vienna, and London, a circumstance +which gave their secret association most formidable power in the +financial markets of Europe. Justus, however, was the least wealthy of +the four, and in Baron Gregoire Duvillard he had a redoubtable adversary +against whom he was compelled to struggle each time that any large prey +was 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 to +Justus of giving his younger daughter Eve in marriage, by way of +_douceur_, to the Baron’s son, Henri. So far the latter had only been +known as an amiable fellow, fond of horses and club life; and no doubt +Justus’s idea was that, at the death of the redoubtable Baron, who was +already condemned by his physicians, he would be able to lay his hands on +the rival banking-house, particularly if he only had in front of him a +son-in-law whom it was easy to conquer. As it happened, Henri had been +mastered by a violent passion for Eve’s blond beauty, which was then +dazzling. He wished to marry her, and his father, who knew him, +consented, in reality greatly amused to think that Justus was making an +execrably bad stroke of business. The enterprise became indeed disastrous +for Justus when Henri succeeded his father and the man of prey appeared +from beneath the man of pleasure and carved himself his own huge share in +exploiting the unbridled appetites of the middle-class democracy, which +had at last secured possession of power. Not only did Eve fail to devour +Henri, who in his turn had become Baron Duvillard, the all-powerful +banker, more and more master of the market; but it was the Baron who +devoured Eve, and this in less than four years’ time. After she had borne +him 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. She +was at first both surprised and distressed by the change, especially on +learning that he was resuming his bachelor’s habits, and had set his +fickle if ardent affections elsewhere. Then, however, without any kind of +recrimination, any display of anger, or even any particular effort to +regain her ascendency over him, she, on her side, imitated his example. +She could not live without love, and assuredly she had only been born to +be beautiful, to fascinate and reap adoration. To the lover whom she +chose when she was five and twenty she remained faithful for more than +fifteen years, as faithful as she might have been to a husband; and when +he died her grief was intense, it was like real widowhood. Six months +later, however, having met Count Gérard de Quinsac she had again been +unable to resist her imperative need of adoration, and an intrigue had +followed. + +“Have you been ill, my dear Gérard?” she inquired, noticing the young +man’s embarrassment. “Are you hiding some worry from me?” + +She was ten years older than he was; and she clung desperately to this +last passion of hers, revolting at the thought of growing old, and +resolved upon every effort to keep the young man beside her. + +“No, I am hiding nothing, I assure you,” replied the Count. “But my +mother has had much need of me recently.” + +She continued looking at him, however, with anxious passion, finding him +so tall and aristocratic of mien, with his regular features and dark hair +and moustaches which were always most carefully tended. He belonged to +one of the oldest families of France, and resided on a ground-floor in +the Rue St. Dominique with his widowed mother, who had been ruined by her +adventurously inclined husband, and had at most an income of some fifteen +thousand francs* to live upon. Gérard for his part had never done +anything; contenting himself with his one year of obligatory military +service, he had renounced the profession of arms in the same way as he +had renounced that of diplomacy, the only one that offered him an opening +of any dignity. He spent his days in that busy idleness common to all +young men who lead “Paris life.” And his mother, haughtily severe though +she was, seemed to excuse this, as if in her opinion a man of his birth +was bound by way of protest to keep apart from official life under a +Republic. However, she no doubt had more intimate, more disturbing +reasons for indulgence. She had nearly lost him when he was only seven, +through an attack of brain fever. At eighteen he had complained of his +heart, and the doctors had recommended that he should be treated gently +in all respects. She knew, therefore, what a lie lurked behind his proud +demeanour, within his lofty figure, that haughty _façade_ of his race. He +was but dust, ever threatened with illness and collapse. In the depths of +his seeming virility there was merely girlish _abandon_; and he was +simply a weak, good-natured fellow, liable to every stumble. It was on +the occasion of a visit which he had paid with his mother to the Asylum +of the Invalids of Labour that he had first seen Eve, whom he continued +to meet; his mother, closing her eyes to this culpable connection in a +sphere of society which she treated with contempt, in the same way as she +had closed them to so many other acts of folly which she had forgiven +because she regarded them as the mere lapses of an ailing child. +Moreover, Eve had made a conquest of Madame de Quinsac, who was very +pious, by an action which had recently amazed society. It had been +suddenly learnt that she had allowed Monseigneur Martha to convert her to +the Roman Catholic faith. This thing, which she had refused to do when +solicited by her lawful husband, she had now done in the hope of ensuring +herself a lover’s eternal affection. And all Paris was still stirred by +the magnificence exhibited at the Madeleine, on the occasion of the +baptism of this Jewess of five and forty, whose beauty and whose tears +had upset every heart. + + * About 3000 dollars. + +Gérard, on his side, was still flattered by the deep and touching +tenderness shown to him; but weariness was coming, and he had already +sought to break off the connection by avoiding any further assignations. +He well understood Eve’s glances and her tears, and though he was moved +at sight of them he tried to excuse himself. “I assure you,” said he, “my +mother has kept me so busy that I could not get away.” But she, without a +word, still turned her tearful glance on him, and weak, like herself, in +despair that he should have been left alone with her in this fashion, he +yielded, unable to continue refusing. “Well, then,” said he, “this +afternoon at four o’clock if you are free.” + +He had lowered his voice in speaking, but a slight rustle made him turn +his head and start like one in fault. It was the Baroness’s daughter +Camille entering the room. She had heard nothing; but by the smile which +the others had exchanged, by the very quiver of the air, she understood +everything; an assignation for that very day and at the very spot which +she suspected. Some slight embarrassment followed, an exchange of anxious +and evil glances. + +Camille, at three and twenty, was a very dark young woman, short of +stature and somewhat deformed, with her left shoulder higher than the +right. There seemed to be nothing of her father or mother in her. Her +case was one of those unforeseen accidents in family heredity which make +people wonder whence they can arise. Her only pride lay in her beautiful +black eyes and superb black hair, which, short as she was, would, said +she, have sufficed to clothe her. But her nose was long, her face +deviated to the left, and her chin was pointed. Her thin, witty, and +malicious lips bespoke all the rancour and perverse anger stored in the +heart of this uncomely creature, whom the thought of her uncomeliness +enraged. However, the one whom she most hated in the whole world was her +own mother, that _amorosa_ who was so little fitted to be a mother, who +had never loved her, never paid attention to her, but had abandoned her +to the care of servants from her very infancy. In this wise real hatred +had grown up between the two women, mute and frigid on the one side, and +active and passionate on the other. The daughter hated her mother because +she found her beautiful, because she had not been created in the same +image: beautiful with the beauty with which her mother crushed her. Day +by day she suffered at being sought by none, at realising that the +adoration of one and all still went to her mother. As she was amusing in +her maliciousness, people listened to her and laughed; however, the +glances of all the men--even and indeed especially the younger ones--soon +reverted to her triumphant mother, who seemingly defied old age. In part +for this reason Camille, with ferocious determination, had decided that +she would dispossess her mother of her last lover Gérard, and marry him +herself, conscious that such a loss would doubtless kill the Baroness. +Thanks to her promised dowry of five millions of francs, the young woman +did not lack suitors; but, little flattered by their advances, she was +accustomed to say, with her malicious laugh: “Oh! of course; why for five +millions they would take a wife from a mad-house.” However, she, herself, +had really begun to love Gérard, who, good-natured as he was, evinced +much kindness towards this suffering young woman whom nature had treated +so harshly. It worried him to see her forsaken by everyone, and little by +little he yielded to the grateful tenderness which she displayed towards +him, happy, handsome man that he was, at being regarded as a demi-god and +having such a slave. Indeed, in his attempt to quit the mother there was +certainly a thought of allowing the daughter to marry him, which would be +an 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 the +complications and tears which he foresaw. + +The silence continued. Camille with her piercing glance, as sharp as any +knife, had told her mother that she knew the truth; and then with another +and pain-fraught glance she had complained to Gérard. He, in order to +re-establish equilibrium, could only think of a compliment: “Good +morning, Camille. Ah! that havana-brown gown of yours looks nice! It’s +astonishing how well rather sombre colours suit you.” + +Camille glanced at her mother’s white robe, and then at her own dark +gown, which scarcely allowed her neck and wrists to be seen. “Yes,” she +replied laughing, “I only look passable when I don’t dress as a young +girl.” + +Eve, ill at ease, worried by the growth of a rivalry in which she did not +as yet wish to believe, changed the conversation. “Isn’t your brother +there?” she asked. + +“Why yes, we came down together.” + +Hyacinthe, who came in at that moment, shook hands with Gérard in a weary +way. He was twenty, and had inherited his mother’s pale blond hair, and +her long face full of Oriental languor; while from his father he had +derived his grey eyes and thick lips, expressive of unscrupulous +appetites. A wretched scholar, regarding every profession with the same +contempt, he had decided to do nothing. Spoilt by his father, he took +some little interest in poetry and music, and lived in an extraordinary +circle of artists, low women, madmen and bandits; boasting himself of all +sorts of crimes and vices, professing the very worst philosophical and +social ideas, invariably going to extremes, becoming in turn a +Collectivist, an Individualist, an Anarchist, a Pessimist, a Symbolist, +and what not besides; without, however, ceasing to be a Catholic, as this +conjunction of Catholicity with something else seemed to him the supreme +_bon ton_. In reality he was simply empty and rather a fool. In four +generations the vigorous hungry blood of the Duvillards, after producing +three magnificent beasts of prey, had, as if exhausted by the contentment +of every passion, ended in this sorry emasculated creature, who was +incapable alike of great knavery or great debauchery. + +Camille, who was too intelligent not to realise her brother’s +nothingness, was fond of teasing him; and looking at him as he stood +there, tightly buttoned in his long frock coat with pleated skirt--a +resurrection of the romantic period, which he carried to exaggeration, +she resumed: “Mamma has been asking for you, Hyacinthe. Come and show her +your 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 exchanging +confidences respecting their perverse views of life. And he directed a +glance of disdain at the wonderful basket of orchids which seemed to him +past the fashion, far too common nowadays. For his part he had left the +lilies of life behind him, and reached the ranunculus, the flower of +blood. + +The two last guests who were expected now arrived almost together. The +first was the investigating magistrate Amadieu, a little man of five and +forty, who was an intimate of the household and had been brought into +notoriety by a recent anarchist affair. Between a pair of fair, bushy +whiskers he displayed a flat, regular judicial face, to which he tried to +impart an expression of keenness by wearing a single eyeglass behind +which his glance sparkled. Very worldly, moreover, he belonged to the new +judicial school, being a distinguished psychologist and having written a +book in reply to the abuses of criminalist physiology. And he was also a +man of great, tenacious ambition, fond of notoriety and ever on the +lookout for those resounding legal affairs which bring glory. Behind him, +at last appeared General de Bozonnet, Gérard’s uncle on the maternal +side, a tall, lean old man with a nose like an eagle’s beak. Chronic +rheumatism had recently compelled him to retire from the service. Raised +to a colonelcy after the Franco-German War in reward for his gallant +conduct at St. Privat, he had, in spite of his extremely monarchical +connections, kept his sworn faith to Napoleon III. And he was excused in +his own sphere of society for this species of military Bonapartism, on +account of the bitterness with which he accused the Republic of having +ruined the army. Worthy fellow that he was, extremely fond of his sister, +Madame de Quinsac, it seemed as though he acted in accordance with some +secret desire of hers in accepting the invitations of Baroness Duvillard +by way of rendering Gérard’s constant presence in her house more natural +and excusable. + +However, the Baron and Duthil now returned from the study, laughing +loudly in an exaggerated way, doubtless to make the others believe that +they were quite easy in mind. And one and all passed into the large +dining-room where a big wood fire was burning, its gay flames shining +like a ray of springtide amid the fine mahogany furniture of English make +laden with silver and crystal. The room, of a soft mossy green, had an +unassuming charm in the pale light, and the table which in the centre +displayed the richness of its covers and the immaculate whiteness of its +linen adorned with Venetian point, seemed to have flowered miraculously +with 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 Gérard. Then the +young people installed themselves at either end, Camille between Gérard +and 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 _déjeuners_, when +every event, great or little, of the morning or the day before is passed +in review: the truths and the falsehoods current in every social sphere, +the financial scandal, and the political adventure of the hour, the novel +that has just appeared, the play that has just been produced, the stories +which 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 the +first to speak of the article in the “Voix du Peuple.” “I say, have you +read Sagnier’s article this morning? It’s a good one; he has _verve_ you +know, but what a dangerous lunatic he is!” + +This set everybody at ease, for the article would certainly have weighed +upon the _déjeuner_ had no one mentioned it. + +“It’s the ‘Panama’ dodge over again!” cried Duthil. “But no, no, we’ve +had quite enough of it!” + +“Why,” resumed the Baron, “the affair of the African Railway Lines is as +clear as spring water! All those whom Sagnier threatens may sleep in +peace. The truth is that it’s a scheme to upset Barroux’s ministry. Leave +to interpellate will certainly be asked for this afternoon. You’ll see +what a fine uproar there’ll be in the Chamber.” + +“That libellous, scandal-seeking press,” said Amadieu gravely, “is a +dissolving agent which will bring France to ruin. We ought to have laws +against it.” + +The General made an angry gesture: “Laws, what’s the use of them, since +nobody has the courage to enforce them.” + +Silence fell. With a light, discreet step the house-steward presented +some grilled mullet. So noiseless was the service amid the cheerful +perfumed warmth that not even the faintest clatter of crockery was heard. +Without anyone knowing how it had come about, however, the conversation +had suddenly changed; and somebody inquired: “So the revival of the piece +is postponed?” + +“Yes,” said Gérard, “I heard this morning that ‘Polyeucte’ wouldn’t get +its turn till April at the earliest.” + +At this Camille, who had hitherto remained silent, watching the young +Count and seeking to win him back, turned her glittering eyes upon her +father and mother. It was a question of that revival in which Silviane +was so stubbornly determined to make her _début_. However, the Baron and +the Baroness evinced perfect serenity, having long been acquainted with +all that concerned each other. Moreover Eve was too much occupied with +her own passion to think of anything else; and the Baron too busy with +the fresh application which he intended to make in tempestuous fashion at +the Ministry of Fine Arts, so as to wrest Silviane’s engagement from +those in office. He contented himself with saying: “How would you have +them revive pieces at the Comédie! 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 exquisite +gown. She’s the only one too who knows how to arrange her hair.” + +Thereupon Duthil, in somewhat veiled language, began to relate a story +about Delphine and a well-known senator. And then came another scandal, +the sudden and almost suspicious death of a lady friend of the +Duvillards’; whereupon the General, without any transition, broke in to +relieve his bitter feelings by denouncing the idiotic manner in which the +army was nowadays organised. Meantime the old Bordeaux glittered like +ruby blood in the delicate crystal glasses. A truffled fillet of venison +had just cast its somewhat sharp scent amidst the dying perfume of the +roses, when some asparagus made its appearance, a _primeur_ which once +had been so rare but which no longer caused any astonishment. + +“Nowadays we get it all through the winter,” said the Baron with a +gesture of disenchantment. + +“And so,” asked Gérard at the same moment, “the Princess de Harn’s +_matinée_ 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 in +embarrassment. + +“Ah! that little Princess, she’s really deranged you know,” exclaimed +Duthil. “You are aware that she calls herself a widow? But the truth, it +seems, is that her husband, a real Prince, connected with a royal house +and very handsome, is travelling about the world in the company of a +singer. She with her vicious urchin-like face preferred to come and reign +in Paris, in that mansion of the Avenue Hoche, which is certainly the +most extraordinary Noah’s ark imaginable, with its swarming of +cosmopolitan 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 going +to her place by-and-by, are we not, mamma?” + +To avoid replying, the Baroness pretended that she did not hear, whilst +Duthil, who seemed to be well-informed concerning the Princess, continued +to make merry over her intended _matinée_, at which she meant to produce +some Spanish dancing girls, whose performance was so very indecorous that +all Paris, forewarned of the circumstance, would certainly swarm to her +house. And he added: “You’ve heard that she has given up painting. Yes, +she busies herself with chemistry. Her _salon_ is full of Anarchists +now--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 in +anything. “Oh! she bores me to death,” he now condescended to reply. “If +I’m going to her _matinée_ it’s simply in the hope of meeting my friend +young Lord George Eldrett, who wrote to me from London to give me an +appointment 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 to +Anarchism?” + +With his air of lofty elegance Hyacinthe imperturbably confessed his +creed: “But it seems to me, monsieur, that in these times of universal +baseness and ignominy, no man of any distinction can be other than an +Anarchist.” + +A laugh ran round the table. Hyacinthe was very much spoilt, and +considered very entertaining. His father in particular was immensely +amused by the notion that he of all men should have an Anarchist for a +son. However, the General, in his rancorous moments, talked anarchically +enough of blowing up a society which was so stupid as to let itself be +led by half a dozen disreputable characters. And, indeed, the +investigating magistrate, who was gradually making a specialty of +Anarchist affairs, proved the only one who opposed the young man, +defending threatened civilisation and giving terrifying particulars +concerning what he called the army of devastation and massacre. The +others, while partaking of some delicious duck’s-liver _paté_, which the +house-steward handed around, continued smiling. There was so much misery, +said they; one must take everything into account: things would surely end +by righting themselves. And the Baron himself declared, in a conciliatory +manner: “It’s certain that one might do something, though nobody knows +exactly what. As for all sensible and moderate claims, oh! I agree to +them in advance. For instance, the lot of the working classes may be +ameliorated, charitable enterprises may be undertaken, such, for +instance, as our Asylum for the Invalids of Labour, which we have reason +to 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 the +restless fluttering of the conversation, and the dizziness born of the +copious meal, each one’s worry or distress was again wringing the heart +and setting an expression of perturbation on the countenance. The nervous +unconscientiousness of Duthil, threatened with denunciation, was seen to +revive; so, too, the anxious anger of the Baron, who was meditating how +he might possibly manage to content Silviane. That woman was this sturdy, +powerful man’s taint, the secret sore which would perhaps end by eating +him away and destroying him. But it was the frightful drama in which the +Baroness, Camille and Gérard were concerned that flitted by most visibly +across the faces of all three of them: that hateful rivalry of mother and +daughter, contending for the man they loved. And, meantime, the +silver-gilt blades of the dessert-knives were delicately peeling choice +fruit. 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 and +bent over the Baroness, who answered in an undertone, “Well, show him +into the _salon_, I will join him there.” And aloud to the others she +added: “It’s Monsieur l’Abbé Froment, who has called and asks most +particularly to see me. He won’t be in our way; I think that almost all +of you know him. Oh! he’s a genuine saint, and I have much sympathy for +him.” + +For a few minutes longer they loitered round the table, and then at last +quitted 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 big +logs of firewood, which were falling into embers amidst the somewhat +jumbled brightness of all the crystal and silver, and the pale, delicate +light 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 in +readiness, he regretted that he had insisted upon being received. And his +embarrassment increased when the company came in rather noisily, with +bright eyes and rosy cheeks. However, his charitable fervour had revived +so ardently within him that he overcame this embarrassment, and all that +remained to him of it was a slight feeling of discomfort at bringing the +whole frightful morning which he had just spent amid such scenes of +wretchedness, so much darkness and cold, so much filth and hunger, into +this bright, warm, perfumed affluence, where the useless and the +superfluous overflowed around those folks who seemed so gay at having +made a delightful meal. + +However, the Baroness at once came forward with Gérard, for it was +through the latter, whose mother he knew, that the priest had been +presented to the Duvillards at the time of the famous conversion. And as +he apologised for having called at such an inconvenient hour, the +Baroness responded: “But you are always welcome, Monsieur l’Abbé. You +will allow me just to attend to my guests, won’t you? I will be with you +in an instant.” + +She thereupon returned to the table on which the tray had been placed, in +order to serve the coffee and the liqueurs, with her daughter’s +assistance. Gérard, however, remained with Pierre; and, it so chanced, +began to speak to him of the Asylum for the Invalids of Labour, where +they had met one another at the recent laying of the foundation-stone of +a new pavilion which was being erected, thanks to a handsome donation of +100,000 francs made by Baron Duvillard. So far, the enterprise only +comprised four pavilions out of the fourteen which it was proposed to +erect on the vast site given by the City of Paris on the peninsula of +Gennevilliers*; and so the subscription fund remained open, and, indeed, +no little noise was made over this charitable enterprise, which was +regarded as a complete and peremptory reply to the accusations of those +evilly disposed persons who charged the satiated _bourgeoisie_ with doing +nothing for the workers. But the truth was that a magnificent chapel, +erected in the centre of the site, had absorbed two-thirds of the funds +hitherto collected. Numerous lady patronesses, chosen from all the +“worlds” of Paris--the Baroness Duvillard, the Countess de Quinsac, the +Princess Rosemonde de Harn, and a score of others--were entrusted with +the task of keeping the enterprise alive by dint of collections and fancy +bazaars. But success had been chiefly obtained, thanks to the happy idea +of ridding the ladies of all the weighty cares of organisation, by +choosing as managing director a certain Fonsègue, who, besides being a +deputy and editor of the “Globe” newspaper, was a prodigious promoter of +all sorts of enterprises. And the “Globe” never paused in its propaganda, +but answered the attacks of the revolutionaries by extolling the +inexhaustible charity of the governing classes in such wise that, at the +last elections, the enterprise had served as a victorious electoral +weapon. + + * 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 her +hand: “Will you take some coffee, Monsieur l’Abbé?” 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’Abbé, what do you desire of me?” + +Pierre began to speak almost in an undertone, his throat contracting and +his heart beating with emotion. “I have come, madame, to appeal to your +great kindness of heart. This morning, in a frightful house, in the Rue +des 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; its +inmates without fire or bread, the men reduced to idleness because there +is no work, the mothers having no more milk for their babes, the children +barely clad, coughing and shivering. And among all these horrors I saw +the worst, the most abominable of all, an old workman, laid on his back +by age, dying of hunger, huddled on a heap of rags, in a nook which a dog +would not even accept as kennel.” + +He tried to recount things as discreetly as possible, frightened by the +very words he spoke, the horrors he had to relate in that sphere of +superlative luxury and enjoyment, before those happy ones who possessed +all the gifts of this world; for--to use a slang expression--he fully +realised that he sang out of tune, and in most uncourteous fashion. What +a strange idea of his to have called at the hour when one has just +finished _déjeuner_, when the aroma of hot coffee flatters happy +digestion. Nevertheless he went on, and even ended by raising his voice, +yielding to the feeling of revolt which gradually stirred him, going to +the end of his terrible narrative, naming Laveuve, insisting on the +unjust abandonment in which the old man was left, and asking for succour +in the name of human compassion. And the whole company approached to +listen to him; he could see the Baron and the General, and Duthil and +Amadieu, in front of him, sipping their coffee, in silence, without a +gesture. + +“Well, madame,” he concluded, “it seemed to me that one could not leave +that old man an hour longer in such a frightful position, and that this +very evening you would have the extreme goodness to have him admitted +into the Asylum of the Invalids of Labour, which is, I think, the proper +and only place for him.” + +Tears had moistened Eve’s beautiful eyes. She was in consternation at so +sad a story coming to her to spoil her afternoon when she was looking +forward to her assignation with Gérard. 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 condition +that all administrative worries were to fall on Fonsègue. “Ah! Monsieur +l’Abbé,” she murmured, “you rend my heart. But I can do nothing, nothing +at all, I assure you. Moreover, I believe that we have already inquired +into the affair of that man Laveuve. With us, you know, there must be the +most serious guarantees with regard to every admission. A reporter is +chosen who has to give us full information. Wasn’t it you, Monsieur +Duthil, who was charged with this man Laveuve’s affair?” + +The deputy was finishing a glass of Chartreuse. “Yes, it was I. That fine +fellow played you a comedy, Monsieur l’Abbé. He isn’t at all ill, and if +you left him any money you may be sure he went down to drink it as soon +as you were gone. For he is always drunk; and, besides that, he has the +most hateful disposition imaginable, crying out from morning till evening +against the _bourgeois_, and saying that if he had any strength left in +his arms he would undertake to blow up the whole show. And, moreover, he +won’t go into the asylum; he says that it’s a real prison where one’s +guarded by Beguins who force one to hear mass, a dirty convent where the +gates are shut at nine in the evening! And there are so many of them like +that, who rather than be succoured prefer their liberty, with cold and +hunger and death. Well then, let the Laveuves die in the street, since +they refuse to be with us, and be warm and eat in our asylums!” + +The General and Amadieu nodded their heads approvingly. But Duvillard +showed 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 her +afternoon, struggled and sought for reasons. “I assure you that my hands +are altogether tied. Monsieur l’Abbé 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 an +affair which has already been inquired into and pronounced upon, without +the Committee’s sanction.” Then, all at once she found a solution: “What +I advise you to do, Monsieur l’Abbé, is to go at once to see Monsieur +Fonsègue, our managing director. He alone can act in an urgent case, for +he knows that the ladies have unlimited confidence in him and approve +everything he does.” + +“You will find Fonsègue at the Chamber,” added Duthil smiling, “only the +sitting will be a warm one, and I doubt whether you will be able to have +a comfortable chat with him.” + +Pierre, whose heart had contracted yet more painfully, insisted on the +subject no further; but at once made up his mind to see Fonsègue, and in +any event obtain from him a promise that the wretched Laveuve should be +admitted to the Asylum that very evening. Then he lingered in the saloon +for a few minutes listening to Gérard, who obligingly pointed out to him +how he might best convince the deputy, which was by alleging how bad an +effect such a story could have, should it be brought to light by the +revolutionary newspapers. However, the guests were beginning to take +their leave. The General, as he went off, came to ask his nephew if he +should see him that afternoon at his mother’s, Madame de Quinsac, whose +“day” it was: a question which the young man answered with an evasive +gesture when he noticed that both Eve and Camille were looking at him. +Then came the turn of Amadieu, who hurried off saying that a serious +affair required his presence at the Palace of Justice. And Duthil soon +followed him in order to repair to the Chamber. + +“I’ll see you between four and five at Silviane’s, eh?” said the Baron as +he conducted him to the door. “Come and tell me what occurs at the +Chamber in consequence of that odious article of Sagnier’s. I must at all +events know. For my part I shall go to the Ministry of Fine Arts, to +settle that affair of the Comédie; and besides I’ve some calls to make, +some contractors to see, and a big launching and advertisement affair to +settle.” + +“It’s understood then, between four and five, at Silviane’s,” said the +deputy, who went off again mastered by his vague uneasiness, his anxiety +as to what turn that nasty affair of the African Railway Lines might +take. + +And all of them had forgotten Laveuve, the miserable wretch who lay at +death’s door; and all of them were hastening away to their business or +their passions, caught in the toils, sinking under the grindstone and +whisked away by that rush of all Paris, whose fever bore them along, +throwing one against another in an ardent scramble, in which the sole +question was who should pass over the others and crush them. + +“And so, mamma,” said Camille, who continued to scrutinise her mother and +Gérard, “you are going to take us to the Princess’s _matinée_?” + +“By-and-by, yes. Only I shan’t be able to stay there with you. I received +a telegram from Salmon about my corsage this morning, and I must +absolutely go to try it on at four o’clock.” + +By the slight trembling of her mother’s voice, the girl felt certain that +she was telling a falsehood. “Oh!” said she, “I thought you were only +going to try it on to-morrow? In that case I suppose we are to go and +call for you at Salmon’s with the carriage on leaving the _matinée_?” + +“Oh! no my dear! One never knows when one will be free; and besides, if I +have 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 set +some obstacle across her mother’s path, she could not, dared not, carry +matters any further. In vain had she attempted to implore Gérard with her +eyes. He was standing to take his leave, and turned away his eyes. +Pierre, who had become acquainted with many things since he had +frequented the house, noticed how all three of them quivered, and divined +thereby the mute and terrible drama. + +At this moment, however, Hyacinthe, stretched in an armchair, and +munching an ether capsule, the only liqueur in which he indulged, raised +his 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, ‘The +Rape 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 she +harshly derided the symbolist painters as a rule, now doubtless desired +to delay her mother. Then, forcing herself to smile, she asked: “Won’t +you risk a look-in at the Exposition du Lis with us, Monsieur Gérard?” + +“Well, no,” replied the Count, “I want to walk. I shall go with Monsieur +l’Abbé Froment to the Chamber.” + +Thereupon he took leave of mother and daughter, kissing the hand of each +in turn. It had just occurred to him that to while away his time he also +might call for a moment at Silviane’s, where, like the others, he had his +_entrées_. On reaching the cold and solemn courtyard he said to the +priest, “Ah! it does one good to breathe a little cool air. They keep +their 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 hands +feverish, his senses oppressed by all the luxury which he left behind +him, like the dream of some glowing, perfumed paradise where only the +elect had their abode. At the same time his reviving thirst for charity +had become keener than ever, and without listening to the Count, who was +speaking very affectionately of his mother, he reflected as to how he +might obtain Laveuve’s admission to the Asylum from Fonsègue. However, +when the door of the mansion had closed behind them and they had taken a +few steps along the street, it occurred to Pierre that a moment +previously a sudden vision had met his gaze. Had he not seen a workman +carrying a tool-bag, standing and waiting on the foot pavement across the +road, gazing at that monumental door, closed upon so much fabulous +wealth--a workman in whom he fancied he had recognised Salvat, that +hungry fellow who had gone off that morning in search of work? At this +thought Pierre hastily turned round. Such wretchedness in face of so much +affluence and enjoyment made him feel anxious. But the workman, disturbed +in his contemplation, and possibly fearing that he had been recognised, +was going off with dragging step. And now, getting only a back view of +him, Pierre hesitated, and ended by thinking that he must have been +mistaken. + + + + +III. RANTERS AND RULERS + +WHEN Abbé Froment was about to enter the Palais-Bourbon he remembered +that he had no card, and he was making up his mind that he would simply +ask for Fonsègue, though he was not known to him, when, on reaching the +vestibule, he perceived Mège, the Collectivist deputy, with whom he had +become acquainted in his days of militant charity in the poverty-stricken +Charonne district. + +“What, you here? You surely have not come to evangelise us?” said Mège. + +“No, I’ve come to see Monsieur Fonsègue on an urgent matter, about a poor +fellow who cannot wait.” + +“Fonsègue? I don’t know if he has arrived. Wait a moment.” And stopping a +short, dark young fellow with a ferreting, mouse-like air, Mège said to +him: “Massot, here’s Monsieur l’Abbé Froment, who wants to speak to your +governor 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, if +Monsieur l’Abbé likes to wait he will surely see him here.” + +Thereupon Mège ushered Pierre into the large waiting-hall, the Salle des +Pas Perdus, which in other moments looked so vast and cold with its +bronze Minerva and Laocoon, and its bare walls on which the pale mournful +winter light fell from the glass doors communicating with the garden. +Just then, however, it was crowded, and warmed, as it were, by the +feverish agitation of the many groups of men that had gathered here and +there, and the constant coming and going of those who hastened through +the throng. Most of these were deputies, but there were also numerous +journalists and inquisitive visitors. And a growing uproar prevailed: +colloquies now in undertones, now in loud voices, exclamations and bursts +of laughter, amidst a deal of passionate gesticulation, Mège’s return +into the tumult seemed to fan it. He was tall, apostolically thin, and +somewhat neglectful of his person, looking already old and worn for his +age, which was but five and forty, though his eyes still glowed with +youth behind the glasses which never left his beak-like nose. And he had +a warm but grating voice, and had always been known to cough, living on +solely because he was bitterly intent on doing so in order to realise the +dream of social re-organisation which haunted him. The son of an +impoverished medical man of a northern town, he had come to Paris when +very young, living there during the Empire on petty newspaper and other +unknown work, and first making a reputation as an orator at the public +meetings of the time. Then, after the war, having become the chief of the +Collectivist party, thanks to his ardent faith and the extraordinary +activity of his fighting nature, he had at last managed to enter the +Chamber, where, brimful of information, he fought for his ideas with +fierce determination and obstinacy, like a _doctrinaire_ who has decided +in 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 had +taken pay as a deputy, the outside Socialists had looked upon him as a +mere rhetorician, an aspiring dictator who only tried to cast society in +a new mould for the purpose of subordinating it to his personal views and +ruling it. + +“You know what is going on?” he said to Pierre. “This is another nice +affair, is it not? But what would you have? We are in mud to our very +ears.” + +He had formerly conceived genuine sympathy for the priest, whom he had +found so gentle with all who suffered, and so desirous of social +regeneration. And the priest himself had ended by taking an interest in +this authoritarian dreamer, who was resolved to make men happy in spite +even of themselves. He knew that he was poor, and led a retired life with +his wife and four children, to whom he was devoted. + +“You can well understand that I am no ally of Sagnier’s,” Mège resumed. +“But as he chose to speak out this morning and threaten to publish the +names of all those who have taken bribes, we can’t allow ourselves to +pass as accomplices any further. It has long been said that there was +some nasty jobbery in that suspicious affair of the African railways. And +the worst is that two members of the present Cabinet are in question, for +three years ago, when the Chambers dealt with Duvillard’s emission, +Barroux was at the Home Department, and Monferrand at that of Public +Works. Now that they have come back again, Monferrand at the Home +Department, and Barroux at that of Finance, with the Presidency of the +Council, it isn’t possible, is it, for us to do otherwise than compel +them to enlighten us, in their own interest even, about their former +goings-on? No, no, they can no longer keep silence, and I’ve announced +that I intend to interpellate them this very day.” + +It was the announcement of Mège’s interpellation, following the terrible +article of the “Voix du Peuple,” which thus set the lobbies in an uproar. +And Pierre remained rather scared at this big political affair falling +into the midst of his scheme to save a wretched pauper from hunger and +death. Thus he listened without fully understanding the explanations +which the Socialist deputy was passionately giving him, while all around +them the uproar increased, and bursts of laughter rang out, testifying to +the astonishment which the others felt at seeing Mège in conversation +with a priest. + +“How stupid they are!” said Mège disdainfully. “Do they think then that I +eat a cassock for _déjeuner_ every morning? But I beg your pardon, my +dear Monsieur Froment. Come, take a place on that seat and wait for +Fonsègue.” + +Then he himself plunged into all the turmoil, and Pierre realised that +his best course was to sit down and wait quietly. His surroundings began +to influence and interest him, and he gradually forgot Laveuve for the +passion of the Parliamentary crisis amidst which he found himself cast. +The frightful Panama adventure was scarcely over; he had followed the +progress of that tragedy with the anguish of a man who every night +expects to hear the tocsin sound the last hour of olden, agonising +society. And now a little Panama was beginning, a fresh cracking of the +social edifice, an affair such as had been frequent in all parliaments in +connection with big financial questions, but one which acquired mortal +gravity from the circumstances in which it came to the front. That story +of the African Railway Lines, that little patch of mud, stirred up and +exhaling a perturbing odour, and suddenly fomenting all that emotion, +fear, and anger in the Chamber, was after all but an opportunity for +political strife, a field on which the voracious appetites of the various +“groups” would take exercise and sharpen; and, at bottom, the sole +question was that of overthrowing the ministry and replacing it by +another. Only, behind all that lust of power, that continuous onslaught +of ambition, what a distressful prey was stirring--the whole people with +all 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 and +ready ear listening to everything and noting it, gliding everywhere with +his ferret-like air, Massot was not there in the capacity of a gallery +man, but had simply scented a stormy debate, and come to see if he could +not pick up material for some occasional “copy.” And this priest lost in +the midst of the throng doubtless interested him. + +“Have a little patience, Monsieur l’Abbé,” said he, with the amiable +gaiety of a young gentleman who makes fun of everything. “The governor +will certainly come, for he knows well enough that they are going to heat +the oven here. You are not one of his constituents from La Corrèze, are +you?” + +“No, no! I belong to Paris; I’ve come on account of a poor fellow whom I +wish 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 chemist +of the St. Denis district, and an ex-dunce of the Lycée Charlemagne, +where he had not even finished his studies. He had failed entirely, and +at eighteen years of age had found himself cast into journalism with +barely sufficient knowledge of orthography for that calling. And for +twelve years now, as he often said, he had been a rolling stone wandering +through all spheres of society, confessing some and guessing at others. +He had seen everything, and become disgusted with everything, no longer +believing in the existence of great men, or of truth, but living +peacefully enough on universal malice and folly. He naturally had no +literary ambition, in fact he professed a deliberate contempt for +literature. Withal, he was not a fool, but wrote in accordance with no +matter what views in no matter what newspaper, having neither conviction +nor belief, but quietly claiming the right to say whatever he pleased to +the public on condition that he either amused or impassioned it. + +“And so,” said he, “you know Mège, Monsieur l’Abbé? What a study in +character, eh? A big child, a dreamer of dreams in the skin of a terrible +sectarian! Oh! I have had a deal of intercourse with him, I know him +thoroughly. You are no doubt aware that he lives on with the everlasting +conviction that he will attain to power in six months’ time, and that +between evening and morning he will have established that famous +Collectivist community which is to succeed capitalist society, just as +day follows night. And, by the way, as regards his interpellation to-day, +he is convinced that in overthrowing the Barroux ministry he’ll be +hastening his own turn. His system is to use up his adversaries. How many +times haven’t I heard him making his calculations: there’s such a one to +be used up, then such a one, and then such a one, so that he himself may +at 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 so +his turn never comes at all.” + +Little Massot openly made merry over it. Then, slightly lowering his +voice, he asked: “And Sagnier, do you know him? No? Do you see that +red-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, a +hanging 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 thing +that nobody is exactly aware of is whence Sagnier first came. He long +dragged out his life in the lower depths of journalism, doing nothing at +all brilliant, but wild with ambition and appetite. Perhaps you remember +the first hubbub he made, that rather dirty affair of a new Louis XVII. +which he tried to launch, and which made him the extraordinary Royalist +that he still is. Then it occurred to him to espouse the cause of the +masses, and he made a display of vengeful Catholic socialism, attacking +the Republic and all the abominations of the times in the name of justice +and morality, under the pretext of curing them. He began with a series of +sketches of financiers, a mass of dirty, uncontrolled, unproved +tittle-tattle, which ought to have led him to the dock, but which met, as +you 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 he +himself made a success at the time of the Panama affair by dint of +denunciation and scandal, and which to-day is like a sewer-pipe pouring +forth all the filth of the times. And whenever the stream slackens, why, +he invents things just to satisfy his craving for that hubbub on which +both his pride and his pocket subsist.” + +Little Massot spoke without bitterness; indeed, he had even begun to +laugh again. Beneath his thoughtless ferocity he really felt some respect +for Sagnier. “Oh! he’s a bandit,” he continued, “but a clever fellow all +the same. You can’t imagine how full of vanity he is. Lately it occurred +to him to get himself acclaimed by the populace, for he pretends to be a +kind of King of the Markets, you know. Perhaps he has ended by taking his +fine judge-like airs in earnest, and really believes that he is saving +the people and helping the cause of virtue. What astonishes me is his +fertility in the arts of denunciation and scandalmongering. Never a +morning comes but he discovers some fresh horror, and delivers fresh +culprits over to the hatred of the masses. No! the stream of mud never +ceases; there is an incessant, unexpected spurt of infamy, an increase of +monstrous fancies each time that the disgusted public shows any sign of +weariness. And, do you know, there’s genius in that, Monsieur l’Abbé; for +he is well aware that his circulation goes up as soon as he threatens to +speak out and publish a list of traitors and bribe-takers. His sales are +certain now for some days to come.” + +Listening to Massot’s gay, bantering voice, Pierre began to understand +certain things, the exact meaning of which had hitherto escaped him. He +ended by questioning the young journalist, surprised as he was that so +many deputies should be in the lobbies when the sitting was in progress. +Oh! the sitting indeed. The gravest matters, some bill of national +interest, might be under discussion, yet every member fled from it at the +sudden threat of an interpellation which might overturn the ministry. And +the passion stirring there was the restrained anger, the growing anxiety +of the present ministry’s clients, who feared that they might have to +give place to others; and it was also the sudden hope, the eager hunger +of all who were waiting--the clients of the various possible ministries +of the morrow. + +Massot pointed to Barroux, the head of the Cabinet, who, though he was +out of his element in the Department of Finances, had taken it simply +because his generally recognised integrity was calculated to reassure +public opinion after the Panama crisis. Barroux was chatting in a corner +with the Minister of Public Instruction, Senator Taboureau, an old +university man with a shrinking, mournful air, who was extremely honest, +but totally ignorant of Paris, coming as he did from some far-away +provincial faculty. Barroux for his part was of decorative aspect, tall, +and with a handsome, clean-shaven face, which would have looked quite +noble had not his nose been rather too small. Although he was sixty, he +still had a profusion of curly snow-white hair completing the somewhat +theatrical majesty of his appearance, which he was wont to turn to +account when in the tribune. Coming of an old Parisian family, +well-to-do, an advocate by profession, then a Republican journalist under +the Empire, he had reached office with Gambetta, showing himself at once +honest and romantic, loud of speech, and somewhat stupid, but at the same +time very brave and very upright, and still clinging with ardent faith to +the principles of the great Revolution. However, his Jacobinism was +getting out of fashion, he was becoming an “ancestor,” as it were, one of +the last props of the middle-class Republic, and the new comers, the +young politicians with long teeth, were beginning to smile at him. +Moreover, beneath the ostentation of his demeanour, and the pomp of his +eloquence, there was a man of hesitating, sentimental nature, a good +fellow who shed tears when re-perusing the verses of Lamartine. + +However, Monferrand, the minister for the Home Department, passed by and +drew Barroux aside to whisper a few words in his ear. He, Monferrand, was +fifty, short and fat, with a smiling, fatherly air; nevertheless a look +of keen intelligence appeared at times on his round and somewhat common +face fringed by a beard which was still dark. In him one divined a man of +government, with hands which were fitted for difficult tasks, and which +never released a prey. Formerly mayor of the town of Tulle, he came from +La Corrèze, where he owned a large estate. He was certainly a force in +motion, one whose constant rise was anxiously watched by keen observers. +He spoke in a simple quiet way, but with extraordinary power of +conviction. Having apparently no ambition, affecting indeed the greatest +disinterestedness, he nevertheless harboured the most ferocious +appetites. Sagnier had written that he was a thief and a murderer, having +strangled two of his aunts in order to inherit their property. But even +if he were a murderer, he was certainly not a vulgar one. + +Then, too, came another personage of the drama which was about to be +performed--deputy Vignon, whose arrival agitated the various groups. The +two ministers looked at him, whilst he, at once surrounded by his +friends, 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 he +took great care, a Parisian by birth, having rapidly made his way in the +government service, at one time Prefect at Bordeaux, he now represented +youth and the future in the Chamber. He had realised that new men were +needed in the direction of affairs in order to accomplish the more +urgent, indispensable reforms; and very ambitious and intelligent as he +was, knowing many things, he already had a programme, the application of +which he was quite capable of attempting, in part at any rate. However, +he evinced no haste, but was full of prudence and shrewdness, convinced +that his day would dawn, strong in the fact that he was as yet +compromised in nothing, but had all space before him. At bottom he was +merely a first-class administrator, clear and precise in speech, and his +programme only differed from Barroux’s by the rejuvenation of its +formulas, although the advent of a Vignon ministry in place of a Barroux +ministry appeared an event of importance. And it was of Vignon that +Sagnier had written that he aimed at the Presidency of the Republic, even +should he have to march through blood to reach the Elysée Palace. + +“_Mon Dieu_!” Massot was explaining, “it’s quite possible that Sagnier +isn’t lying this time, and that he has really found a list of names in +some pocket-book of Hunter’s that has fallen into his hands. I myself +have long known that Hunter was Duvillard’s vote-recruiter in the affair +of the African Railways. But to understand matters one must first realise +what his mode of proceeding was, the skill and the kind of amiable +delicacy which he showed, which were far from the brutal corruption and +dirty trafficking that people imagine. One must be such a man as Sagnier +to picture a parliament as an open market, where every conscience is for +sale and is impudently knocked down to the highest bidder. Oh! things +happened in a very different way indeed; and they are explainable, and at +times even excusable. Thus the article is levelled in particular against +Barroux and Monferrand, who are designated in the clearest possible +manner although they are not named. You are no doubt aware that at the +time of the vote Barroux was at the Home Department and Monferrand at +that of Public Works, and so now they are accused of having betrayed +their trusts, the blackest of all social crimes. I don’t know into what +political combinations Barroux may have entered, but I am ready to swear +that he put nothing in his pocket, for he is the most honest of men. As +for Monferrand, that’s another matter; he’s a man to carve himself his +share, only I should be much surprised if he had put himself in a bad +position. 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 to +Duthil, who, feverish, but nevertheless smiling, stood in a group which +had just collected around the two ministers. “There! do you see that +young man yonder, that dark handsome fellow whose beard looks so +triumphant?” + +“I know him,” said Pierre. + +“Oh! you know Duthil. Well, he’s one who most certainly took money. But +he’s a mere bird. He came to us from Angoulême to lead the pleasantest of +lives here, and he has no more conscience, no more scruples, than the +pretty finches of his native part, who are ever love-making. Ah! for +Duthil, Hunter’s money was like manna due to him, and he never even +paused to think that he was dirtying his fingers. You may be quite sure +he feels astonished that people should attach the slightest importance to +the matter.” + +Then Massot designated another deputy in the same group, a man of fifty +or thereabouts, of slovenly aspect and lachrymose mien, lanky, too, like +a maypole, and somewhat bent by the weight of his head, which was long +and suggestive of a horse’s. His scanty, straight, yellowish hair, his +drooping moustaches, in fact the whole of his distracted countenance, +expressed everlasting distress. + +“And Chaigneux, do you know him?” continued Massot, referring to the +deputy in question. “No? Well, look at him and ask yourself if it isn’t +quite as natural that he, too, should have taken money. He came from +Arras. He was a solicitor there. When his division elected him he let +politics intoxicate him, and sold his practice to make his fortune in +Paris, where he installed himself with his wife and his three daughters. +And you can picture his bewilderment amidst those four women, terrible +women ever busy with finery, receiving and paying visits, and running +after marriageable men who flee away. It’s ill-luck with a vengeance, the +daily defeat of a poor devil of mediocre attainments, who imagined that +his position as a deputy would facilitate money-making, and who is +drowning himself in it all. And so how can Chaigneux have done otherwise +than 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, the +series 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 yielded +to the temptation of an open drawer, the company-promoters who grew +intoxicated and lost ground by dint of dealing with big figures. At the +same time, however, Massot admitted that these men were relatively few in +number, and that black sheep were to be found in every parliament of the +world. Then Sagnier’s name cropped up again, and Massot remarked that +only Sagnier could regard the French Chambers as mere dens of thieves. + +Pierre, meantime, felt most interested in the tempest which the threat of +a ministerial crisis was stirring up before him. Not only the men like +Duthil and Chaigneux, pale at feeling the ground tremble beneath them, +and wondering whether they would not sleep at the Mazas prison that +night, were gathered round Barroux and Monferrand; all the latters’ +clients were there, all who enjoyed influence or office through them, and +who would collapse and disappear should they happen to fall. And it was +something to see the anxious glances and the pale dread amidst all the +whispered chatter, the bits of information and tittle-tattle which were +carried hither and thither. Then, in a neighbouring group formed round +Vignon, who looked very calm and smiled, were the other clients, those +who awaited the moment to climb to the assault of power, in order that +they, in their turn, might at last possess influence or office. Eyes +glittered with covetousness, hopeful delight could be read in them, +pleasant surprise at the sudden opportunity now offered. Vignon avoided +replying to the over-direct questions of his friends, and simply +announced that he did not intend to intervene. Evidently enough his plan +was to let Mège interpellate and overthrow the ministry, for he did not +fear him, and in his own estimation would afterwards simply have to stoop +to pick up the fallen portfolios. + +“Ah! Monferrand now,” little Massot was saying, “there’s a rascal who +trims his sails! I knew him as an anti-clerical, a devourer of priests, +Monsieur l’Abbé, if you will allow me so to express myself; however, I +don’t say this to be agreeable to you, but I think I may tell you for +certain that he has become reconciled to religion. At least, I have been +told that Monseigneur Martha, who is a great converter, now seldom leaves +him. This is calculated to please one in these new times, when science +has become bankrupt, and religion blooms afresh with delicious mysticism +on all sides, whether in art, literature, or society itself.” + +Massot was jesting, according to his wont; but he spoke so amiably that +the priest could not do otherwise than bow. However, a great stir had set +in before them; it was announced that Mège was about to ascend the +tribune, and thereupon all the deputies hastened into the assembly hall, +leaving only the inquisitive visitors and a few journalists in the Salle +des Pas Perdus. + +“It’s astonishing that Fonsègue hasn’t yet arrived,” resumed Massot; +“he’s interested in what’s going on. However, he’s so cunning, that when +he doesn’t behave as others do, one may be sure that he has his reasons +for it. Do you know him?” And as Pierre gave a negative answer, Massot +went on: “Oh! he’s a man of brains and real power--I speak with all +freedom, you know, for I don’t possess the bump of veneration; and, as +for my editors, well, they’re the very puppets that I know the best and +pick to pieces with the most enjoyment. Fonsègue, also, is clearly +designated in Sagnier’s article. Moreover, he’s one of Duvillard’s usual +clients. There can be no doubt that he took money, for he takes money in +everything. Only he always protects himself, and takes it for reasons +which may be acknowledged--as payment or commission on account of +advertising, and so forth. And if I left him just now, looking, as it +seemed to me, rather disturbed, and if he delays his arrival here to +establish, as it were, a moral alibi, the truth must be that he has +committed the first imprudent action in his life.” + +Then Massot rattled on, telling all there was to tell about Fonsègue. He, +too, came from the department of La Corrèze, and had quarrelled for life +with Monferrand after some unknown underhand affairs. Formerly an +advocate at Tulle, his ambition had been to conquer Paris; and he had +really conquered it, thanks to his big morning newspaper, “Le Globe,” of +which he was both founder and director. He now resided in a luxurious +mansion in the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, and no enterprise was launched +but 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 reign +over the market. But how very carefully he had behaved, what long and +skilful patience he had shown, before attaining to the reputation of a +really serious man, who guided authoritatively the most virtuous and +respected of the organs of the press! Though in reality he believed +neither in God nor in Devil, he had made this newspaper the supporter of +order, property, and family ties; and though he had become a Conservative +Republican, since it was to his interest to be such, he had remained +outwardly 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’Abbé,” said Massot, “see to what journalism may lead a +man. There you have Sagnier and Fonsègue: just compare them a bit. In +reality 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 really +a sewer which rolls him along and carries him to the cesspool; while the +other’s paper is certainly an example of the best journalism one can +have, most carefully written, with a real literary flavour, a treat for +readers of delicate minds, and an honour to the man who directs it. But +at the bottom, good heavens! in both cases the farce is precisely the +same!” + +Massot burst out laughing, well pleased with this final thrust. Then all +at once: “Ah! here’s Fonsègue at last!” said he. + +Quite at his ease, and still laughing, he forthwith introduced the +priest. “This is Monsieur l’Abbé Froment, my dear _patron_, who has been +waiting more than twenty minutes for you--I’m just going to see what is +happening inside. You know that Mège 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 of +stature, thin and active, still looking young without a grey hair in his +black beard. He had sparkling eyes, too, but his mouth, said to be a +terrible one, was hidden by his moustaches. And withal he looked a +pleasant 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 for +you, Monsieur l’Abbé?” he inquired. + +Then Pierre briefly presented his request, recounting his visit to +Laveuve that morning, giving every heart-rending particular, and asking +for 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 nature +that we could not vote for the man’s admittance.” + +But the priest insisted: “I assure you, monsieur, that your heart would +have burst with compassion had you been with me this morning. It is +revolting that an old man should be left in such frightful abandonment +even for another hour. He must sleep at the Asylum to-night.” + +Fonsègue began to protest. “To-night! But it’s impossible, altogether +impossible! There are all sorts of indispensable formalities to be +observed. And besides I alone cannot take such responsibility. I haven’t +the power. I am only the manager; all that I do is to execute the orders +of 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 immediate +admittance 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 her +own quietude to accept any responsibility. Why is it that she wants me to +have the worries? No, no, Monsieur l’Abbé, I certainly won’t go against +all our regulations; I won’t give an order which would perhaps embroil me +with all those ladies. You don’t know them, but they become positively +terrible directly they attend our meetings.” + +He was growing lively, defending himself with a jocular air, whilst in +secret he was fully determined to do nothing. However, just then Duthil +abruptly reappeared, darting along bareheaded, hastening from lobby to +lobby to recruit absent members, particularly those who were interested +in the grave debate at that moment beginning. “What, Fonsègue!” he cried, +“are you still here? Go, go to your seat at once, it’s serious!” And +thereupon he disappeared. + +His colleague evinced no haste, however. It was as if the suspicious +affair which was impassioning the Chamber had no concern for him. And he +still smiled, although a slight feverish quiver made him blink. “Excuse +me, Monsieur l’Abbé,” he said at last. “You see that my friends have need +of me. I repeat to you that I can do absolutely nothing for your +_protégé_.” + +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 I +feel that your mind is not sufficiently at liberty for you to listen to +me properly. By-and-by, when you come back and give me your full +attention, I am sure that you will grant me what I ask.” + +And, although Fonsègue, as he went off, repeated that he could not alter +his decision, the priest stubbornly resolved to make him do so, and sat +down on the bench again, prepared, if needful, to stay there till the +evening. The Salle des Pas Perdus was now almost quite empty, and looked +yet more frigid and mournful with its Laocoon and its Minerva, its bare +commonplace walls like those of a railway-station waiting-room, between +which all the scramble of the century passed, though apparently without +even warming the lofty ceiling. Never had paler and more callous light +entered by the large glazed doors, behind which one espied the little +slumberous garden with its meagre, wintry lawns. And not an echo of the +tempest of the sitting near at hand reached the spot; from the whole +heavy pile there fell but death-like silence, and a covert quiver of +distress 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 and +virulence. Parliamentary rottenness had slowly increased till it had +begun to attack society itself. Above all the low intrigues and the rush +of personal ambition there certainly remained the loftier struggle of the +contending principles, with history on the march, clearing the past away +and seeking to bring more truth, justice, and happiness in the future. +But in practice, if one only considered the horrid daily cuisine of the +sphere, what an unbridling of egotistical appetite one beheld, what an +absorbing passion to strangle one’s neighbour and triumph oneself alone! +Among the various groups one found but an incessant battle for power and +the satisfactions that it gives. “Left,” “Right,” “Catholics,” + “Republicans,” “Socialists,” the names given to the parties of twenty +different shades, were simply labels classifying forms of the one burning +thirst to rule and dominate. All questions could be reduced to a single +one, that of knowing whether this man, that man, or that other man should +hold France in his grasp, to enjoy it, and distribute its favours among +his creatures. And the worst was that the outcome of the great +parliamentary battles, the days and the weeks lost in setting this man in +the place of that man, and that other man in the place of this man, was +simply stagnation, for not one of the three men was better than his +fellows, and there were but vague points of difference between them; in +such wise that the new master bungled the very same work as the previous +one had bungled, forgetful, perforce, of programmes and promises as soon +as ever he began to reign. + +However, Pierre’s thoughts invincibly reverted to Laveuve, whom he had +momentarily forgotten, but who now seized hold of him again with a quiver +as of anger and death. Ah! what could it matter to that poor old wretch, +dying of hunger on his bed of rags, whether Mège should overthrow +Barroux’s ministry, and whether a Vignon ministry should ascend to power +or not! At that rate, a century, two centuries, would be needed before +there would be bread in the garrets where groan the lamed sons of labour, +the old, broken-down beasts of burden. And behind Laveuve there appeared +the whole army of misery, the whole multitude of the disinherited and the +poor, who agonised and asked for justice whilst the Chamber, sitting in +all pomp, grew furiously impassioned over the question as to whom the +nation should belong to, as to who should devour it. Mire was flowing on +in a broad stream, the hideous, bleeding, devouring sore displayed itself +in all impudence, like some cancer which preys upon an organ and spreads +to the heart. And what disgust, what nausea must such a spectacle +inspire; and what a longing for the vengeful knife that would bring +health and joy! + +Pierre could not have told for how long he had been plunged in this +reverie, when uproar again filled the hall. People were coming back, +gesticulating and gathering in groups. And suddenly he heard little +Massot exclaim near him: “Well, if it isn’t down it’s not much better +off. I wouldn’t give four sous for its chance of surviving.” + +He referred to the ministry, and began to recount the sitting to a fellow +journalist who had just arrived. Mège had spoken very eloquently, with +extraordinary fury of indignation against the rotten _bourgeoisie_, which +rotted everything it touched; but, as usual, he had gone much too far, +alarming the Chamber by his very violence. And so, when Barroux had +ascended the tribune to ask for a month’s adjournment of the +interpellation, he had merely had occasion to wax indignant, in all +sincerity be it said, full of lofty anger that such infamous campaigns +should be carried on by a certain portion of the press. Were the shameful +Panama scandals about to be renewed? Were the national representatives +going to let themselves be intimidated by fresh threats of denunciation? +It was the Republic itself which its adversaries were seeking to submerge +beneath a flood of abominations. No, no, the hour had come for one to +collect one’s thoughts, and work in quietude without allowing those who +hungered for scandal to disturb the public peace. And the Chamber, +impressed by these words, fearing, too, lest the electorate should at +last grow utterly weary of the continuous overflow of filth, had +adjourned the interpellation to that day month. However, although Vignon +had not personally intervened in the debate, the whole of his group had +voted against the ministry, with the result that the latter had merely +secured 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 if +they show any obstinacy they will be down before a week is over, +particularly as Sagnier, who is quite furious, declares that he will +publish the list of names to-morrow.” + +Just then, indeed, Barroux and Monferrand were seen to pass, hastening +along with thoughtful, busy mien, and followed by their anxious clients. +It was said that the whole Cabinet was about to assemble to consider the +position and come to a decision. And then Vignon, in his turn, reappeared +amidst a stream of friends. He, for his part, was radiant, with a joy +which he sought to conceal, calming his friends in his desire not to cry +victory too soon. However, the eyes of the band glittered, like those of +a pack of hounds when the moment draws near for the offal of the quarry +to be distributed. And even Mège also looked triumphant. He had all but +overthrown the ministry. That made another one that was worn out, and +by-and-by he would wear out Vignon’s, and at last govern in his turn. + +“The devil!” muttered little Massot, “Chaigneux and Duthil look like +whipped dogs. And see, there’s nobody who is worth the governor. Just +look at him, how superb he is, that Fonsègue! But good-by, I must now be +off!” + +Then he shook hands with his brother journalist unwilling as he was to +remain any longer, although the sitting still continued, some bill of +public importance again being debated before the rows of empty seats. + +Chaigneux, with his desolate mien, had gone to lean against the pedestal +of the high figure of Minerva; and never before had he been more bowed +down by his needy distress, the everlasting anguish of his ill-luck. On +the other hand, Duthil, in spite of everything, was perorating in the +centre of a group with an affectation of scoffing unconcern; nevertheless +nervous twitches made his nose pucker and distorted his mouth, while the +whole of his handsome face was becoming moist with fear. And even as +Massot had said, there really was only Fonsègue who showed composure and +bravery, ever the same with his restless little figure, and his eyes +beaming with wit, though at times they were just faintly clouded by a +shadow of uneasiness. + +Pierre had risen to renew his request; but Fonsègue forestalled him, +vivaciously exclaiming: “No, no, Monsieur l’Abbé, I repeat that I cannot +take on myself such an infraction of our rules. There was an inquiry, and +a 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 question +of an old man who is hungry and cold, and in danger of death if he be not +succoured.” + +With a despairing gesture, the director of “Le Globe” seemed to take the +very walls as witnesses of his powerlessness. No doubt he feared some +nasty affair for his newspaper, in which he had abused the Invalids of +Labour enterprise as an electoral weapon. Perhaps, too, the secret terror +into which the sitting of the Chamber had just thrown him was hardening +his heart. “I can do nothing,” he repeated. “But naturally I don’t ask +better than to have my hands forced by the ladies of the Committee. You +already have the support of the Baroness Duvillard, secure that of some +others.” + +Pierre, who was determined to fight on to the very end, saw in this +suggestion 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 go +to see the Princess de Harn as well. She bestirs herself a great deal, +and is becoming very influential. Secure the approval of these ladies, go +back to the Baroness’s at seven, get a letter from her to cover me, and +then call on me at the office of my paper. That done, your man shall +sleep at the Asylum at nine o’clock!” + +He evinced in speaking a kind of joyous good nature, as though he no +longer doubted of success now that he ran no risk of compromising +himself. 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 cure +misery, 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 larger +as all the anger and anguish, roused by the recent debate, ebbed back +there 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 more +to the surface. And Pierre had to bring his elbows into play and force a +passage athwart the throng, betwixt the shivering cowardice of some, the +insolent audacity of others, and the smirchings which sullied the greater +number, given the contagion which inevitably prevailed. However, he +carried away a fresh hope, and it seemed to him that if he should save a +life, make but one man happy that day, it would be like a first +instalment of redemption, a sign that a little forgiveness would be +extended to the many follies and errors of that egotistical and +all-devouring political world. + +On reaching the vestibule a final incident detained him for a moment +longer. Some commotion prevailed there following upon a quarrel between a +man and an usher, the latter of whom had prevented the former from +entering on finding that the admission ticket which he tendered was an +old one, with its original date scratched out. The man, very rough at the +outset, had then refrained from insisting, as if indeed sudden timidity +had come upon him. And in this ill-dressed fellow Pierre was astonished +to recognise Salvat, the journeyman engineer, whom he had seen going off +in search of work that same morning. This time it was certainly he, tall, +thin and ravaged, with dreamy yet flaming eyes, which set his pale +starveling’s face aglow. He no longer carried his tool-bag; his ragged +jacket was buttoned up and distended on the left side by something that +he carried in a pocket, doubtless some hunk of bread. And on being +repulsed 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 grey +woodwork--the Countess de Quinsac sat near the chimney-piece in her +accustomed place. She was singularly like her son, with a long and noble +face, her chin somewhat stern, but her eyes still beautiful beneath her +fine snowy hair, which was arranged in the antiquated style of her youth. +And whatever her haughty coldness, she knew how to be amiable, with +perfect, kindly graciousness. + +Slightly waving her hand after a long silence, she resumed, addressing +herself to the Marquis de Morigny, who sat on the other side of the +chimney, where for long years he had always taken the same armchair. “Ah! +you are right, my friend, Providence has left us here forgotten, in a +most abominable epoch.” + +“Yes, we passed by the side of happiness and missed it,” the Marquis +slowly replied, “and it was your fault, and doubtless mine as well.” + +Smiling sadly, she stopped him with another wave of her hand. And the +silence fell once more; not a sound from the streets reached that gloomy +ground floor at the rear of the courtyard of an old mansion in the Rue +St. Dominique, almost at the corner of the Rue de Bourgogne. + +The Marquis was an old man of seventy-five, nine years older than the +Countess. Short and thin though he was, he none the less had a +distinguished air, with his clean-shaven face, furrowed by deep, +aristocratic wrinkles. He belonged to one of the most ancient families of +France, and remained one of the last hopeless Legitimists, of very pure +and lofty views, zealously keeping his faith to the dead monarchy amidst +the downfall of everything. His fortune, still estimated at several +millions of francs, remained, as it were, in a state of stagnation, +through his refusal to invest it in any of the enterprises of the +century. It was known that in all discretion he had loved the Countess, +even when M. de Quinsac was alive, and had, moreover, offered marriage +after the latter’s death, at the time when the widow had sought a refuge +on that damp ground floor with merely an income of some 15,000 francs, +saved with great difficulty from the wreck of the family fortune. But +she, who adored her son Gérard, then in his tenth year, and of delicate +health, had sacrificed everything to the boy from a kind of maternal +chasteness and a superstitious fear that she might lose him should she +set another affection and another duty in her life. And the Marquis, +while bowing to her decision, had continued to worship her with his whole +soul, 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. There +had 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’t +know how, and the fault can certainly only rest with me. Is Gérard giving +you any cause for anxiety?” + +She shook her head, and then replied: “As long as things remain as they +are 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 had +so much trouble to rear, for she alone knew what exhaustion, what racial +collapse was hidden behind his proud bearing. She tolerated his idleness, +the apathetic disgust which, man of pleasure that he was, had turned him +from the profession of diplomacy as from that of arms. How many times had +she not repaired his acts of folly and paid his petty debts, keeping +silent concerning them, and refusing all pecuniary help from the Marquis, +who no longer dared offer his millions, so stubbornly intent she was on +living upon the remnants of her own fortune. And thus she had ended by +closing her eyes to her son’s scandalous love intrigue, divining in some +measure how things had happened, through self-abandonment and lack of +conscience--the man weak, unable to resume possession of himself, and the +woman holding and retaining him. The Marquis, however, strangely enough, +had only forgiven the intrigue on the day when Eve had allowed herself to +be converted. + +“You know, my friend, how good-natured Gérard is,” the Countess resumed. +“In that lie both his strength and weakness. How would you have me scold +him 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 to +marry her--” + +“But the daughter’s infirm?” + +“Yes, and you know what would be said: A Quinsac marrying a monster for +the sake of her millions.” + +This was their mutual terror. They knew everything that went on at the +Duvillards, the affectionate friendship of the uncomely Camille and the +handsome Gérard, the seeming idyll beneath which lurked the most awful of +dramas. And they protested with all their indignation. “Oh! that, no, no, +never!” the Countess declared. “My son in that family, no, I will never +consent to it.” + +Just at that moment General de Bozonnet entered. He was much attached to +his 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 few +faithful ones ventured into that grey gloomy _salon_, where one might +have fancied oneself at thousands of leagues from present-day Paris. And +forthwith, in order to enliven the room, he related that he had been to +_déjeuner_ at the Duvillards, and named the guests, Gérard among them. He +knew that he pleased his sister by going to the banker’s house whence he +brought her news, a house, too, which he cleansed in some degree by +conferring on it the great honour of his presence. And he himself in no +wise felt bored there, for he had long been gained over to the century +and showed himself of a very accommodating disposition in everything that +did not pertain to military art. + +“That poor little Camille worships Gérard,” said he; “she was devouring +him with her eyes at table.” + +But M. de Morigny gravely intervened: “There lies the danger, a marriage +would be absolutely monstrous from every point of view.” + +The General seemed astonished: “Why, pray? She isn’t beautiful, but it’s +not only the beauties who marry! And there are her millions. However, our +dear child would only have to put them to a good use. True, there is also +the mother; but, _mon Dieu_! such things are so common nowadays in Paris +society.” + +This revolted the Marquis, who made a gesture of utter disgust. What was +the use of discussion when all collapsed? How could one answer a +Bozonnet, the last surviving representative of such an illustrious +family, when he reached such a point as to excuse the infamous morals +that prevailed under the Republic; after denying his king, too, and +serving the Empire, faithfully and passionately attaching himself to the +fortunes and memory of Caesar? However, the Countess also became +indignant: “Oh! what are you saying, brother? I will never authorize such +a scandal, I swore so only just now.” + +“Don’t swear, sister,” exclaimed the General; “for my part I should like +to see our Gérard happy. That’s all. And one must admit that he’s not +good for much. I can understand that he didn’t go into the Army, for that +profession is done for. But I do not so well understand why he did not +enter the diplomatic profession, or accept some other occupation. It is +very fine, no doubt, to run down the present times and declare that a man +of our sphere cannot possibly do any clean work in them. But, as a matter +of fact, it is only idle fellows who still say that. And Gérard has but +one excuse, his lack of aptitude, will and strength.” + +Tears had risen to the mother’s eyes. She even trembled, well knowing how +deceitful were appearances: a mere chill might carry her son off, however +tall and strong he might look. And was he not indeed a symbol of that +old-time aristocracy, still so lofty and proud in appearance, though at +bottom it is but dust? + +“Well,” continued the General, “he’s thirty-six now; he’s constantly +hanging on your hands, and he must make an end of it all.” + +However, the Countess silenced him and turned to the Marquis: “Let us put +our confidence in God, my friend,” said she. “He cannot but come to my +help, for I have never willingly offended Him.” + +“Never!” replied the Marquis, who in that one word set an expression of +all his grief, all his affection and worship for that woman whom he had +adored for so many years. + +But another faithful friend came in and the conversation changed. M. de +Larombière, Vice-President of the Appeal Court, was an old man of +seventy-five, thin, bald and clean shaven but for a pair of little white +whiskers. And his grey eyes, compressed mouth and square and obstinate +chin lent an expression of great austerity to his long face. The grief of +his life was that, being afflicted with a somewhat childish lisp, he had +never been able to make his full merits known when a public prosecutor, +for he esteemed himself to be a great orator. And this secret worry +rendered him morose. In him appeared an incarnation of that old royalist +France which sulked and only served the Republic against its heart, that +old stern magistracy which closed itself to all evolution, to all new +views of things and beings. Of petty “gown” nobility, originally a +Legitimist but now supporting Orleanism, he believed himself to be the +one man of wisdom and logic in that _salon_, where he was very proud to +meet the Marquis. + +They talked of the last events; but with them political conversation was +soon exhausted, amounting as it did to a mere bitter condemnation of men +and occurrences, for all three were of one mind as to the abominations of +the Republican _régime_. They themselves, however, were only ruins, the +remnants of the old parties now all but utterly powerless. The Marquis +for his part soared on high, yielding in nothing, ever faithful to the +dead past; he was one of the last representatives of that lofty obstinate +_noblesse_ which dies when it finds itself without an effort to escape +its fate. The judge, who at least had a pretender living, relied on a +miracle, and demonstrated the necessity for one if France were not to +sink into the depths of misfortune and completely disappear. And as for +the General, all that he regretted of the two Empires was their great +wars; he left the faint hope of a Bonapartist restoration on one side to +declare that by not contenting itself with the Imperial military system, +and by substituting thereto obligatory service, the nation in arms, the +Republic had killed both warfare and the country. + +When the Countess’s one man-servant came to ask her if she would consent +to receive Abbé Froment she seemed somewhat surprised. “What can he want +of me? Show him in,” she said. + +She was very pious, and having met Pierre in connection with various +charitable enterprises, she had been touched by his zeal as well as by +the saintly reputation which he owed to his Neuilly parishioners. + +He, absorbed by his fever, felt intimidated directly he crossed the +threshold. He could at first distinguish nothing, but fancied he was +entering some place of mourning, a shadowy spot where human forms seemed +to melt away, and voices were never raised above a whisper. Then, on +perceiving the persons present, he felt yet more out of his element, for +they seemed so sad, so far removed from the world whence he had just +come, and whither he was about to return. And when the Countess had made +him sit down beside her in front of the chimney-piece, it was in a low +voice that he told her the lamentable story of Laveuve, and asked her +support to secure the man’s admittance to the Asylum for the Invalids of +Labour. + +“Ah! yes,” said she, “that enterprise which my son wished me to belong +to. But, Monsieur l’Abbé, I have never once attended the Committee +meetings. So how could I intervene, having assuredly no influence +whatever?” + +Again had the figures of Eve and Gérard arisen before her, for it was at +this asylum that the pair had first met. And influenced by her sorrowful +maternal love she was already weakening, although it was regretfully that +she had lent her name to one of those noisy charitable enterprises, which +people abused to further their selfish interests in a manner she +condemned. + +“But, madame,” Pierre insisted, “it is a question of a poor starving old +man. 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 that +it’s difficult to feel any pity for fellows who, if they were the +masters, would, as they themselves say, sweep us all away.” + +M. de Larombière jerked his chin approvingly. For some time past he had +been haunted by the Anarchist peril. But Pierre, distressed and +quivering, again began to plead his cause. He spoke of all the frightful +misery, the homes where there was no food, the women and children +shivering with cold, and the fathers scouring muddy, wintry Paris in +search of a bit of bread. All that he asked for was a line on a visiting +card, a kindly word from the Countess, which he would at once carry to +Baroness Duvillard to prevail on her to set the regulations aside. And +his words fell one by one, tremulous with stifled tears, in that mournful +_salon_, like sounds from afar, dying away in a dead world where there +was no echo left. + +Madame de Quinsac turned towards M. de Morigny, but he seemed to take no +interest in it all. He was gazing fixedly at the fire, with the haughty +air of a stranger who was indifferent to the things and beings in whose +midst an error of time compelled him to live. But feeling that the glance +of the woman he worshipped was fixed upon him he raised his head; and +then their eyes met for a moment with an expression of infinite +gentleness, the mournful gentleness of their heroic love. + +“_Mon Dieu_!” said she, “I know your merits, Monsieur l’Abbé, and I won’t +refuse my help to one of your good works.” + +Then she went off for a moment, and returned with a card on which she had +written that she supported with all her heart Monsieur l’Abbé Froment in +the steps he was taking. And he thanked her and went off delighted, as if +he carried yet a fresh hope of salvation from that drawing-room where, as +he retired, gloom and silence once more seemed to fall on that old lady +and her last faithful friends gathered around the fire, last relics of a +world that was soon to disappear. + +Once outside, Pierre joyfully climbed into his cab again, after giving +the Princess de Harn’s address in the Avenue Kleber. If he could also +obtain her approval he would no longer doubt of success. However, there +was such a crush on the Concorde bridge, that the driver had to walk his +horse. And, on the foot-pavement, Pierre again saw Duthil, who, with a +cigar between his lips, was smiling at the crowd, with his amiable +bird-like heedlessness, happy as he felt at finding the pavement dry and +the sky blue on leaving that worrying sitting of the Chamber. Seeing how +gay and triumphant he looked, a sudden inspiration came to the priest, +who said to himself that he ought to win over this young man, whose +report had had such a disastrous effect. As it happened, the cab having +been compelled to stop altogether, the deputy had just recognized him and +was smiling at him. + +“Where are you going, Monsieur Duthil?” Pierre asked. + +“Close by, in the Champs Elysées.” + +“I’m going that way, and, as I should much like to speak to you for a +moment, it would be very kind of you to take a seat beside me. I will set +you down wherever you like.” + +“Willingly, Monsieur l’Abbé. It won’t inconvenience you if I finish my +cigar?” + +“Oh! not at all.” + +The cab found its way out of the crush, crossed the Place de la Concorde +and began to ascend the Champs Elysées. And Pierre, reflecting that he +had very few minutes before him, at once attacked Duthil, quite ready for +any effort to convince him. He remembered what a sortie the young deputy +had made against Laveuve at the Baron’s; and thus he was astonished to +hear him interrupt and say quite pleasantly, enlivened as he seemed by +the bright sun which was again beginning to shine: “Ah, yes! your old +drunkard! So you didn’t settle his business with Fonsègue? And what is it +you 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 one +looks at them. And if you are so anxious about your Laveuve I won’t +refuse 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, leaning +forward with a confidential air. “It’s the Baron who’s the master at +home, for reasons which you may divine, which you may very likely know. +The Baroness does all that he asks without even discussing the point; and +this morning,--instead of starting on a lot of useless visits, you only +had to gain his support, particularly as he seemed to be very well +disposed. And she would then have given way immediately.” Duthil began to +laugh. “And so,” he continued, “do you know what I’ll do? Well, I’ll gain +the Baron over to your cause. Yes, I am this moment going to a house +where 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’Abbé. When he is there you may be certain he never gives a +refusal. I promise you I’ll make him swear that he will compel his wife +to grant your man admission this very evening. Only it will, perhaps, be +rather late.” + +Then all at once, as if struck by a fresh idea, Duthil went on: “But why +shouldn’t you come with me? You secure a line from the Baron, and +thereupon, without losing a minute, you go in search of the Baroness. Ah! +yes, the house embarrasses you a little, I understand it. Would you like +to 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 hardly +a place for him. However, to achieve his purpose, he would have descended +into the very dwelling of the fiend, and had already done so sometimes +with Abbé Rose, when there was hope of assuaging wretchedness. So he +turned 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 of +gallantry, stood in the Avenue d’Antin, near the Champs Elysées. The +inmate of this sanctuary, where the orfrays of old dalmaticas glittered +in the mauve reflections from the windows of stained-glass, had just +completed her twenty-fifth year. Short and slim she was, of an adorable, +dark beauty, and all Paris was acquainted with her delicious, virginal +countenance of a gentle oval, her delicate nose, her little mouth, her +candid cheeks and artless chin, above all which she wore her black hair +in thick, heavy bands, which hid her low brow. Her notoriety was due +precisely to her pretty air of astonishment, the infinite purity of her +blue eyes, the whole expression of chaste innocence which she assumed +when it so pleased her, an expression which contrasted powerfully with +her true nature, shameless creature that she really was, of the most +monstrous, confessed, and openly-displayed perversity; such as, in fact, +often spring up from the rotting soil of great cities. Extraordinary +things were related about Silviane’s tastes and fancies. Some said that +she was a door-keeper’s, others a doctor’s, daughter. In any case she had +managed to acquire instruction and manners, for when occasion required +she lacked neither wit, nor style, nor deportment. She had been rolling +through the theatres for ten years or so, applauded for her beauty’s +sake, and she had even ended by obtaining some pretty little successes in +such parts as those of very pure young girls or loving and persecuted +young women. Since there had been a question, though, of her entering the +Comédie Française to play the _rôle_ of Pauline in “Polyeucte,” some +people had waxed indignant and others had roared with laughter, so +ridiculous did the idea appear, so outrageous for the majesty of classic +tragedy. She, however, quiet and stubborn, wished this thing to be, was +resolved 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 refuse +anything. + +That day, at three o’clock, Gérard de Quinsac, not knowing how to kill +the time pending the appointment he had given Eve in the Rue Matignon, +had thought of calling at Silviane’s, which was in the neighbourhood. She +was an old caprice of his, and even nowadays he would sometimes linger at +the little mansion if its pretty mistress felt bored. But he had this +time found her in a fury; and, reclining in one of the deep armchairs of +the _salon_ where “old gold” formed the predominant colour, he was +listening to her complaints. She, standing in a white gown, white indeed +from head to foot like Eve herself at the _déjeuner_, was speaking +passionately, and fast convincing the young man, who, won over by so much +youth and beauty, unconsciously compared her to his other flame, weary +already of his coming assignation, and so mastered by supineness, both +moral and physical, that he would have preferred to remain all day in the +depths of that armchair. + +“You hear me, Gérard!” she at last exclaimed, “I’ll have nothing whatever +to do with him, unless he brings me my nomination.” + +Just then Baron Duvillard came in, and forthwith she changed to ice and +received him like some sorely offended young queen who awaits an +explanation; whilst he, who foresaw the storm and brought moreover +disastrous tidings, forced a smile, though very ill at ease. She was the +stain, the blemish attaching to that man who was yet so sturdy and so +powerful amidst the general decline of his race. And she was also the +beginning of justice and punishment, taking all his piled-up gold from +him by the handful, and by her cruelty avenging those who shivered and +who starved. And it was pitiful to see that feared and flattered man, +beneath whom states and governments trembled, here turn pale with +anxiety, bend low in all humility, and relapse into the senile, lisping +infancy of acute passion. + +“Ah! my dear friend,” said he, “if you only knew how I have been rushing +about. I had a lot of worrying business, some contractors to see, a big +advertisement affair to settle, and I feared that I should never be able +to come and kiss your hand.” + +He kissed it, but she let her arm fall, coldly, indifferently, contenting +herself with looking at him, waiting for what he might have to say to +her, and embarrassing him to such a point that he began to perspire and +stammer, unable to express himself. “Of course,” he began, “I also +thought of you, and went to the Fine Arts Office, where I had received a +positive promise. Oh! they are still very much in your favour at the Fine +Arts Office! Only, just fancy, it’s that idiot of a minister, that +Taboureau,* an old professor from the provinces who knows nothing about +our Paris, that has expressly opposed your nomination, saying that as +long as he is in office you shall not appear at the Comédie.” + + * 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 all +overthrow 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 of +his sturdy figure quivered with anguish. “Come, my little Silviane,” said +he, “don’t be obstinate. You can be so nice when you choose. Give up the +idea of that _début_. You, yourself, would risk a great deal in it, for +what would be your worries if you were to fail? You would weep all the +tears in your body. And besides, you can ask me for so many other things +which I should be so happy to give you. Come now, at once, make a wish +and I will gratify it immediately.” + +In a frolicsome way he sought to take her hand again. But she drew back +with an air of much dignity. “No, you hear me, my dear fellow, I will +have nothing whatever to do with you--nothing, so long as I don’t play +Pauline.” + +He understood her fully, and he knew her well enough to realise how +rigorously she would treat him. Only a kind of grunt came from his +contracted throat, though he still tried to treat the matter in a jesting +way. “Isn’t she bad-tempered to-day!” he resumed at last, turning towards +Gérard. “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 be +bespattered in the course of the dispute, continued to stretch himself +out in a languid way and gave no answer. + +But Silviane’s anger burst forth. “What has he done to me? He has pitied +me for being at the mercy of such a man as you--so egotistical, so +insensible to the insults heaped upon me. Ought you not to be the first +to bound with indignation? Ought you not to have exacted my admittance to +the Comédie as a reparation for the insult? For, after all, it is a +defeat for you; if I’m considered unworthy, you are struck at the same +time as I am. And so I’m a drab, eh? Say at once that I’m a creature to +be driven away from all respectable houses.” + +She went on in this style, coming at last to vile words, the abominable +words which, in moments of anger, always ended by returning to her +innocent-looking lips. The Baron, who well knew that a syllable from him +would only increase the foulness of the overflow, vainly turned an +imploring glance on the Count to solicit his intervention. Gérard, with +his keen desire for peace and quietness, often brought about a +reconciliation, but this time he did not stir, feeling too lazy and +sleepy to interfere. And Silviane all at once came to a finish, repeating +her trenchant, severing words: “Well, manage as you can, secure my +_début_, or I’ll have nothing more to do with you, nothing!” + +“All right! all right!” Duvillard at last murmured, sneering, but in +despair, “we’ll arrange it all.” + +However, at that moment a servant came in to say that M. Duthil was +downstairs and wished to speak to the Baron in the smoking-room. +Duvillard was astonished at this, for Duthil usually came up as though +the house were his own. Then he reflected that the deputy had doubtless +brought him some serious news from the Chamber which he wished to impart +to him confidentially at once. So he followed the servant, leaving Gérard +and Silviane together. + +In the smoking-room, an apartment communicating with the hall by a wide +bay, the curtain of which was drawn up, Pierre stood with his companion, +waiting and glancing curiously around him. What particularly struck him +was the almost religious solemnness of the entrance, the heavy hangings, +the mystic gleams of the stained-glass, the old furniture steeped in +chapel-like gloom amidst scattered perfumes of myrrh and incense. Duthil, +who was still very gay, tapped a low divan with his cane and said: “She +has a nicely-furnished house, eh? Oh! she knows how to look after her +interests.” + +Then the Baron came in, still quite upset and anxious. And without even +perceiving the priest, desirous as he was of tidings, he began: “Well, +what did they do? Is there some very bad news, then?” + +“Mège interpellated and applied for a declaration of urgency so as to +overthrow Barroux. You can imagine what his speech was.” + +“Yes, yes, against the _bourgeois_, against me, against you. It’s always +the 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 Vignon +ministry next week.” + +“That’s what everybody said in the lobbies.” + +The Baron frowned, as if he were estimating what good or evil might +result to the world from such a change. Then, with a gesture of +displeasure, he said: “A Vignon ministry! The devil! that would hardly be +any better. Those young democrats pretend to be virtuous, and a Vignon +ministry wouldn’t admit Silviane to the Comédie.” + +This, at first, was his only thought in presence of the crisis which made +the political world tremble. And so the deputy could not refrain from +referring to his own anxiety. “Well, and we others, what is our position +in it all?” + +This brought Duvillard back to the situation. With a fresh gesture, this +time 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, I +imagine. Oh! I am quite at ease. Sagnier can publish his famous list if +it amuses him to do so. If we haven’t long since bought Sagnier and his +list, it’s because Barroux is a thoroughly honest man, and for my part I +don’t care to throw money out of the window--I repeat to you that we fear +nothing.” + +Then, as he at last recognised Abbé Froment, who had remained in the +shade, Duthil explained what service the priest desired of him. And +Duvillard, in his state of emotion, his heart still rent by Silviane’s +sternness, must have felt a covert hope that a good action might bring +him luck; so he at once consented to intervene in favour of Laveuve’s +admission. Taking a card and a pencil from his pocket-book he drew near +to the window. “Oh! whatever you desire, Monsieur l’Abbé,” he said, “I +shall be very happy to participate in this good work. Here, this is what +I have written: ‘My dear, please do what M. l’Abbé Froment solicits in +favour of this unfortunate man, since our friend Fonsègue only awaits a +word from you to take proper steps.’” + +At this moment through the open bay Pierre caught sight of Gérard, whom +Silviane, calm once more, and inquisitive no doubt to know why Duthil had +called, was escorting into the hall. And the sight of the young woman +filled 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 lily +of more unobtrusive yet delicious bloom in the whole garden of innocence. + +“Now,” continued Duvillard, “if you wish to hand this card to my wife at +once, you must go to the Princess de Harn’s, where there is a +_matinée_--” + +“I was going there, Monsieur le Baron.” + +“Very good. You will certainly find my wife there; she is to take the +children there.” Then he paused, for he too had just seen Gérard; and he +called him: “I say, Gérard, my wife said that she was going to that +_matinée_, didn’t she? You feel sure--don’t you?--that Monsieur l’Abbé +will find her there?” + +Although the young man was then going to the Rue Matignon, there to wait +for Eve, it was in the most natural manner possible that he replied: “If +Monsieur l’Abbé makes haste, I think he will find her there, for she was +certainly 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 Duvillard +introduce him to the mistress of the house. He bowed in silence, whilst +she, likewise silent, returned his bow with modest reserve, the tact +appropriate to the occasion, such as no _ingénue_, even at the Comédie, +was then capable of. And while the Baron accompanied the priest to the +door, she returned to the _salon_ with Duthil, who was scarcely screened +by the door-curtain before he passed his arm round her waist. + +When Pierre, who at last felt confident of success, found himself, still +in his cab, in front of the Princess de Harn’s mansion in the Avenue +Kleber, he suddenly relapsed into great embarrassment. The avenue was +crowded with carriages brought thither by the musical _matinée_, and such +a throng of arriving guests pressed round the entrance, decorated with a +kind of tent with scallopings of red velvet, that he deemed the house +unapproachable. How could he manage to get in? And how in his cassock +could he reach the Princess, and ask for a minute’s conversation with +Baroness Duvillard? Amidst all his feverishness he had not thought of +these difficulties. However, he was approaching the door on foot, asking +himself how he might glide unperceived through the throng, when the sound +of a merry voice made him turn: “What, Monsieur l’Abbé! Is it possible! +So now I find you here!” + +It was little Massot who spoke. He went everywhere, witnessed ten sights +a day,--a parliamentary sitting, a funeral, a wedding, any festive or +mourning scene,--when he wanted a good subject for an article. “What! +Monsieur l’Abbé,” he resumed, “and so you have come to our amiable +Princess’s to see the Mauritanians dance!” + +He was jesting, for the so-called Mauritanians were simply six Spanish +dancing-girls, who by the sensuality of their performance were then +making all Paris rush to the Folies-Bergère. For drawing-room +entertainments these girls reserved yet more indecorous dances--dances of +such a character indeed that they would certainly not have been allowed +in a theatre. And the _beau monde_ rushed to see them at the houses of +the bolder lady-entertainers, the eccentric and foreign ones like the +Princess, who in order to draw society recoiled from no “attraction.” + +But when Pierre had explained to little Massot that he was still running +about on the same business, the journalist obligingly offered to pilot +him. He knew the house, obtained admittance by a back door, and brought +Pierre along a passage into a corner of the hall, near the very entrance +of the grand drawing-room. Lofty green plants decorated this hall, and in +the spot selected Pierre was virtually hidden. “Don’t stir, my dear +Abbé,” said Massot, “I will try to ferret out the Princess for you. And +you shall know if Baroness Duvillard has already arrived.” + +What surprised Pierre was that every window-shutter of the mansion was +closed, every chink stopped up so that daylight might not enter, and that +every room flared with electric lamps, an illumination of supernatural +intensity. The heat was already very great, the atmosphere heavy with a +violent perfume of flowers and _odore di femina_. And to Pierre, who felt +both blinded and stifled, it seemed as if he were entering one of those +luxurious, unearthly Dens of the Flesh such as the pleasure-world of +Paris conjures from dreamland. By rising on tiptoes, as the drawing-room +entrance was wide open, he could distinguish the backs of the women who +were already seated, rows of necks crowned with fair or dark hair. The +Mauritanians were doubtless executing their first dance. He did not see +them, but he could divine the lascivious passion of the dance from the +quiver of all those women’s necks, which swayed as beneath a great gust +of wind. Then laughter arose and a tempest of bravos, quite a tumult of +enjoyment. + +“I can’t put my hand on the Princess; you must wait a little,” Massot +returned to say. “I met Janzen and he promised to bring her to me. Don’t +you know Janzen?” + +Then, in part because his profession willed it, and in part for +pleasure’s sake, he began to gossip. The Princess was a good friend of +his. He had described her first _soiree_ during the previous year, when +she had made her _début_ at that mansion on her arrival in Paris. He knew +the real truth about her so far as it could be known. Rich? yes, perhaps +she was, for she spent enormous sums. Married she must have been, and to +a real prince, too; no doubt she was still married to him, in spite of +her story of widowhood. Indeed, it seemed certain that her husband, who +was as handsome as an archangel, was travelling about with a vocalist. As +for having a bee in her bonnet that was beyond discussion, as clear as +noonday. Whilst showing much intelligence, she constantly and suddenly +shifted. Incapable of any prolonged effort, she went from one thing that +had awakened her curiosity to another, never attaching herself anywhere. +After ardently busying herself with painting, she had lately become +impassioned for chemistry, and was now letting poetry master her. + +“And so you don’t know Janzen,” continued Massot. “It was he who threw +her into chemistry, into the study of explosives especially, for, as you +may imagine, the only interest in chemistry for her is its connection +with Anarchism. She, I think, is really an Austrian, though one must +always doubt anything she herself says. As for Janzen, he calls himself a +Russian, but he’s probably German. Oh! he’s the most unobtrusive, +enigmatical man in the world, without a home, perhaps without a name--a +terrible fellow with an unknown past. I myself hold proofs which make me +think that he took part in that frightful crime at Barcelona. At all +events, for nearly a year now I’ve been meeting him in Paris, where the +police no doubt are watching him. And nothing can rid me of the idea that +he merely consented to become our lunatic Princess’s lover in order to +throw the detectives off the scent. He affects to live in the midst of +_fêtes_, and he has introduced to the house some extraordinary people, +Anarchists of all nationalities and all colours--for instance, one +Raphanel, that fat, jovial little man yonder, a Frenchman he is, and his +companions would do well to mistrust him. Then there’s a Bergaz, a +Spaniard, 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! the +foreign colonies of our Parisian pleasure-world! There are a few spotless +fine 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: resounding +titles, real millionaires, then, down below, the most extravagant medley +of international imposture and turpitude. And Pierre thought of that +internationalism, that cosmopolitanism, that flight of foreigners which, +ever denser and denser, swooped down upon Paris. Most certainly it came +thither to enjoy it, as to a city of adventure and delight, and it helped +to rot it a little more. Was it then a necessary thing, that +decomposition of the great cities which have governed the world, that +affluxion of every passion, every desire, every gratification, that +accumulation of reeking soil from all parts of the world, there where, in +beauty and intelligence, blooms the flower of civilisation? + +However, Janzen appeared, a tall, thin fellow of about thirty, very fair +with grey, pale, harsh eyes, and a pointed beard and flowing curly hair +which elongated his livid, cloudy face. He spoke indifferent French in a +low voice and without a gesture. And he declared that the Princess could +not be found; he had looked for her everywhere. Possibly, if somebody had +displeased her, she had shut herself up in her room and gone to bed, +leaving her guests to amuse themselves in all freedom in whatever way +they might choose. + +“Why, but here she is!” suddenly said Massot. + +Rosemonde was indeed there, in the vestibule, watching the door as if she +expected somebody. Short, slight, and strange rather than pretty, with +her delicate face, her sea-green eyes, her small quivering nose, her +rather large and over-ruddy mouth, which was parted so that one could see +her 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 pale +brown hair, which rained down in curls and frizzy, straggling locks as +though waving in a perpetual breeze. + +“Oh! whatever you desire, Monsieur l’Abbé,” she said to Pierre as soon as +she 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 and +daughter. Yesterday, Hyacinthe positively promised me that he would +come.” + +There lay her new caprice. If her passion for chemistry was giving way to +a budding taste for decadent, symbolical verse, it was because one +evening, whilst discussing Occultism with Hyacinthe, she had discovered +an extraordinary beauty in him: the astral beauty of Nero’s wandering +soul! At least, said she, the signs of it were certain. + +And all at once she quitted Pierre: “Ah, at last!” she cried, feeling +relieved and happy. Then she darted forward: Hyacinthe was coming in with +his sister Camille. + +On the very threshold, however, he had just met the friend on whose +account he was there, young Lord George Eldrett, a pale and languid +stripling with the hair of a girl; and he scarcely condescended to notice +the tender greeting of Rosemonde, for he professed to regard woman as an +impure and degrading creature. Distressed by such coldness, she followed +the two young men, returning in their rear into the reeking, blinding +furnace of the drawing-room. + +Massot, however, had been obliging enough to stop Camille and bring her +to 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 of +peacock-blue, was nervous, with wicked eyes and sibilant voice. And as +she ragefully drew up her little figure, her deformity, her left shoulder +higher than the right one, became more apparent than ever. “No,” she +rejoined, “she was unable. She had something to try on at her +dressmaker’s. We stopped too long at the Exposition du Lis, and she +requested 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 art +show, still hoping to prevent her mother from meeting Gérard. And her +rage arose from the ease with which her mother had got rid of her, thanks +to 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. Then +she retorted: “Oh! who knows if you would still find her there? She had +another 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 affairs +to attend to. The carriage will take us home alone, my brother and I.” + +Increasing bitterness was infecting the girl’s pain-fraught irony. Did he +not understand her then, that priest who asked such naive questions which +were like dagger-thrusts in her heart? Yet he must know, since everybody +knew the truth. + +“Ah! how worried I am,” Pierre resumed, so grieved indeed that tears +almost came to his eyes. “It’s still on account of that poor man about +whom I have been busying myself since this morning. I have a line from +your father, and Monsieur Gérard told me--” But at this point he paused +in confusion, and amidst all his thoughtlessness of the world, absorbed +as he was in the one passion of charity, he suddenly divined the truth. +“Yes,” he added mechanically, “I just now saw your father again with +Monsieur de Quinsac.” + +“I know, I know,” replied Camille, with the suffering yet scoffing air of +a girl who is ignorant of nothing. “Well, Monsieur l’Abbé, if you have a +line from papa for mamma, you must wait till mamma has finished her +business. You might come to the house about six o’clock, but I doubt if +you’ll find her there, as she may well be detained.” + +While Camille thus spoke, her murderous eyes glistened, and each word she +uttered, simple as it seemed, became instinct with ferocity, as if it +were a knife, which she would have liked to plunge into her mother’s +breast. In all certainty she had never before hated her mother to such a +point 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 that +simple priest, was like a flood of mire with which she sought to submerge +her rival. + +Just then, however, Rosemonde came back again, feverish and flurried as +usual. And she led Camille away: “Ah, my dear, make haste. They are +extraordinary, delightful, intoxicating!” + +Janzen and little Massot also followed the Princess. All the men hastened +from the adjoining rooms, scrambled and plunged into the _salon_ at the +news that the Mauritanians had again begun to dance. That time it must +have been the frantic, lascivious gallop that Paris whispered about, for +Pierre saw the rows of necks and heads, now fair, now dark, wave and +quiver as beneath a violent wind. With every window-shutter closed, the +conflagration of the electric lamps turned the place into a perfect +brazier, 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 moment +bewildered, blinking, astonished to be in broad daylight once more. +Half-past four would soon strike, but he had nearly two hours to wait +before calling at the house in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy. What should he +do? He paid his driver; preferring to descend the Champs Elysées on foot, +since he had some time to lose. A walk, moreover, might calm the fever +which was burning his hands, in the passion of charity which ever since +the morning had been mastering him more and more, in proportion as he +encountered fresh and fresh obstacles. He now had but one pressing +desire, to complete his good work, since success henceforth seemed +certain. And he tried to restrain his steps and walk leisurely down the +magnificent avenue, which had now been dried by the bright sun, and was +enlivened by a concourse of people, while overhead the sky was again +blue, lightly blue, as in springtime. + +Nearly two hours to lose while, yonder, the wretched Laveuve lay with +life ebbing from him on his bed of rags, in his icy den. Sudden feelings +of revolt, of well-nigh irresistible impatience ascended from Pierre’s +heart, making him quiver with desire to run off and at once find Baroness +Duvillard so as to obtain from her the all-saving order. He felt sure +that she was somewhere near, in one of those quiet neighbouring streets, +and great was his perturbation, his grief-fraught anger at having to wait +in this wise to save a human life until she should have attended to those +affairs 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, the +mother with a lover, the son and daughter knew everything; the former +gliding to idiotic perversity, the latter enraged and dreaming of +stealing her mother’s lover to make a husband of him. And meantime the +splendid equipages descended the triumphal avenue, and the crowd with its +luxury flowed along the sidewalks, one and all joyous and superb, +seemingly with no idea that somewhere at the far end there was a gaping +abyss wherein everyone of them would fall and be annihilated! + +When Pierre got as far as the Summer Circus he was much surprised at +again seeing Salvat, the journeyman engineer, on one of the avenue seats. +He must have sunk down there, overcome by weariness and hunger, after +many a vain search. However, his jacket was still distended by something +he carried in or under it, some bit of bread, no doubt, which he meant to +take 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 raising +mounds of sand, and then destroying them by dint of kicks. As he looked +at them his red eyelids moistened, and a very gentle smile appeared on +his poor discoloured lips. This time Pierre, penetrated by disquietude, +wished to approach and question him. But Salvat distrustfully rose and +went off towards the Circus, where a concert was drawing to a close; and +he prowled around the entrance of that festive edifice in which two +thousand 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 remembered +the appointment which Abbé Rose had given him for five o’clock at the +Madeleine, and which he was forgetting in the feverishness born of his +repeated steps to save Laveuve. And at thought of it he hastened on, well +pleased at having this appointment to occupy and keep him patient. + +When he entered the church he was surprised to find it so dark. There +were only a few candles burning, huge shadows were flooding the nave, and +amidst the semi-obscurity a very loud, clear voice spoke on with a +ceaseless streaming of words. All that one could at first distinguish of +the numerous congregation was a pale, vague mass of heads, motionless +with extreme attention. In the pulpit stood Monseigneur Martha, finishing +his third address on the New Spirit. The two former ones had re-echoed +far and wide, and so what is called “all Paris” was there--women of +society, politicians, and writers, who were captivated by the speaker’s +artistic oratory, his warm, skilful language, and his broad, easy +gestures, worthy of a great actor. + +Pierre did not wish to disturb the solemn attention, the quivering +silence above which the prelate’s voice alone rang out. Accordingly he +resolved to wait before seeking Abbé Rose, and remained standing near a +pillar. A parting gleam of daylight fell obliquely on Monseigneur Martha, +who looked tall and sturdy in his white surplice, and scarcely showed a +grey hair, although he was more than fifty. He had handsome features: +black, keen eyes, a commanding nose, a mouth and chin of the greatest +firmness of contour. What more particularly struck one, however, what +gained the heart of every listener, was the expression of extreme +amiability and anxious sympathy which ever softened the imperious +haughtiness of the prelate’s face. + +Pierre had formerly known him as Curé, or parish priest, of Ste. +Clotilde. He was doubtless of Italian origin, but he had been born in +Paris, and had quitted the seminary of St. Sulpice with the best possible +record. Very intelligent and very ambitious, he had evinced an activity +which even made his superiors anxious. Then, on being appointed Bishop of +Persepolis, he had disappeared, gone to Rome, where he had spent five +years engaged in work of which very little was known. However, since his +return he had been astonishing Paris by his brilliant propaganda, busying +himself with the most varied affairs, and becoming much appreciated and +very powerful at the archiepiscopal residence. He devoted himself in +particular, and with wonderful results, to the task of increasing the +subscriptions for the completion of the basilica of the Sacred Heart. He +recoiled from nothing, neither from journeys, nor lectures, nor +collections, nor applications to Government, nor even endeavours among +Israelites and Freemasons. And at last, again enlarging his sphere of +action, he had undertaken to reconcile Science with Catholicism, and to +bring all Christian France to the Republic, on all sides expounding the +policy 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 Abbé Rose as curate at St. Pierre de Montmartre, +which appointment he had secured for him no doubt in order to prevent +such a scandal as the punishment of an old priest for showing himself too +charitable. On thus finding and hearing the prelate speak in that +renowned pulpit of the Madeleine, still and ever pursuing his work of +conquest, Pierre remembered how he had seen him at the Duvillards’ during +the previous spring, when, with his usual _maestria_, he had achieved his +greatest triumph--the conversion of Eve to Catholicism. That church, too, +had witnessed her baptism, a wonderfully pompous ceremony, a perfect gala +offered to the public which figures in all the great events of Parisian +life. Gérard had knelt down, moved to tears, whilst the Baron triumphed +like a good-natured husband who was happy to find religion establishing +perfect harmony in his household. It was related among the spectators +that Eve’s family, and particularly old Justus Steinberger, her father, +was not in reality much displeased by the affair. The old man sneeringly +remarked, indeed, that he knew his daughter well enough to wish her to +belong to his worst enemy. In the banking business there is a class of +security which one is pleased to see discounted by one’s rivals. With the +stubborn hope of triumph peculiar to his race, Justus, consoling himself +for the failure of his first scheme, doubtless considered that Eve would +prove a powerful dissolving agent in the Christian family which she had +entered, and thus help to make all wealth and power fall into the hands +of the Jews. + +However, Pierre’s vision faded. Monseigneur Martha’s voice was rising +with increase of volume, celebrating, amidst the quivering of the +congregation, the benefits that would accrue from the New Spirit, which +was at last about to pacify France and restore her to her due rank and +power. Were there not certain signs of this resurrection on every hand? +The New Spirit was the revival of the Ideal, the protest of the soul +against degrading materialism, the triumph of spirituality over filthy +literature; and it was also Science accepted, but set in its proper +place, reconciled with Faith, since it no longer pretended to encroach on +the latter’s sacred domain; and it was further the Democracy welcomed in +fatherly fashion, the Republic legitimated, recognised in her turn as +Eldest Daughter of the Church. A breath of poetry passed by. The Church +opened her heart to all her children, there would henceforth be but +concord and delight if the masses, obedient to the New Spirit, would give +themselves to the Master of love as they had given themselves to their +kings, recognising that the Divinity was the one unique power, absolute +sovereign of both body and soul. + +Pierre was now listening attentively, wondering where it was that he had +previously heard almost identical words. And suddenly he remembered; and +could fancy that he was again at Rome, listening to the last words of +Monsignor Nani, the Assessor of the Holy Office. Here, again, he found +the dream of a democratic Pope, ceasing to support the compromised +monarchies, and seeking to subdue the masses. Since Caesar was down, or +nearly so, might not the Pope realise the ancient ambition of his +forerunners and become both emperor and pontiff, the sovereign, universal +divinity on earth? This, too, was the dream in which Pierre himself, with +apostolic naïveté, had indulged when writing his book, “New Rome”: a +dream from which the sight of the real Rome had so roughly roused him. At +bottom it was merely a policy of hypocritical falsehood, the priestly +policy which relies on time, and is ever tenacious, carrying on the work +of conquest with extraordinary suppleness, resolved to profit by +everything. And what an evolution it was, the Church of Rome making +advances to Science, to the Democracy, to the Republican _régimes_, +convinced that it would be able to devour them if only it were allowed +the time! Ah! yes, the New Spirit was simply the Old Spirit of +Domination, incessantly reviving and hungering to conquer and possess the +world. + +Pierre thought that he recognised among the congregation certain deputies +whom he had seen at the Chamber. Wasn’t that tall gentleman with the fair +beard, who listened so devoutly, one of Monferrand’s creatures? It was +said that Monferrand, once a devourer of priests, was now smilingly +coquetting with the clergy. Quite an underhand evolution was beginning in +the sacristies, orders from Rome flitted hither and thither; it was a +question of accepting the new form of government, and absorbing it by +dint of invasion. France was still the Eldest Daughter of the Church, the +only great nation which had sufficient health and strength to place the +Pope in possession of his temporal power once more. So France must be +won; it was well worth one’s while to espouse her, even if she were +Republican. In the eager struggle of ambition the bishop made use of the +minister, who thought it to his interest to lean upon the bishop. But +which of the two would end by devouring the other? And to what a _rôle_ +had religion sunk: an electoral weapon, an element in a parliamentary +majority, a decisive, secret reason for obtaining or retaining a +ministerial portfolio! Of divine charity, the basis of religion, there +was no thought, and Pierre’s heart filled with bitterness as he +remembered the recent death of Cardinal Bergerot, the last of the great +saints and pure minds of the French episcopacy, among which there now +seemed 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 the +saving symbol of the Cross from the sacred Mount of the Martyrs,* +Monseigneur Martha showed that great city of Paris Christian once more +and master of the world, thanks to the moral omnipotence conferred upon +it by the divine breath of the New Spirit. Unable to applaud, the +congregation gave utterance to a murmur of approving rapture, delighted +as it was with this miraculous finish which reassured both pocket and +conscience. Then Monseigneur Martha quitted the pulpit with a noble step, +whilst a loud noise of chairs broke upon the dark peacefulness of the +church, where the few lighted candles glittered like the first stars in +the evening sky. A long stream of men, vague, whispering shadows, glided +away. The women alone remained, praying on their knees. + + * Montmartre. + +Pierre, still in the same spot, was rising on tip-toes, looking for Abbé +Rose, when a hand touched him. It was that of the old priest, who had +seen him from a distance. “I was yonder near the pulpit,” said he, “and I +saw you plainly, my dear child. Only I preferred to wait so as to disturb +nobody. What a beautiful address dear Monseigneur delivered!” + +He seemed, indeed, much moved. But there was deep sadness about his +kindly mouth and clear childlike eyes, whose smile as a rule illumined +his good, round white face. “I was afraid you might go off without seeing +me,” he resumed, “for I have something to tell you. You know that poor +old man to whom I sent you this morning and in whom I asked you to +interest yourself? Well, on getting home I found a lady there, who +sometimes brings me a little money for my poor. Then I thought to myself +that the three francs I gave you were really too small a sum, and as the +thought 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 disturb +the deep, sepulchral silence of the church. Covert shame, moreover, +impeded his utterance, shame at having again relapsed into the sin of +blind, 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 I +found 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 an +old animal that has laid itself down for the finish on a heap of rags in +the 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 cold +and deserted it was! And what a pang for a poor creature to go off like +that without a word, a caress. Ah! my heart bounded within me and it is +still bleeding!” + +Pierre in his utter amazement at first made but a gesture of revolt +against imbecile social cruelty. Had the bread left near the unfortunate +wretch, and devoured too eagerly, perhaps, after long days of abstinence, +been the cause of his death? Or was not this rather the fatal +_dénouement_ of an ended life, worn away by labour and privation? +However, what did the cause signify? Death had come and delivered the +poor man. “It isn’t he that I pity,” Pierre muttered at last; “it is +we--we who witness all that, we who are guilty of these abominations.” + +But good Abbé Rose was already becoming resigned, and would only think of +forgiveness and hope. “No, no, my child, rebellion is evil. If we are all +guilty we can only implore Providence to forget our faults. I had given +you an appointment here hoping for good news; and it’s I who come to tell +you of that frightful thing. Let us be penitent and pray.” + +Then he knelt upon the flagstones near the pillar, in the rear of the +praying women, who looked black and vague in the gloom. And he inclined +his 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 did +not even bend his knees, but remained erect and quivering. His heart +seemed to have been crushed; not a tear came to his ardent eyes. So +Laveuve had died yonder, stretched on his litter of rags, his hands +clenched in his obstinate desire to cling to his life of torture, whilst +he, Pierre, again glowing with the flame of charity, consumed by +apostolic zeal, was scouring Paris to find him for the evening a clean +bed on which he might be saved. Ah! the atrocious irony of it all! He +must have been at the Duvillards’ in the warm _salon_, all blue and +silver, whilst the old man was expiring; and it was for a wretched corpse +that he had then hastened to the Chamber of Deputies, to the Countess de +Quinsac’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 from +prison, that he had worried people, broken in upon their egotism, +disturbed the peace of some, threatened the pleasures of others! What was +the use of hastening from the parliamentary den to the cold _salon_ where +the dust of the past was congealing; of going from the sphere of +middle-class debauchery to that of cosmopolitan extravagance, since one +always arrived too late, and saved people when they were already dead? +How ridiculous to have allowed himself to be fired once more by that +blaze of charity, that final conflagration, only the ashes of which he +now felt within him? This time he thought he was dead himself; he was +naught but an empty sepulchre. + +And all the frightful void and chaos which he had felt that morning at +the basilica of the Sacred Heart after his mass became yet deeper, +henceforth unfathomable. If charity were illusory and useless the Gospel +crumbled, the end of the Book was nigh. After centuries of stubborn +efforts, Redemption through Christianity failed, and another means of +salvation was needed by the world in presence of the exasperated thirst +for justice which came from the duped and wretched nations. They would +have no more of that deceptive paradise, the promise of which had so long +served to prop up social iniquity; they demanded that the question of +happiness should be decided upon this earth. But how? By means of what +new religion, what combination between the sentiment of the Divine and +the necessity for honouring life in its sovereignty and its fruitfulness? +Therein lay the grievous, torturing problem, into the midst of which +Pierre was sinking; he, a priest, severed by vows of chastity and +superstition from the rest of mankind. + +He had ceased to believe in the efficacy of alms; it was not sufficient +that one should be charitable, henceforth one must be just. Given +justice, indeed, horrid misery would disappear, and no such thing as +charity would be needed. Most certainly there was no lack of +compassionate hearts in that grievous city of Paris; charitable +foundations sprouted forth there like green leaves at the first warmth of +springtide. There were some for every age, every peril, every misfortune. +Through the concern shown for mothers, children were succoured even +before they were born; then came the infant and orphan asylums lavishly +provided for all sorts of classes; and, afterwards, man was followed +through his life, help was tendered on all sides, particularly as he grew +old, by a multiplicity of asylums, almshouses, and refuges. And there +were all the hands stretched out to the forsaken ones, the disinherited +ones, even the criminals, all sorts of associations to protect the weak, +societies for the prevention of crime, homes that offered hospitality to +those who repented. Whether as regards the propagation of good deeds, the +support of the young, the saving of life, the bestowal of pecuniary help, +or the promotion of guilds, pages and pages would have been needed merely +to particularise the extraordinary vegetation of charity that sprouted +between the paving-stones of Paris with so fine a vigour, in which +goodness of soul was mingled with social vanity. Still that could not +matter, since charity redeemed and purified all. But how terrible the +proposition that this charity was a useless mockery! What! after so many +centuries of Christian charity not a sore had healed. Misery had only +grown and spread, irritated even to rage. Incessantly aggravated, the +evil was reaching the point when it would be impossible to tolerate it +for another day, since social injustice was neither arrested nor even +diminished thereby. And besides, if only one single old man died of cold +and 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 in +that church where the shadows ever slowly fell, blurring the sanctuaries +and the large pale images of Christ nailed upon the Cross. All was about +to sink into darkness, and he could hear nothing beyond an expiring +murmur of prayers, a plaint from the women who were praying on their +knees, in the depths of the shrouding gloom. + +At the same time he hardly liked to go off without saying a word to Abbé +Rose, who in his entreaties born of simple faith left the happiness and +peace of mankind to the good pleasure of the Invisible. However, fearing +that he might disturb him, Pierre was making up his mind to retire, when +the old priest of his own accord raised his head. “Ah, my child,” said +he, “how difficult it is to be good in a reasonable manner. Monseigneur +Martha has scolded me again, and but for the forgiveness of God I should +fear for my salvation.” + +For a moment Pierre paused under the porticus of the Madeleine, on the +summit of the great flight of steps which, rising above the railings, +dominates the Place. Before him was the Rue Royale dipping down to the +expanse of the Place de la Concorde, where rose the obelisk and the pair +of plashing fountains. And, farther yet, the paling colonnade of the +Chamber of Deputies bounded the horizon. It was a vista of sovereign +grandeur under that pale sky over which twilight was slowly stealing, and +which seemed to broaden the thoroughfares, throw back the edifices, and +lend them the quivering, soaring aspect of the palaces of dreamland. No +other capital in the world could boast a scene of such aerial pomp, such +grandiose magnificence, at that hour of vagueness, when falling night +imparts to cities a dreamy semblance, the infinite of human immensity. + +Motionless and hesitating in presence of the opening expanse, Pierre +distressfully pondered as to whither he should go now that all which he +had so passionately sought to achieve since the morning had suddenly +crumbled away. Was he still bound for the Duvillard mansion in the Rue +Godot-de-Mauroy? He no longer knew. Then the exasperating remembrance, +with its cruel irony, returned to him. Since Laveuve was dead, of what +use was it for him to kill time and perambulate the pavements pending the +arrival of six o’clock? The idea that he had a home, and that the most +simple course would be to return to it, did not even occur to him. He +felt as if there were something of importance left for him to do, though +he could not possibly tell what it might be. It seemed to him to be +everywhere and yet very far away, to be so vague and so difficult of +accomplishment that he would certainly never be in time or have +sufficient power to do it. However, with heavy feet and tumultuous brain +he descended the steps and, yielding to some obstinate impulse, began to +walk through the flower-market, a late winter market where the first +azaleas were opening with a little shiver. Some women were purchasing +Nice roses and violets; and Pierre looked at them as if he were +interested in all that soft, delicate, perfumed luxury. But suddenly he +felt a horror of it and went off, starting along the Boulevards. + +He walked straight before him without knowing why or whither. The falling +darkness surprised him as if it were an unexpected phenomenon. Raising +his eyes to the sky he felt astonished at seeing its azure gently pale +between the slender black streaks of the chimney funnels. And the huge +golden letters by which names or trades were advertised on every balcony +also seemed to him singular in the last gleams of the daylight. Never +before had he paid attention to the motley tints seen on the +house-fronts, the painted mirrors, the blinds, the coats of arms, the +posters of violent hues, the magnificent shops, like drawing-rooms and +boudoirs open to the full light. And then, both in the roadway and along +the foot-pavements, between the blue, red or yellow columns and kiosks, +what mighty traffic there was, what an extraordinary crowd! The vehicles +rolled along in a thundering stream: on all sides billows of cabs were +parted 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 came +all those people, and whither were all those vehicles going? How +stupefying and torturing it all was. + +Pierre was still walking straight ahead, mechanically, carried on by his +gloomy reverie. Night was coming, the first gas-burners were being +lighted; it was the dusk of Paris, the hour when real darkness has not +yet come, when the electric lights flame in the dying day. Lamps shone +forth on all sides, the shop-fronts were being illumined. Soon, moreover, +right along the Boulevards the vehicles would carry their vivid starry +lights, like a milky way on the march betwixt the foot-pavements all +glowing with lanterns and cordons and girandoles, a dazzling profusion of +radiance akin to sunlight. And the shouts of the drivers and the jostling +of the foot passengers re-echoed the parting haste of the Paris which is +all business or passion, which is absorbed in the merciless struggle for +love and for money. The hard day was over, and now the Paris of Pleasure +was lighting up for its night of _fête_. The cafés, the wine shops, the +restaurants, flared and displayed their bright metal bars, and their +little white tables behind their clear and lofty windows, whilst near +their doors, by way of temptation, were oysters and choice fruits. And +the Paris which was thus awaking with the first flashes of the gas was +already full of the gaiety of enjoyment, already yielding to an unbridled +appetite for whatsoever may be purchased. + +However, Pierre had a narrow escape from being knocked down. A flock of +newspaper hawkers came out of a side street, and darted through the crowd +shouting the titles of the evening journals. A fresh edition of the “Voix +du Peuple” gave rise, in particular, to a deafening clamour, which rose +above all the rumbling of wheels. At regular intervals hoarse voices +raised and repeated the cry: “Ask for the ‘Voix du Peuple’--the new +scandal of the African Railway Lines, the repulse of the ministry, the +thirty-two bribe-takers of the Chamber and the Senate!” And these +announcements, set in huge type, could be read on the copies of the +paper, which the hawkers flourished like banners. Accustomed as it was to +such filth, saturated with infamy, the crowd continued on its way without +paying much attention. Still a few men paused and bought the paper, while +painted women, who had come down to the Boulevards in search of a dinner, +trailed their skirts and waited for some chance lover, glancing +interrogatively at the outside customers of the cafés. And meantime the +dishonouring shout of the newspaper hawkers, that cry in which there was +both smirch and buffet, seemed like the last knell of the day, ringing +the nation’s funeral at the outset of the night of pleasure which was +beginning. + +Then Pierre once more remembered his morning and that frightful house in +the Rue des Saules, where so much want and suffering were heaped up. He +again saw the yard filthy like a quagmire, the evil-smelling staircases, +the sordid, bare, icy rooms, the families fighting for messes which even +stray dogs would not have eaten; the mothers, with exhausted breasts, +carrying screaming children to and fro; the old men who fell in corners +like brute beasts, and died of hunger amidst filth. And then came his +other hours with the magnificence or the quietude or the gaiety of the +_salons_ through which he had passed, the whole insolent display of +financial Paris, and political Paris, and society Paris. And at last he +came 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 that +accomplice night which, like fine dust, was little by little submerging +the expanse of roofs. And the hateful monstrosity of it all howled aloud +under the pale sky where the first pure, twinkling stars were gleaming. + +A great shudder came upon Pierre as he thought of all that mass of +iniquity 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 had +conquered, wholly stolen, while the people, the eternal dupe, silent so +long, clenched its fists and growled, claiming its legitimate share. And +it was that frightful injustice which filled the growing gloom with +anger. From what dark-breasted cloud would the thunderbolt fall? For +years he had been waiting for that thunderbolt which low rumbles +announced on all points of the horizon. And if he had written a book full +of candour and hope, if he had gone in all innocence to Rome, it was to +avert that thunderbolt and its frightful consequences. But all hope of +the kind was dead within him; he felt that the thunderbolt was +inevitable, that nothing henceforth could stay the catastrophe. And never +before 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 it +would surely fall over that Paris, all lust and bravado, which, when +evening came, thus stirred up its furnace. + +Tired out and distracted, Pierre raised his eyes as he reached the Place +de l’Opera. Where was he then? The heart of the great city seemed to beat +on this spot, in that vast expanse where met so many thoroughfares, as if +from every point the blood of distant districts flowed thither along +triumphal avenues. Right away to the horizon stretched the great gaps of +the Avenue de l’Opera, the Rue du Quatre-Septembre, and the Rue de la +Paix, still showing clearly in a final glimpse of daylight, but already +starred with swarming sparks. The torrent of the Boulevard traffic poured +across the Place, where clashed, too, all that from the neighbouring +streets, with a constant turning and eddying which made the spot the most +dangerous of whirlpools. In vain did the police seek to impose some +little prudence, the stream of pedestrians still overflowed, wheels +became entangled and horses reared amidst all the uproar of the human +tide, 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 in +gloom, and rising huge and mysterious like a symbol, its lyre-bearing +figure of Apollo, right aloft, showing a last reflection of daylight +amidst the livid sky. And all the windows of the house-fronts began to +shine, gaiety sprang from those thousands of lamps which coruscated one +by one, a universal longing for ease and free gratification of each +desire spread with the increasing darkness; whilst, at long intervals, +the large globes of the electric lights shone as brightly as the moons of +the 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, who +had neither belief nor hope, and awaited naught save annihilation. It was +a 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 retraced +his steps, turning towards the Madeleine again, and plunging into the +scramble of the pavements, amidst the deafening uproar from the roadway, +with a bitter desire to aggravate his wound and saturate himself with +revolt and anger. Was it not yonder at the corner of that street, at the +end of that Boulevard, that he would find the expected abyss into which +that 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 the +traffic made him halt. In front of a luxurious café two tall, +shabbily-clad and very dirty fellows were alternately offering the “Voix +du Peuple” with its account of the scandals and the bribe-takers of the +Chamber and the Senate, in voices so suggestive of cracked brass that +passers-by clustered around them. And here, in a hesitating, wandering +man, who after listening drew near to the large café and peered through +its windows, Pierre was once again amazed to recognise Salvat. This time +the meeting struck him forcibly, filled him with suspicion to such a +point that he also stopped and resolved to watch the journeyman engineer. +He did not expect that one of such wretched aspect, with what seemed to +be a hunk of bread distending his old ragged jacket, would enter and seat +himself at one of the café’s little tables amidst the warm gaiety of the +lamps. However, he waited for a moment, and then saw him wander away with +slow and broken steps as if the café, which was nearly empty, did not +suit him. What could he have been seeking, whither had he been going, +since the morning, ever on a wild, solitary chase through the Paris of +wealth and enjoyment while hunger dogged his steps? It was only with +difficulty that he now dragged himself along, his will and energy seemed +to be exhausted. As if quite overcome, he drew near to a kiosk, and for a +moment leant against it. Then, however, he drew himself up again, and +walked on further, still as it were in search of something. + +And now came an incident which brought Pierre’s emotion to a climax. A +tall sturdy man on turning out of the Rue Caumartin caught sight of +Salvat, and approached him. And just as the new comer without false pride +was shaking the workman’s hand, Pierre recognised him as his brother +Guillaume. Yes, it was indeed he, with his thick bushy hair already white +like snow, though he was but seven and forty. However, his heavy +moustaches had remained quite dark without one silver thread, thus +lending an expression of vigorous life to his full face with its lofty +towering brow. It was from his father that he had inherited that brow of +impregnable logic and reason, similar to that which Pierre himself +possessed. But the lower part of the elder brother’s countenance was +fuller 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 old +wound, streaked his left temple. And his physiognomy, though it might at +first seem very grave, rough, and unexpansive, beamed with masculine +kindliness whenever a smile revealed his teeth, which had remained +extremely white. + +While looking at his brother, Pierre remembered what Madame Théodore had +told him that morning. Guillaume, touched by Salvat’s dire want, had +arranged to give him a few days’ employment. And this explained the air +of interest with which he now seemed to be questioning him, while the +engineer, whom the meeting disturbed, stamped about as if eager to resume +his mournful ramble. For a moment Guillaume appeared to notice the +other’s perturbation, by the embarrassed answers which he obtained from +him. Still, they at last parted as if each were going his way. Then, +however, almost immediately, Guillaume turned round again and watched the +other, as with harassed stubborn mien he went off through the crowd. And +the thoughts which had come to Guillaume must have been very serious and +very pressing, for he all at once began to retrace his steps and follow +the workman from a distance, as if to ascertain for certain what +direction he would take. + +Pierre had watched the scene with growing disquietude. His nervous +apprehension of some great unknown calamity, the suspicions born of his +frequent and inexplicable meetings with Salvat, his surprise at now +seeing his brother mingled with the affair, all helped to fill him with a +pressing desire to know, witness, and perhaps prevent. So he did not +hesitate, but began to follow the others in a prudent way. + +Fresh perturbation came upon him when first Salvat and then Guillaume +suddenly turned into the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy. What destiny was thus +bringing him back to that street whither a little time previously he had +wished to return in feverish haste, and whence only the death of Laveuve +had kept him? And his consternation increased yet further when, after +losing sight of Salvat for a moment, he saw him standing in front of the +Duvillard mansion, on the same spot where he had fancied he recognised +him that morning. As it happened the carriage entrance of the mansion was +wide open. Some repairs had been made to the paving of the porch, and +although the workmen had now gone off, the doorway remained gaping, full +of the falling night. The narrow street, running from the glittering +Boulevard, was steeped in bluish gloom, starred at long intervals by a +few gas-lamps. Some women went by, compelling Salvat to step off the +foot-pavement. But he returned to it again, lighted the stump of a cigar, +some remnant which he had found under a table outside a café, and then +resumed his watch, patient and motionless, in front of the mansion. + +Disturbed by his dim conjectures, Pierre gradually grew frightened, and +asked himself if he ought not to approach that man. The chief thing that +detained him was the presence of his brother, whom he had seen disappear +into a neighbouring doorway, whence he also was observing the engineer, +ready to intervene. And so Pierre contented himself with not losing sight +of Salvat, who was still waiting and watching, merely taking his eyes +from the mansion in order to glance towards the Boulevard as though he +expected someone or something which would come from that direction. And +at last, indeed, the Duvillards’ landau appeared, with coachman and +footman in livery of green and gold--a closed landau to which a pair of +tall horses of superb build were harnessed in stylish fashion. + +Contrary to custom, however, the carriage, which at that hour usually +brought the father and mother home, was only occupied that evening by the +son and daughter, Hyacinthe and Camille. Returning from the Princess de +Harn’s _matinée_, they were chatting freely, with that calm immodesty by +which they sought to astonish one another. Hyacinthe, influenced by his +perverted ideas, was attacking women, whilst Camille openly counselled +him to respond to the Princess’s advances. However, she was visibly +irritated and feverish that evening, and, suddenly changing the subject, +she began to speak of their mother and Gérard de Quinsac. + +“But what can it matter to you?” quietly retorted Hyacinthe; and, seeing +that she almost bounded from the seat at this remark, he continued: “Are +you 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 an +uncomely girl, who suffered so acutely at seeing herself spurned whilst +her yet beautiful mother stole from her the man she wanted. + +“You will, you will!” resumed Hyacinthe, well pleased to have an +opportunity of teasing his sister, whom he somewhat feared. “But you +won’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, and +the 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 turned +into the street and was approaching the house, when a slim fair-haired +girl of sixteen or seventeen, a modiste’s errand girl with a large +bandbox on her arm, hastily crossed the road in order to enter the arched +doorway before the carriage. She was bringing a bonnet for the Baroness, +and had come all along the Boulevard musing, with her soft blue eyes, her +pinky nose, and her mouth which ever laughed in the most adorable little +face that one could see. And it was at this same moment that Salvat, +after another glance at the landau, sprang forward and entered the +doorway. An instant afterwards he reappeared, flung his lighted cigar +stump into the gutter; and without undue haste went off, slinking into +the depths of the vague gloom of the street. + +And then what happened? Pierre, later on, remembered that a dray of the +Western Railway Company in coming up stopped and delayed the landau for a +moment, whilst the young errand girl entered the doorway. And with a +heart-pang beyond description he saw his brother Guillaume in his turn +spring forward and rush into the mansion as though impelled to do so by +some revelation, some sudden certainty. He, Pierre, though he understood +nothing clearly, could divine the approach of some frightful horror. But +when he would have run, when he would have shouted, he found himself as +if nailed to the pavement, and felt his throat clutched as by a hand of +lead. Then suddenly came a thunderous roar, a formidable explosion, as if +the earth was opening, and the lightning-struck mansion was being +annihilated. Every window-pane of the neighbouring houses was shivered, +the glass raining down with the loud clatter of hail. For a moment a +hellish flame fired the street, and the dust and the smoke were such that +the few passers-by were blinded and howled with affright, aghast at +toppling, as they thought, into that fiery furnace. + +And that dazzling flare brought Pierre enlightenment. He once more saw +the bomb distending the tool-bag, which lack of work had emptied and +rendered useless. He once more saw it under the ragged jacket, a +protuberance caused, he had fancied, by some hunk of bread, picked up in +a 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 had +flared, there that it had burst with a thunder-clap, there on the +threshold of the sovereign _bourgeoisie_ to whom all wealth belonged. He, +however, at that moment thought only of his brother Guillaume, and flung +himself 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 paving +broken up, strewn with fragments. Outside, the landau which had been on +the point of entering, had escaped all injury; neither of the horses had +been 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 there +on her back, her stomach ripped open, whilst her delicate face remained +intact, her eyes clear, her smile full of astonishment, so swiftly and +lightning-like had come the catastrophe. And near her, from the fallen +bandbox, whose lid had merely come unfastened, had rolled the bonnet, a +very fragile pink bonnet, which still looked charming in its flowery +freshness. + +By a prodigy Guillaume was alive and already on his legs again. His left +hand alone streamed with blood, a projectile seemed to have broken his +wrist. His moustaches moreover had been burnt, and the explosion by +throwing him to the ground had so shaken and bruised him that he shivered +from head to feet as with intense cold. Nevertheless, he recognised his +brother without even feeling astonished to see him there, as indeed often +happens after great disasters, when the unexplained becomes providential. +That brother, of whom he had so long lost sight, was there, naturally +enough, 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: “I +suspected that he had stolen a cartridge from me; only one, most +fortunately, for otherwise the whole district would have been blown to +pieces. Ah! the wretched fellow! I wasn’t in time to set my foot upon the +match.” + +With perfect lucidity of mind, such as danger sometimes imparts, Pierre, +neither speaking nor losing a moment, remembered that the mansion had a +back entrance fronting the Rue Vignon. He had just realised in what +serious peril his brother would be if he were found mixed up in that +affair. And with all speed, when he had led him into the gloom of the Rue +Vignon, he tied his handkerchief round his wrist, which he bade him press +to his chest, under his coat, as that would conceal it. + +But Guillaume, still shivering and haunted by the horror he had +witnessed, repeated: “Take me away--to your place at Neuilly--not to my +home.” + +“Of course, of course, be easy. Come, wait here a second, I will stop a +cab.” + +In his eagerness to procure a conveyance, Pierre had brought his brother +down to the Boulevard again. But the terrible thunderclap of the +explosion had upset the whole neighbourhood, horses were still rearing, +and people were running demented, hither and thither. And numerous +policemen had hastened up, and a rushing crowd was already blocking the +lower 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 a +hawker of the “Voix du Peuple” still stubbornly vociferated: “The new +scandal of the African Railway Lines! The thirty-two bribe-takers of the +Chamber and the Senate! The approaching fall of the ministry!” + +Pierre was at last managing to stop a cab when he heard a person who ran +by say to another, “The ministry? Ah, well! that bomb will mend it right +enough!” + +Then the brothers seated themselves in the cab, which carried them away. +And now, over the whole of rumbling Paris black night had gathered, an +unforgiving night, in which the stars foundered amidst the mist of crime +and anger that had risen from the house-roofs. The great cry of justice +swept by amidst the same terrifying flapping of wings which Sodom and +Gomorrah once heard bearing down upon them from all the black clouds of +the horizon. + + + + + +BOOK II. + + + + +I. REVOLUTIONISTS + + +IN that out-of-the-way street at Neuilly, along which nobody passed after +dusk, Pierre’s little house was now steeped in deep slumber under the +black sky; each of its shutters closed, and not a ray of light stealing +forth from within. And one could divine, too, the profound quietude of +the little garden in the rear, a garden empty and lifeless, benumbed by +the winter cold. + +Pierre had several times feared that his brother would faint away in the +cab in which they were journeying. Leaning back, and often sinking down, +Guillaume spoke not a word. And terrible was the silence between them--a +silence fraught with all the questions and answers which they felt it +would be useless and painful to exchange at such a time. However, the +priest was anxious about the wound, and wondered to what surgeon he might +apply, desirous as he was of admitting only a sure, staunch man into the +secret, for he had noticed with how keen a desire to disappear his +brother had sought to hide himself. + +Until they reached the Arc de Triomphe the silence remained unbroken. It +was only there that Guillaume seemed to emerge from the prostration of +his reverie. “Mind, Pierre,” said he, “no doctor. We will attend to this +together.” + +Pierre was on the point of protesting, but he realised that it would be +useless to discuss the subject at such a moment, and so he merely waved +his hand to signify that he should act in spite of the prohibition were +it necessary. In point of fact, his anxiety had increased, and, when the +cab at last drew up before the house, it was with real relief that he saw +his brother alight without evincing any marked feebleness. He himself +quickly paid the driver, well-pleased, too, at finding that nobody, not +even a neighbour, was about. And having opened the door with his latch +key, he helped the injured man to ascend the steps. + +A little night lamp glimmered faintly in the vestibule. On hearing the +door open, Pierre’s servant, Sophie, had at once emerged from the +kitchen. A short, thin, dark woman of sixty, she had formed part of the +household for more than thirty years, having served the mother before +serving the son. She knew Guillaume, having seen him when he was a young +man, and doubtless she now recognised him, although well-nigh ten years +had gone by since he had last crossed that threshold. Instead of evincing +any surprise, she seemed to consider his extraordinary return quite +natural, and remained as silent and discreet as usual. She led, indeed, +the life of a recluse, never speaking unless her work absolutely required +it. And thus she now contented herself with saying: “Monsieur l’Abbé, +Monsieur Bertheroy is in the study, and has been waiting there for a +quarter of an hour.” + +At this Guillaume intervened, as if the news revived him: “Does Bertheroy +still 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, Michel +Froment,--Bertheroy had now, in his turn, become one of the loftiest +glories of France, one to whom chemistry owed much of the extraordinary +progress that has made it the mother-science, by which the very face of +the earth is being changed. A member of the Institute, laden with offices +and honours, he had retained much affection for Pierre, and occasionally +visited him in this wise before dinner, by way of relaxation, he would +say. + +“You showed him into the study? All right, then, we will go there,” said +the Abbé to the servant. “Light a lamp and take it into my room, and get +my bed ready so that my brother may go to bed at once.” + +While Sophie, without a word or sign of surprise, was obeying these +instructions, the brothers went into their father’s former laboratory, of +which the priest had now made a spacious study. And it was with a cry of +joyous astonishment that the _savant_ greeted them on seeing them enter +the room side by side, the one supporting the other. “What, together!” he +exclaimed. “Ah! my dear children, you could not have caused me greater +pleasure! I who have so often deplored your painful misunderstanding.” + +Bertheroy was a tall and lean septuagenarian, with angular features. His +yellow skin clung like parchment to the projecting bones of his cheeks +and jaw. Moreover, there was nothing imposing about him; he looked like +some old shop-keeping herbalist. At the same time he had a fine, broad, +smooth brow, and his eyes still glittered brightly beneath his tangled +hair. + +“What, have you injured yourself, Guillaume?” he continued, as soon as he +saw the bandaged hand. + +Pierre remained silent, so as to let his brother tell the story as he +chose. Guillaume had realised that he must confess the truth, but in +simple fashion, without detailing the circumstances. “Yes, in an +explosion,” he answered, “and I really think that I have my wrist +broken.” + +At this, Bertheroy, whose glance was fixed upon him, noticed that his +moustaches were burnt, and that there was an expression of bewildered +stupor, such as follows a catastrophe, in his eyes. Forthwith the +_savant_ became grave and circumspect; and, without seeking to compel +confidence by any questions, he simply said: “Indeed! an explosion! Will +you let me see the injury? You know that before letting chemistry ensnare +me 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 is +unhoped-for good fortune!” + +The _savant_ glanced at him, and divined that the hidden circumstances of +the accident must be serious. And then, as Guillaume, smiling, though +paling with weakness, consented to the suggestion, Bertheroy retorted +that before anything else he must be put to bed. The servant just then +returned to say the bed was ready, and so they all went into the +adjoining room, where the injured man was soon undressed and helped +between the sheets. + +“Light me, Pierre,” said Bertheroy, “take the lamp; and let Sophie give +me a basin full of water and some cloths.” Then, having gently washed the +wound, he resumed: “The devil! The wrist isn’t broken, but it’s a nasty +injury. I am afraid there must be a lesion of the bone. Some nails passed +through the flesh, did they not?” + +Receiving no reply, he relapsed into silence. But his surprise was +increasing, and he closely examined the hand, which the flame of the +explosion had scorched, and even sniffed the shirt cuff as if seeking to +understand the affair better. He evidently recognised the effects of one +of those new explosives which he himself had studied, almost created. In +the present case, however, he must have been puzzled, for there were +characteristic signs and traces the significance of which escaped him. + +“And so,” he at last made up his mind to ask, carried away by +professional curiosity, “and so it was a laboratory explosion which put +you in this nice condition? What devilish powder were you concocting +then?” + +Guillaume, ever since he had seen Bertheroy thus studying his injury, +had, in spite of his sufferings, given marked signs of annoyance and +agitation. And as if the real secret which he wished to keep lay +precisely in the question now put to him, in that powder, the first +experiment with which had thus injured him, he replied with an air of +restrained ardour, and a straight frank glance: “Pray do not question me, +master. I cannot answer you. You have, I know, sufficient nobility of +nature to nurse me and care for me without exacting a confession.” + +“Oh! certainly, my friend,” exclaimed Bertheroy; “keep your secret. Your +discovery belongs to you if you have made one; and I know that you are +capable of putting it to the most generous use. Besides, you must be +aware that I have too great a passion for truth to judge the actions of +others, whatever their nature, without knowing every circumstance and +motive.” + +So saying, he waved his hand as if to indicate how broadly tolerant and +free 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 the +academical titles that he bore as an official _savant_, made him a man of +the 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, after +making 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 the +morrow; and, as the priest escorted him to the street door, he spoke some +comforting words: if the bone had not been deeply injured all would be +well. + +On returning to the bedside, Pierre found his brother still sitting up +and seeking fresh energy in his desire to write home and tranquillise his +loved ones. So the priest, after providing pen and paper, again had to +take up the lamp and light him. Guillaume fortunately retained full use +of his right hand, and was thus able to pen a few lines to say that he +would not be home that night. He addressed the note to Madame Leroi, the +mother of his deceased mistress, who, since the latter’s death, had +remained with him and had reared his three sons. Pierre was aware also +that the household at Montmartre included a young woman of five or six +and twenty, the daughter of an old friend, to whom Guillaume had given +shelter on her father’s death, and whom he was soon to marry, in spite of +the great difference in their ages. For the priest, however, all these +were 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 his +brother. + +“Yes, at once. It is scarcely more than seven o’clock now, and it will be +there 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 fear +with her. She won’t chatter. Wait a moment, and I will settle +everything.” + +Sophie, on being summoned, at once understood what was wanted of her, and +promised to say, in reply to any questions, that M. Guillaume had come to +spend the night at his brother’s, for reasons which she did not know. And +without indulging in any reflections herself, she left the house, saying +simply: “Monsieur l’Abbé’s dinner is ready; he will only have to take the +broth 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 both +pillows. 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 adjoining +dining-room could be heard ticking. For a moment the silence continued +around the two brothers, who, after so many years of separation, were at +last re-united and alone together. Then the injured man brought his right +hand to the edge of the sheet, and the priest grasped it, pressed it +tenderly in his own. And the clasp was a long one, those two brotherly +hands remaining locked, one in the other. + +“My poor little Pierre,” Guillaume faintly murmured, “you must forgive me +for falling on you in this fashion. I’ve invaded the house and taken your +bed, and I’m preventing you from dining.” + +“Don’t talk, don’t tire yourself any more,” interrupted Pierre. “Is not +this the right place for you when you are in trouble?” + +A warmer pressure came from Guillaume’s feverish hand, and tears gathered +in his eyes. “Thanks, my little Pierre. I’ve found you again, and you are +as gentle and loving as you always were. Ah! you cannot know how +delightful it seems to me.” + +Then the priest’s eyes also were dimmed by tears. Amidst the deep +quietude, the great sense of comfort which had followed their violent +emotion, the brothers found an infinite charm in being together once more +in the home of their childhood.* It was there that both their father and +mother had died--the father tragically, struck down by an explosion in +his laboratory; the mother piously, like a very saint. It was there, too, +in that same bed, that Guillaume had nursed Pierre, when, after their +mother’s death, the latter had nearly died; and it was there now that +Pierre in his turn was nursing Guillaume. All helped to bow them down and +fill them with emotion: the strange circumstances of their meeting, the +frightful catastrophe which had caused them such a shock, the +mysteriousness of the things which remained unexplained between them. And +now that after so long a separation they were tragically brought together +again, they both felt their memory awaking. The old house spoke to them +of their childhood, of their parents dead and gone, of the far-away days +when they had loved and suffered there. Beneath the window lay the +garden, now icy cold, which once, under the sunbeams, had re-echoed with +their play. On the left was the laboratory, the spacious room where their +father had taught them to read. On the right, in the dining-room, they +could picture their mother cutting bread and butter for them, and looking +so gentle with her big, despairing eyes--those of a believer mated to an +infidel. And the feeling that they were now alone in that home, and the +pale, sleepy gleam of the lamp, and the deep silence of the garden and +the house, and the very past itself, all filled them with the softest of +emotion 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 they +say to one another? Although their hands remained so tightly clasped, did +not the most impassable of chasms separate them? In any case, they +thought so. Guillaume was convinced that Pierre was a saint, a priest of +the most robust faith, without a doubt, without aught in common with +himself, whether in the sphere of ideas or in that of practical life. A +hatchet-stroke had parted them, and each lived in a different world. And +in the same way Pierre pictured Guillaume as one who had lost caste, +whose conduct was most suspicious, who had never even married the mother +of his three children, but was on the point of marrying that girl who was +far too young for him, and who had come nobody knew whence. In him, +moreover, were blended the passionate ideas of a _savant_ and a +revolutionist, ideas in which one found negation of everything, +acceptance and possibly provocation of the worst forms of violence, with +a glimpse of the vague monster of Anarchism underlying all. And so, on +what basis could there be any understanding between them, since each +retained his prejudices against the other, and saw him on the opposite +side of the chasm, without possibility of any plank being thrown across +it to enable them to unite? Thus, all alone in that room, their poor +hearts bled with distracted brotherly love. + +Pierre knew that, on a previous occasion, Guillaume had narrowly escaped +being compromised in an Anarchist affair. He asked him no questions, but +he could not help reflecting that he would not have hidden himself in +this fashion had he not feared arrest for complicity. Complicity with +Salvat? Was he really an accomplice? Pierre shuddered, for the only +materials 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 had +raised accusing Salvat of having stolen a cartridge from him; and, on the +other hand, his heroic rush into the doorway of the Duvillard mansion in +order to extinguish the match. A great deal still remained obscure; but +if a cartridge of that frightful explosive had been stolen from Guillaume +the fact must be that he manufactured such cartridges and had others at +home. Of course, even if he were not an accomplice, the injury to his +wrist had made it needful for him to disappear. Given his bleeding hand, +and the previous suspicions levelled against him, he would never have +convinced anybody of his innocence. And yet, even allowing for these +surmises, the affair remained wrapt in darkness: a crime on Guillaume’s +part seemed a possibility, and to Pierre it was all dreadful to think of. + +Guillaume, by the trembling of his brother’s moist, yielding hand, must +in some degree have realised the prostration of his poor mind, already +shattered by doubt and finished off by this calamity. Indeed, the +sepulchre was empty now, the very ashes had been swept out of it. + +“My poor little Pierre,” the elder brother slowly said. “Forgive me if I +do not tell you anything. I cannot do so. And besides, what would be the +use of it? We should certainly not understand one another.... So let +us keep from saying anything, and let us simply enjoy the delight of +being together and loving one another in spite of all.” + +Pierre raised his eyes, and for a long time their glances lingered, one +fixed on the other. “Ah!” stammered the priest, “how frightful it all +is!” + +Guillaume, however, had well understood the mute inquiry of Pierre’s +eyes. His own did not waver but replied boldly, beaming with purity and +loftiness: “I can tell you nothing. Yet, all the same, let us love each +other, my little Pierre.” + +And then Pierre for a moment felt that his brother was above all base +anxiety, above the guilty fear of the man who trembles for himself. In +lieu thereof he seemed to be carried away by the passion of some great +design, the noble thought of concealing some sovereign idea, some secret +which it was imperative for him to save. But, alas! this was only the +fleeting vision of a vague hope; for all vanished, and again came the +doubt, 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’s +eyes and distracted him: “Did you see, brother,” he stammered, “did you +see that fair-haired girl lying under the archway, ripped open, with a +smile 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, with +his horror of all violence, succumbed, and let his face sink upon the +counterpane at the edge of the bed. And he sobbed distractedly: a sudden +attack of weakness, overflowing in tears, cast him there exhausted, with +no more strength than a child. It was as if all his sufferings since the +morning, the deep grief with which universal injustice and woe inspired +him, were bursting forth in that flood of tears which nothing now could +stay. And Guillaume, who, to calm his little brother, had set his hand +upon his head, in the same way as he had often caressingly stroked his +hair in childhood’s days, likewise felt upset and remained silent, unable +to find a word of consolation, resigned, as he was, to the eruption which +in life is always possible, the cataclysm by which the slow evolution of +nature is always liable to be precipitated. But how hard a fate for the +wretched ones whom the lava sweeps away in millions! And then his tears +also began to flow amidst the profound silence. + +“Pierre,” he gently exclaimed at last, “you must have some dinner. Go, go +and have some. And screen the lamp; leave me by myself, and let me close +my 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 ate +standing, with his ears on the alert, listening lest his brother should +complain or call him. And the silence seemed to have become yet more +complete, the little house sank, as it were, into annihilation, instinct +with all the melancholy charm of the past. + +At about half-past eight, when Sophie returned from her errand to +Montmartre, Guillaume heard her step, light though it was. And he at once +became restless and wanted to know what news she brought. It was Pierre, +however, who enlightened him. “Don’t be anxious. Sophie was received by +an old lady who, after reading your note, merely answered, ‘Very well.’ +She did not even ask Sophie a question, but remained quite composed +without sign of curiosity.” + +Guillaume, realising that this fine serenity perplexed his brother, +thereupon replied with similar calmness: “Oh! it was only necessary that +grandmother should be warned. She knows well enough that if I don’t +return 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 his +eyes, glanced round him, and seemed to listen, as if for sounds from the +direction of Paris. And it at last became necessary for the priest to +summon the servant and ask her if she had noticed anything strange on her +way to or from Montmartre. She seemed surprised by the question, and +answered that she had noticed nothing. Besides, the cab had followed the +outer boulevards, which were almost deserted. A slight fog had again +begun to fall, and the streets were steeped in icy dampness. + +By the time it was nine o’clock Pierre realised that his brother would +never be able to sleep if he were thus left without news. Amidst his +growing feverishness the injured man experienced keen anxiety, a haunting +desire to know if Salvat were arrested and had spoken out. He did not +confess this; indeed he sought to convey the impression that he had no +personal disquietude, which was doubtless true. But his great secret was +stifling him; he shuddered at the thought that his lofty scheme, all his +labour and all his hope, should be at the mercy of that unhappy man whom +want had filled with delusions and who had sought to set justice upon +earth by the aid of a bomb. And in vain did the priest try to make +Guillaume understand that nothing certain could yet be known. He +perceived that his impatience increased every minute, and at last +resolved to make some effort to satisfy him. + +But where could he go, of whom could he inquire? Guillaume, while talking +and trying to guess with whom Salvat might have sought refuge, had +mentioned Janzen, the Princess de Harn’s mysterious lover; and for a +moment he had even thought of sending to this man for information. But he +reflected that if Janzen had heard of the explosion he was not at all the +individual to wait for the police at home. + +Meantime Pierre repeated: “I will willingly go to buy the evening papers +for you--but there will certainly be nothing in them. Although I know +almost everyone in Neuilly I can think of nobody who is likely to have +any 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 the +neighbourhood.” + +“Well, Bache is an old friend of mine, and I know no safer man. Pray go +to him and bring him back with you.” + +A quarter of an hour later Pierre returned with Bache, who resided in a +neighbouring 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. As +Guillaume had suspected, Janzen, while dining at the Princess de Harn’s, +had heard of the crime, and had consequently refrained from returning to +his little lodging in the Rue des Martyrs, where the police might well +have set a trap for him. His connections were known, and he was aware +that he was watched and was liable at any moment to arrest or expulsion +as a foreign Anarchist. And so he had thought it prudent to solicit a few +days’ hospitality of Bache, a very upright and obliging man, to whom he +entrusted himself without fear. He would never have remained with +Rosemonde, that adorable lunatic who for a month past had been exhibiting +him as her lover, and whose useless and dangerous extravagance of conduct +he fully realised. + +Guillaume was so delighted on seeing Bache and Janzen that he wished to +sit up in bed again. But Pierre bade him remain quiet, rest his head on +the pillows, and speak as little as possible. Then, while Janzen stood +near, erect and silent, Bache took a chair and sat down by the bedside +with 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. His +little, 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. While +retaining due respect for it, however, his personal inclinations towards +orderliness and religion had led him to espouse the ideas of Fourier, in +such wise that one found in him a succession and an abridgment, so to +say, of two doctrines. Moreover, when he was about thirty, he had busied +himself with spiritualism. Possessed of a comfortable little fortune, his +only adventure in life had been his connection with the Paris Commune of +1871. 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 had +elected him as its representative on the Paris Municipal Council, less by +way of glorifying in him a victim of reaction than as a reward for his +worthiness, for he was really esteemed by the whole district. + +Guillaume, with his desire for tidings, was obliged to confide in his two +visitors, tell them of the explosion and Salvat’s flight, and how he +himself had been wounded while seeking to extinguish the match. Janzen, +with curly beard and hair, and a thin, fair face such as painters often +attribute to the Christ, listened coldly, as was his wont, and at last +said slowly in a gentle voice: “Ah! so it was Salvat! I thought it might +be little Mathis--I’m surprised that it should be Salvat--for he hadn’t +made up his mind.” Then, as Guillaume anxiously inquired if he thought +that Salvat would speak out, he began to protest: “Oh! no; oh! no.” + +However, he corrected himself with a gleam of disdain in his clear, harsh +eyes: “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 to +think how his friend Guillaume, to whom he was much attached, might be +extricated from any charge of complicity should he be denounced. And +Guillaume, at sight of Janzen’s contemptuous coldness, must have suffered +keenly, for the other evidently believed him to be trembling, tortured by +the one desire to save his own skin. But what could he say, how could he +reveal the deep concern which rendered him so feverish without betraying +the secret which he had hidden even from his brother? + +However, at this moment Sophie came to tell her master that M. Théophile +Morin had called with another gentleman. Much astonished by this visit at +so late an hour, Pierre hastened into the next room to receive the new +comers. He had become acquainted with Morin since his return from Rome, +and had helped him to introduce a translation of an excellent scientific +manual, prepared according to the official programmes, into the Italian +schools.* A Franc-Comtois by birth, a compatriot of Proudhon, with whose +poor family he had been intimate at Besancon, Morin, himself the son of a +journeyman clockmaker, had grown up with Proudhonian ideas, full of +affection 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 fervent +Positivist, however, one might yet find the old Proudhonian, the pauper +who rebelled and detested want. Moreover, it was scientific Positivism +that he clung to; in his hatred of all mysticism he would have naught to +do with the fantastic religious leanings of Comte in his last years. And +in Morin’s brave, consistent, somewhat mournful life, there had been but +one page of romance: the sudden feverish impulse which had carried him +off to fight in Sicily by Garibaldi’s side. Afterwards he had again +become 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 of +emotion: “Morin has brought me Barthès, who fancies himself in danger and +asks my hospitality.” + +At this Guillaume forgot himself and became excited: “Nicholas Barthès, a +hero with a soul worthy of antiquity. Oh! I know him; I admire and love +him. You must set your door open wide for him.” + +Bache and Janzen, however, had glanced at one another smiling. And the +latter, with his cold ironical air, slowly remarked: “Why does Monsieur +Barthès hide himself? A great many people think he is dead; he is simply +a ghost who no longer frightens anybody.” + +Four and seventy years of age as he now was, Barthès had spent nearly +half a century in prison. He was the eternal prisoner, the hero of +liberty whom each successive Government had carried from citadel to +fortress. Since his youth he had been marching on amidst his dream of +fraternity, fighting for an ideal Republic based on truth and justice, +and each and every endeavour had led him to a dungeon; he had invariably +finished his humanitarian reverie under bolts and bars. Carbonaro, +Republican, evangelical sectarian, he had conspired at all times and in +all places, incessantly struggling against the Power of the day, whatever +it might be. And when the Republic at last had come, that Republic which +had cost him so many years of gaol, it had, in its own turn, imprisoned +him, adding fresh years of gloom to those which already had lacked +sunlight. And thus he remained the martyr of freedom: freedom which he +still 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 Barthès, whose uncompromising +rectitude disturbs our politicians; and he does well to take his +precautions!” + +Nicholas Barthès came in, a tall, slim, withered old man, with a nose +like an eagle’s beak, and eyes that still burned in their deep sockets, +under white and bushy brows. His mouth, toothless but still refined, was +lost 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 Théophile Morin, with grey whiskers, +grey, brush-like hair, spectacles, and yellow, weary mien--that of an old +professor exhausted by years of teaching. Neither of them seemed +astonished or awaited an explanation on finding that man in bed with an +injured wrist. And there were no introductions: those who were acquainted +merely smiled at one another. + +Barthès, 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 boulevards +were in an agitated state, the news of the crime had spread from café to +café, and everybody was anxious to see the late edition which one paper +had published giving a very incorrect account of the affair, full of the +most extraordinary details. Briefly, nothing positive was as yet known. + +On seeing Guillaume turn pale Pierre compelled him to lie down again, and +even talked of taking the visitors into the next room. But the injured +man gently replied: “No, no, I promise you that I won’t stir again, that +I won’t open my mouth. But stay there and chat together. I assure you +that 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 in +undertones. Old Barthès, who considered that bomb to be both idiotic and +abominable, spoke of it with the stupefaction of one who, after fighting +like a hero through all the legendary struggles for liberty, found +himself belated, out of his element, in a new era, which he could not +understand. Did not the conquest of freedom suffice for everything? he +added. Was there any other problem beyond that of founding the real +Republic? Then, referring to Mège and his speech in the Chamber that +afternoon, he bitterly arraigned Collectivism, which he declared to be +one of the democratic forms of tyranny. Théophile Morin, for his part, +also spoke against the Collectivist enrolling of the social forces, but +he professed yet greater hatred of the odious violence of the Anarchists; +for it was only by evolution that he expected progress, and he felt +somewhat indifferent as to what political means might bring about the +scientific society of to-morrow. And in like way Bache did not seem +particularly fond of the Anarchists, though he was touched by the idyllic +dream, the humanitarian hope, whose germs lay beneath their passion for +destruction. And, like Barthès, he also flew into a passion with Mège, +who since entering the Chamber had become, said he, a mere rhetorician +and theorist, dreaming of dictatorship. Meantime Janzen, still erect, his +face frigid and his lips curling ironically, listened to all three of +them, and vented a few trenchant words to express his own Anarchist +faith; the uselessness of drawing distinctions, and the necessity of +destroying everything in order that everything might be rebuilt on fresh +lines. + +Pierre, who had remained near the bed, also listened with passionate +attention. Amidst the downfall of his own beliefs, the utter void which +he felt within him, here were these four men, who represented the +cardinal points of this century’s ideas, debating the very same terrible +problem which brought him so much suffering, that of the new belief which +the democracy of the coming century awaits. And, ah! since the days of +the immediate ancestors, since the days of Voltaire and Diderot and +Rousseau how incessantly had billows of ideas followed and jostled one +another, the older ones giving birth to new ones, and all breaking and +bounding in a tempest in which it was becoming so difficult to +distinguish anything clearly! Whence came the wind, and whither was the +ship of salvation going, for what port ought one to embark? Pierre had +already thought that the balance-sheet of the century ought to be drawn +up, and that, after accepting the legacies of Rousseau and the other +precursors, he ought to study the ideas of St. Simon, Fourier and even +Cabet; of Auguste Comte, Proudhon and Karl Marx as well, in order, at any +rate, to form some idea of the distance that had been travelled, and of +the cross-ways which one had now reached. And was not this an +opportunity, 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 pale +and had closed his eyes. Had even he, with his faith in science, felt the +doubt which is born of contradictory theories, and the despair which +comes 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 Barthès alone +remained in the house and slept in a room on the first floor which Sophie +had got ready for him. Pierre, unwilling to quit his brother, dozed off +upon a sofa. And the little house relapsed into its deep quietude, the +silence of solitude and winter, through which passed the melancholy +quiver of the souvenirs of childhood. + +In the morning, as soon as it was seven o’clock, Pierre had to go for the +newspapers. Guillaume had passed a bad night and intense fever had set +in. Nevertheless, his brother was obliged to read him the articles on the +explosion. There was an amazing medley of truths and inventions, of +precise information lost amidst the most unexpected extravagance. +Sagnier’s paper, the “Voix du Peuple,” distinguished itself by its +sub-titles in huge print and a whole page of particulars jumbled together +chance-wise. It had at once decided to postpone the famous list of the +thirty-two deputies and senators compromised in the African Railways +affair; and there was no end to the details it gave of the aspect of the +entrance to the Duvillard mansion after the explosion the pavement broken +up, the upper floor rent open, the huge doors torn away from their +hinges. Then came the story of the Baron’s son and daughter preserved as +by a miracle, the landau escaping the slightest injury, while the banker +and his wife, it was alleged, owed their preservation to the circumstance +that they had lingered at the Madeleine after Monseigneur Martha’s +remarkable address there. An entire column was given to the one victim, +the poor, pretty, fair-haired errand girl, whose identity did not seem to +be clearly established, although a flock of reporters had rushed first to +the modiste employing her, in the Avenue de l’Opera, and next to the +upper part of the Faubourg St. Denis, where it was thought her +grandmother resided. Then, in a gravely worded article in “Le Globe,” + evidently inspired by Fonsègue, an appeal was made to the Chamber’s +patriotism to avoid giving cause for any ministerial crisis in the +painful circumstances through which the country was passing. Thus the +ministry might last, and live in comparative quietude, for a few weeks +longer. + +Guillaume, however, was struck by one point only: the culprit was not +known; Salvat, it appeared certain, was neither arrested nor even +suspected. It seemed, indeed, as if the police were starting on a false +scent--that of a well-dressed gentleman wearing gloves, whom a neighbour +swore he had seen entering the mansion at the moment of the explosion. +Thus Guillaume became a little calmer. But his brother read to him from +another paper some particulars concerning the engine of destruction that +had been employed. It was a preserved-meat can, and the fragments of it +showed that it had been comparatively small. And Guillaume relapsed into +anxiety on learning that people were much astonished at the violent +ravages of such a sorry appliance, and that the presence of some new +explosive of incalculable power was already suspected. + +At eight o’clock Bertheroy put in an appearance. Although he was +sixty-eight, he showed as much briskness and sprightliness as any young +sawbones calling in a friendly way to perform a little operation. He had +brought an instrument case, some linen bands and some lint. However, he +became angry on finding the injured man nervous, flushed and hot with +fever. + +“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 unless +you behave better. Any complications would make amputation necessary.” + +Pierre shuddered, but Guillaume shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that +he 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 the +explosion, and must have thought it over. “My dear child,” he resumed in +his brusque way, “I certainly don’t think that you committed that +abominable act of folly in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy. But I fancy that you +were in the neighbourhood--no, no, don’t answer me, don’t defend +yourself. I know nothing and desire to know nothing, not even the formula +of that devilish powder of which your shirt cuff bore traces, and which +has 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! my +friends, I regard such an action as even more useless than criminal! I +only feel contempt for the vain agitation of politics, whether they be +revolutionary or conservative. Does not science suffice? Why hasten the +times when one single step of science brings humanity nearer to the goal +of truth and justice than do a hundred years of politics and social +revolt? Why, it is science alone which sweeps away dogmas, casts down +gods, and creates light and happiness. And I, Member of the Institute as +I am, decorated and possessed of means, I am the only true +Revolutionist.” + +Then he began to laugh and Guillaume realised all the good-natured irony +of his laugh. While admiring him as a great _savant_, he had hitherto +suffered at seeing him lead such a _bourgeois_ life, accepting whatever +appointments and honours were offered him, a Republican under the +Republic, but quite ready to serve science under no matter what master. +But now, from beneath this opportunist, this hieratical _savant_, this +toiler who accepted wealth and glory from all hands, there appeared a +quiet yet terrible evolutionist, who certainly expected that his own work +would help to ravage and renew the world! + +However, Bertheroy rose and took his leave: “I’ll come back; behave +sensibly, and love one another as well as you can.” + +When the brothers again found themselves alone, Pierre seated at +Guillaume’s bedside, their hands once more sought each other and met in a +burning clasp instinct with all their anguish. How much threatening +mystery and distress there was both around and within them! The grey +wintry daylight came into the room, and they could see the black trees in +the garden, while the house remained full of quivering silence, save that +overhead a faint sound of footsteps was audible. They were the steps of +Nicholas Barthès, the heroic lover of freedom, who, rising at daybreak, +had, like a caged lion, resumed his wonted promenade, the incessant +coming and going of one who had ever been a prisoner. And as the brothers +ceased listening to him their eyes fell on a newspaper which had remained +open on the bed, a newspaper soiled by a sketch in outline which +pretended 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 upon +Pierre’s cheeks, whilst Guillaume’s blurred, despairing eyes gazed +wistfully far away, seeking for the Future. + + + + +II. A HOME OF INDUSTRY + +THE little house in which Guillaume had dwelt for so many years, a home +of quietude and hard work, stood in the pale light of winter up yonder at +Montmartre, peacefully awaiting his return. He reflected, however, after +_déjeuner_ that it might not be prudent for him to go back thither for +some three weeks, and so he thought of sending Pierre to explain the +position of affairs. “Listen, brother,” he said. “You must render me this +service. 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 should +follow them and discover my retreat. After the note I wrote them last +evening they would end by getting anxious if I did not send them some +news.” Then, yielding to the one worry which, since the previous night, +had disturbed his clear, frank glance, he added: “Just feel in the +right-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 do +what is understood between us. That will suffice, she will understand +you.” + +At the first moment Pierre had hesitated; but he saw how even the slight +effort of speaking exhausted his brother, so he silenced him, saying: +“Don’t talk, but put your mind at ease. I will go and reassure your +people, since you wish that this commission should be undertaken by me.” + +Truth to tell, the errand was so distasteful to Pierre that he had at +first thought of sending Sophie in his place. All his old prejudices were +reviving; it was as if he were going to some ogre’s den. How many times +had he not heard his mother say “that creature!” in referring to the +woman with whom her elder son cohabited. Never had she been willing to +kiss Guillaume’s boys; the whole connection had shocked her, and she was +particularly indignant that Madame Leroi, the woman’s mother, should have +joined 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 little +house on his way, he glanced at it distrustfully, and kept as far from it +as he could, as if it were some abode of vice and error. Undoubtedly, for +ten years now, the boys’ mother had been dead, but did not another +scandal-inspiring creature dwell there, that young orphan girl to whom +his brother had given shelter, and whom he was going to marry, although a +difference of twenty years lay between them? To Pierre all this was +contrary to propriety, abnormal and revolting, and he pictured a home +given over to social rebellion, where lack of principle led to every kind +of disorder. + +However, he was leaving the room to start upon his journey, when +Guillaume called him back. “Tell Madame Leroi,” said he, “that if I +should die you will let her know of it, so that she may immediately do +what 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 in +case you should need her.” + +Having given full instructions to the servant, Pierre set out to take a +tramcar, intending to alight from it on the Boulevard de Rochechouart, +and then climb the height on foot. And on the road, lulled by the gliding +motion of the heavy vehicle, he began to think of his brother’s past life +and connections, with which he was but vaguely, imperfectly, acquainted. +It was only at a later date that details of everything came to his +knowledge. In 1850 a young professor named Leroi, who had come from Paris +to the college of Montauban with the most ardent republican ideas, had +there married Agathe Dagnan, the youngest of the five girls of an old +Protestant family from the Cévennes. Young Madame Leroi was _enceinte_ +when her husband, threatened with arrest for contributing some violent +articles to a local newspaper, immediately after the “Coup d’État,” found +himself obliged to seek refuge at Geneva. It was there that the young +couple’s daughter, Marguerite, a very delicate child, was born in 1852. +For seven years, that is until the Amnesty of 1859, the household +struggled 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 was +denied him on account of his opinions, and he had to run about giving +lessons in private houses. When he was at last on the point of being +received 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 newspaper +wrappers, 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 and +suffering, predicted the advent of a Republic which would avenge the +follies of the Empire, and a reign of science which would sweep away the +deceptive and cruel divinity of religious dogmas. On the other hand, +Agathe’s religious faith had collapsed at Geneva, at sight of the narrow +and imbecile practices of Calvinism, and all that she retained of it was +the old Protestant leaven of rebellion. She had become at once the head +and the arm of the house; she went for her husband’s work, took it back +when completed, and even did much of it herself, whilst, at the same +time, performing her house duties, and rearing and educating her +daughter. The latter, who attended no school, was indebted for all she +learnt to her father and mother, on whose part there was never any +question of religious instruction. Through contact with her husband, +Madame Leroi had lost all belief, and her Protestant heredity inclining +her to free inquiry and examination, she had arranged for herself a kind +of peaceful atheism, based on paramount principles of human duty and +justice, which she applied courageously, irrespective of all social +conventionalities. The long iniquity of her husband’s fate, the +undeserved misfortunes which struck her through him and her daughter, +ended by endowing her with wonderful fortitude and devotion, which made +her, whether as a judge, a manager, or a consoler, a woman of +incomparable energy and nobleness of character. + +It was in the Rue Monsieur-le-Prince that Guillaume became acquainted +with the Leroi family, after the war of 1870. On the same floor as their +little lodging he occupied a large room, where he devoted himself +passionately to his studies. At the outset there was only an occasional +bow, for Guillaume’s neighbours were very proud and very grave, leading +their life of poverty in fierce silence and retirement. Then intercourse +began with the rendering of little services, such as when the young man +procured the ex-professor a commission to write a few articles for a new +encyclopaedia. But all at once came the catastrophe: Leroi died in his +armchair one evening while his daughter was wheeling him from his table +to 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, and +they were obliged to accept the help of Guillaume, who, from that moment, +became the necessary confidant and friend. And the thing which was bound +to happen did happen, in the most simple and loving manner, permitted by +the mother herself, who, full of contempt for a social system which +allowed those of good hearts to die of hunger, refused to admit the +necessity of any social tie. Thus there was no question of a regular +marriage. One day Guillaume, who was twenty-three years old, found +himself mated to Marguerite, who was twenty; both of them handsome, +healthy, and strong, adoring one another, loving work, and full of hope +in 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 an +allowance of two hundred francs a month. This just represented daily +bread; however, he was already doubling the amount by his work as a +chemist,--his analyses and researches, which tended to the employment of +certain chemical products in industry. So he and Marguerite installed +themselves on the very summit of Montmartre, in a little house, at a +rental of eight hundred francs a year, the great convenience of the place +being a strip of garden, where one might, later on, erect a wooden +workshop. In all tranquillity Madame Leroi took up her abode with the +young people, helping them, and sparing them the necessity of keeping a +second servant. And at successive intervals of two years, her three +grandchildren were born, three sturdy boys: first Thomas, then François, +and then Antoine. And in the same way as she had devoted herself to her +husband and daughter, and then to Guillaume, so did she now devote +herself to the three children. She became “Mère-Grand”--an emphatic and +affectionate way of expressing the term “grandmother”--for all who lived +in the house, the older as well as the younger ones. She there +personified sense, and wisdom, and courage; it was she who was ever on +the watch, who directed everything, who was consulted about everything, +and whose opinion was always followed. Indeed, she reigned there like an +all-powerful queen-mother. + +For fifteen years this life went on, a life of hard work and peaceful +affection, while the strictest economy was observed in contenting every +need of the modest little household. Then Guillaume lost his mother, took +his share of the family inheritance, and was able to satisfy his old +desire, which was to buy the house he lived in, and build a spacious +workshop in the garden. He was even able to build it of bricks, and add +an upper story to it. But the work was scarcely finished, and life seemed +to be on the point of expanding and smiling on them all, when misfortune +returned, 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, found +himself a widower at thirty-eight. The thought of introducing any unknown +woman into that retired home, where all hearts beat in tender unison, was +so unbearable to him that he determined to take no other mate. His work +absorbed him, and he would know how to quiet both his heart and his +flesh. Mère-Grand, fortunately, was still there, erect and courageous; +the household retained its queen, and in her the children found a +manageress 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, suddenly +entered it. Couturier had been an inventor, a madman with some measure of +genius, and had spent a fairly large fortune in attempting all sorts of +fantastic schemes. His wife, a very pious woman, had died of grief at it +all; and although on the rare occasions when he saw his daughter, he +showed great fondness for her and loaded her with presents, he had first +placed her in a boarding college, and afterwards left her in the charge +of a poor female relative. Remembering her only on his death-bed, he had +begged Guillaume to give her an asylum, and find her a husband. The poor +relation, who dealt in ladies’ and babies’ linen, had just become a +bankrupt. So, at nineteen, the girl, Marie, found herself a penniless +outcast, 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 Mère-Grand, who was no longer so active +as formerly. And the latter approved the arrangement, well pleased at the +advent 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, who +were still at college, to be disturbed by her presence. And she would +work in that house where everybody worked. She would help the little +community pending the time when she might meet and love some worthy +fellow 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 had +remained very pure and healthy, even very _naive_, maidenly by reason of +her natural rectitude. And she was also very much a woman, beautifying +and amusing herself with a mere nothing, and ever showing gaiety and +contentment. Moreover, she was in no wise of a dreamy nature, but very +practical, always intent on some work or other, and only asking of life +such things as life could give, without anxiety as to what might lie +beyond it. She lovingly remembered her pious mother, who had prepared her +for her first Communion in tears, imagining that she was opening heaven’s +portals to her. But since she had been an orphan she had of her own +accord ceased all practice of religion, her good sense revolting and +scorning the need of any moral police regulations to make her do her +duty. Indeed, she considered such regulations dangerous and destructive +of true health. Thus, like Mère-Grand, she had come to a sort of quiet +and almost unconscious atheism, not after the fashion of one who reasons, +but simply like the brave, healthy girl she was, one who had long endured +poverty without suffering from it, and believed in nothing save the +necessity of effort. She had been kept erect, indeed, by her conviction +that happiness was to be found in the normal joys of life, lived +courageously. And her happy equilibrium of mind had ever guided and saved +her, in such wise that she willingly listened to her natural instinct, +saying, with her pleasant laugh, that this was, after all, her best +adviser. She rejected two offers of marriage, and on the second occasion, +as Guillaume pressed her to accept, she grew astonished, and inquired if +he had had enough of her in the house. She found herself very +comfortable, and she rendered service there. So why should she leave and +run the risk of being less happy elsewhere, particularly as she was not +in love with anybody? + +Then, by degrees, the idea of a marriage between Marie and Guillaume +presented itself; and indeed what could have been more reasonable and +advantageous for all? If Guillaume had not mated again it was for his +sons’ sake, because he feared that by introducing a stranger to the house +he might impair its quietude and gaiety. But now there was a woman among +them who already showed herself maternal towards the boys, and whose +bright youth had ended by disturbing his own heart. He was still in his +prime, and had always held that it was not good for man to live alone, +although, personally, thanks to his ardour for work, he had hitherto +escaped excessive suffering in his bereavement. However, there was the +great difference of ages to be considered; and he would have bravely +remained in the background and have sought a younger husband for Marie, +if his three big sons and Mère-Grand herself had not conspired to effect +his happiness by doing all they could to bring about a marriage which +would strengthen every home tie and impart, as it were, a fresh +springtide to the house. As for Marie, touched and grateful to Guillaume +for the manner in which he had treated her for five years past, she +immediately consented with an impulse of sincere affection, in which, she +fancied, she could detect love. And at all events, could she act in a +more sensible, reasonable way, base her life on more certain prospects of +happiness? So the marriage had been resolved upon; and about a month +previously it had been decided that it should take place during the +ensuing spring, towards the end of April. + +When Pierre, after alighting from the tramcar, began to climb the +interminable flights of steps leading to the Rue St. Eleuthère, a feeling +of uneasiness again came over him at the thought that he was about to +enter that suspicious ogre’s den where everything would certainly wound +and irritate him. Given the letter which Sophie had carried thither on +the previous night, announcing that the master would not return, how +anxious and upset must all its inmates be! However, as Pierre ascended +the final flight and nervously raised his head, the little house appeared +to him right atop of the hill, looking very serene and quiet under the +bright wintry sun, which had peered forth as if to bestow upon the modest +dwelling an affectionate caress. + +There was a door in the old garden wall alongside the Rue St. Eleuthère, +almost in front of the broad thoroughfare conducting to the basilica of +the Sacred Heart; but to reach the house itself one had to skirt the wall +and climb to the Place du Tertre, where one found the façade and the +entrance. Some children were playing on the Place, which, planted as it +was with a few scrubby trees, and edged with humble shops,--a +fruiterer’s, a grocer’s and a baker’s,--looked like some square in a +small provincial town. In a corner, on the left, Guillaume’s dwelling, +which had been whitewashed during the previous spring, showed its bright +frontage 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 glittered +like gold, rang the bell. There came a gay, distant jingle; but for a +moment nobody appeared, and he was about to ring again, when the door was +thrown wide open, revealing a passage which ran right through the house, +beyond which appeared the ocean of Paris, the endless sea of house roofs +bathed in sunlight. And against this spacious, airy background, stood a +young 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 above +her elbows, and her arms and hands were still moist with water which she +had but imperfectly wiped away. + +A moment’s surprise and embarrassment ensued. The young woman, who had +hastened to the door with laughing mien, became grave and covertly +hostile at sight of the visitor’s cassock. The priest thereupon realised +that he must give his name: “I am Abbé Pierre Froment.” + +At this the young woman’s smile of welcome came back to her. “Oh! I beg +your pardon, monsieur--I ought to have recognised you, for I saw you wish +Guillaume good day one morning as you passed.” + +She said Guillaume; she, therefore, must be Marie. And Pierre looked at +her in astonishment, finding her very different from what he had +imagined. She was only of average height, but she was vigorously, +admirably built, broad of hip and broad of shoulder, with the small firm +bosom of an amazon. By her erect and easy step, instinct with all the +adorable grace of woman in her prime, one could divine that she was +strong, muscular and healthy. A brunette, but very white of skin, she had +a 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 intense +life; whilst the somewhat heavier character of her lower features, her +fleshy lips and full chin, bespoke her quiet kindliness. She had surely +come on earth as a promise of every form of tenderness, every form of +devotion. In a word, she was a true mate for man. + +However, with her heavy, straying hair and superb arms, so ingenuous in +their nudity, she only gave Pierre an impression of superfluous health +and extreme self-assurance. She displeased him and even made him feel +somewhat 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 admit +him to the passage. And when the door was closed she answered: “You have +brought us news of him, then! I must apologise for receiving you in this +fashion. The servants have just finished some washing, and I was making +sure if the work had been well done. Pray excuse me, and come in here for +a moment; it is perhaps best that I should be the first to know the +news.” + +So saying, she led him past the kitchen to a little room which served as +scullery and wash-house. A tub full of soapy water stood there, and some +dripping linen hung over some wooden bars. “And so, Guillaume?” she +asked. + +Pierre then told the truth in simple fashion: that his brother’s wrist +had been injured; that he himself had witnessed the accident, and that +his brother had then sought an asylum with him at Neuilly, where he +wished to remain and get cured of his injury in peace and quietness, +without even receiving a visit from his sons. While speaking in this +fashion, the priest watched the effect of his words on Marie’s face: +first fright and pity, and then an effort to calm herself and judge +things reasonably. + +“His letter quite froze me last night,” she ended by replying. “I felt +sure that some misfortune had happened. But one must be brave and hide +one’s fear from others. His wrist injured, you say; it is not a serious +injury, 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 into +his own as if to reach the very depths of his being, though at the same +time she plainly sought to restrain the score of questions which rose to +her 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 and +respectful of the decision which Guillaume had arrived at. It sufficed +that he should have sent a messenger to reassure the household--she did +not seek to learn any more. And even as she had returned to her work in +spite of the secret anxiety in which the letter of the previous evening +had left her, so now, with her air of quiet strength, she recovered an +appearance of serenity, a quiet smile and clear brave glance. + +“Guillaume only gave me one other commission,” resumed Pierre, “that of +handing a little key to Madame Leroi.” + +“Very good,” Marie answered, “Mère-Grand is here; and, besides, the +children must see you. I will take you to them.” + +Once more quite tranquil, she examined Pierre without managing to conceal +her curiosity, which seemed of rather a kindly nature blended with an +element of vague pity. Her fresh white arms had remained bare. In all +candour she slowly drew down her sleeves; then took off the large blue +apron, and showed herself with her rounded figure, at once robust and +elegant, in her modest black gown. He meanwhile looked at her, and most +certainly 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’Abbé?” she said. “We must cross +the garden.” + +On the ground-floor of the house, across the passage, and facing the +kitchen and the scullery, there were two other rooms, a library +overlooking the Place du Tertre, and a dining-room whose windows opened +into the garden. The four rooms on the first floor served as bedchambers +for the father and the sons. As for the garden, originally but a small +one, it had now been reduced to a kind of gravelled yard by the erection +of 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 well +as a big clump of lilac-bushes, which every spring were covered with +bloom. And in front of the latter Marie had arranged a broad flower-bed, +in which she amused herself with growing a few roses, some wallflowers +and some mignonette. + +With a wave of her hand as she went past, she called Pierre’s attention +to the black plum-trees and the lilacs and roses, which showed but a few +greenish spots, for winter still held the little nook in sleep. “Tell +Guillaume,” she said, “that he must make haste to get well and be back +for the first shoots.” + +Then, as Pierre glanced at her, she all at once flushed purple. Much to +her distress, sudden and involuntary blushes would in this wise +occasionally come upon her, even at the most innocent remarks. She found +it ridiculous to feel such childish emotion when she had so brave a +heart. But her pure maidenly blood had retained exquisite delicacy, such +natural and instinctive modesty that she yielded to it perforce. And +doubtless she had merely blushed because she feared that the priest might +think she had referred to her marriage in speaking of the spring. + +“Please go in, Monsieur l’Abbé. The children are there, all three.” And +forthwith she ushered him into the workshop. + +It was a very spacious place, over sixteen feet high, with a brick +flooring and bare walls painted an iron grey. A sheet of light, a stream +of sunshine, spread to every corner through a huge window facing the +south, where lay the immensity of Paris. The Venetian shutters often had +to be lowered in the summer to attenuate the great heat. From morn till +night the whole family lived here, closely and affectionately united in +work. Each was installed as fancy listed, having a particular chosen +place. One half of the building was occupied by the father’s chemical +laboratory, with its stove, experiment tables, shelves for apparatus, +glass cases and cupboards for phials and jars. Near all this Thomas, the +eldest son, had installed a little forge, an anvil, a vice bench, in fact +everything necessary to a working mechanician, such as he had become +since taking his bachelor’s degree, from his desire to remain with his +father and help him with certain researches and inventions. Then, at the +other end, the younger brothers, François and Antoine, got on very well +together on either side of a broad table which stood amidst a medley of +portfolios, nests of drawers and revolving book-stands. François, laden +with academical laurels, first on the pass list for the École Normale, +had entered that college where young men are trained for university +professorships, and was there preparing for his Licentiate degree, while +Antoine, who on reaching the third class at the Lycée Condorcet had taken +a dislike to classical studies, now devoted himself to his calling as a +wood-engraver. And, in the full light under the window, Mère-Grand and +Marie likewise had their particular table, where needlework, embroidery, +all sorts of _chiffons_ and delicate things lay about near the somewhat +rough jumble of retorts, tools and big books. + +Marie, however, on the very threshold called out in her calm voice, to +which she strove to impart a gay and cheering accent: “Children! +children! here is Monsieur l’Abbé with news of father!” + +Children, indeed! Yet what motherliness she already set in the word as +she applied it to those big fellows whose elder sister she had long +considered herself to be! At three and twenty Thomas was quite a +colossus, already bearded and extremely like his father. But although he +had a lofty brow and energetic features, he was somewhat slow both in +mind and body. And he was also taciturn, almost unsociable, absorbed in +filial devotion, delighted with the manual toil which made him a mere +workman at his master’s orders. François, two years younger than Thomas, +and nearly as tall, showed a more refined face, though he had the same +large brow and firm mouth, a perfect blending of health and strength, in +which the man of intellect, the scientific Normalian, could only be +detected by the brighter and more subtle sparkle of the eyes. The +youngest of the brothers, Antoine, who for his eighteen years was almost +as strong as his elders, and promised to become as tall, differed from +them by his lighter hair and soft, blue, dreamy eyes, which he had +inherited from his mother. It had been difficult, however, to distinguish +one from the other when all three were schoolboys at the Lycée 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 marked +as age progressed. + +On Pierre’s arrival the brothers were so absorbed in their work that they +did not even hear the door open. And again, as in the case of Marie, the +priest was surprised by the discipline and firmness of mind, which amidst +the keenest anxiety gave the young fellows strength to take up their +daily task. Thomas, who stood at his vice-bench in a blouse, was +carefully filing a little piece of copper with rough but skilful hands. +François, leaning forward, was writing in a bold, firm fashion, whilst on +the other side of the table, Antoine, with a slender graver between his +fingers, 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 and +came forward. One could divine that directly there was any question of +their father they were drawn together, blended one with the other, so +that 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, and +Mère-Grand, coming from the upper floor where she and Marie had their +bedrooms, made her appearance. She had just absented herself to fetch a +skein of wool; and she gazed fixedly at the priest, unable to understand +the reason of his presence. + +Marie had to explain matters. “Mère-Grand,” said she, “this is Monsieur +l’Abbé Froment, Guillaume’s brother; he has come from him.” + +Pierre on his side was examining the old lady, astonished to find her so +erect and full of life at seventy. Her former beauty had left a stately +charm on her rather long face; youthful fire still lingered in her brown +eyes; and very firm was the contour of her pale lips, which in parting +showed that she had retained all her teeth. A few white hairs alone +silvered her black tresses, which were arranged in old-time fashion. Her +cheeks had but slightly withered, and her deep, symmetrical wrinkles gave +her countenance an expression of much nobility, a sovereign air as of a +queen-mother, which, tall and slight of stature as she was, and +invariably gowned in black woollen stuff, she always retained, no matter +how 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 impulse +of 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 at +Neuilly. And with due care it is certain that no serious complications +will arise. He sent me to tell you to be in no wise uneasy about him.” + +Mère-Grand for her part evinced no fears, but preserved great calmness, +as if the priest’s tidings contained nothing beyond what she had known +already. If anything, she seemed rather relieved, freed from anxiety +which she had confided to none. “If he is with you, monsieur,” she +answered, “he is evidently as comfortable as he can be, and sheltered +from all risks. We were surprised, however, by his letter last night, as +it did not explain why he was detained, and we should have ended by +feeling frightened. But now everything is satisfactory.” + +Mère-Grand and the three sons, following Marie’s example, asked no +explanations. On a table near at hand Pierre noticed several morning +newspapers lying open and displaying column after column of particulars +about the crime. The sons had certainly read these papers, and had feared +lest their father should be compromised in that frightful affair. How far +did their knowledge of the latter go? They must be ignorant of the part +played by Salvat. It was surely impossible for them to piece together all +the unforeseen circumstances which had brought about their father’s +meeting with the workman, and then the crime. Mère-Grand, no doubt, was +in certain respects better informed than the others. But they, the sons +and Marie, neither knew nor sought to know anything. And thus what a +wealth of respect and affection there was in their unshakable confidence +in the father, in the tranquillity they displayed directly he sent them +word 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 misfortune +should befall him.” + +She started, but so slightly that it was scarcely perceptible; and taking +the key she answered as if some ordinary wish on the part of a sick +person were alone in question. “Very well. Tell him that his wishes shall +be carried out.” Then she added, “But pray take a seat, monsieur.” + +Pierre, indeed, had remained standing. However, he now felt it necessary +to accept a chair, desirous as he was of hiding the embarrassment which +he still felt in this house, although he was _en famille_ there. Marie, +who could not live without occupation for her fingers, had just returned +to some embroidery, some of the fine needlework which she stubbornly +executed 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. Mère-Grand, too, from habit, which she +followed even when visitors were present, had once more started on her +perpetual stocking-mending; while François and Antoine had again seated +themselves at their table; and Thomas alone remained on his legs, leaning +against his bench. All the charm of industrious intimacy pervaded the +spacious, 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, “he +does not wish any of us to go to him; for if we should be watched and +followed we should betray the secret of his retreat. Isn’t that so, +Monsieur l’Abbé?” + +“It would indeed be prudent of you to deprive yourselves of the pleasure +of embracing him until he himself can come back here. It will be a matter +of some two or three weeks,” answered Pierre. + +Mère-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 anxiety +in which they must for a time live, renouncing the visit which would have +caused them so much delight, because their father bade them do so and +because his safety depended perhaps on their obedience. + +However, Thomas resumed: “Then, Monsieur l’Abbé, will you please tell him +that as work will be interrupted here, I shall return to the factory +during his absence. I shall be more at ease there for the researches on +which we are engaged.” + +“And please tell him from me,” put in François, “that he mustn’t worry +about my examination. Things are going very well. I feel almost certain +of success.” + +Pierre promised that he would forget nothing. However, Marie raised her +head, smiling and glancing at Antoine, who had remained silent with a +faraway look in his eyes. “And you, little one,” said she, “don’t you +send him any message?” + +Emerging from a dream, the young fellow also began to smile. “Yes, yes, a +message that you love him dearly, and that he’s to make haste back for +you to make him happy.” + +At this they all became merry, even Marie, who in lieu of embarrassment +showed a tranquil gaiety born of confidence in the future. Between her +and the young men there was naught but happy affection. And a grave smile +appeared even on the pale lips of Mère-Grand, who likewise approved of +the happiness which life seemed to be promising. + +Pierre wished to stay a few minutes longer. They all began to chat, and +his astonishment increased. He had gone from surprise to surprise in this +house where he had expected to find that equivocal, disorderly life, that +rebellion against social laws, which destroy morality. But instead of +this he had found loving serenity, and such strong discipline that life +there partook of the gravity, almost the austerity, of convent life, +tempered by youth and gaiety. The vast room was redolent of industry and +quietude, warm with bright sunshine. However, what most particularly +struck him was the Spartan training, the bravery of mind and heart among +those sons who allowed nothing to be seen of their personal feelings, and +did not presume to judge their father, but remained content with his +message, ready to await events, stoical and silent, while carrying on +their daily tasks. Nothing could be more simple, more dignified, more +lofty. And there was also the smiling heroism of Mère-Grand and Marie, +those two women who slept over that laboratory where terrible +preparations were manipulated, and where an explosion was always +possible. + +However, such courage, orderliness and dignity merely surprised Pierre, +without touching him. He had no cause for complaint, he had received a +polite greeting if not an affectionate one; but then he was as yet only a +stranger there, a priest. In spite of everything, however, he remained +hostile, feeling that he was in a sphere where none of his own torments +could be shared or even divined. How did these folks manage to be so calm +and happy amidst their religious unbelief, their sole faith in science, +and in presence of that terrifying Paris which spread before them the +boundless sea, the growling abomination of its injustice and its want? As +this thought came to him he turned his head and gazed at the city through +the huge window, whence it stretched away, ever present, ever living its +giant life. And at that hour, under the oblique sun-rays of the winter +afternoon, all Paris was speckled with luminous dust, as if some +invisible sower, hidden amidst the glory of the planet, were fast +scattering seed which fell upon every side in a stream of gold. The whole +field was covered with it; for the endless chaos of house roofs and +edifices seemed to be land in tilth, furrowed by some gigantic plough. +And Pierre in his uneasiness, stirred, despite everything, by an +invincible need of hope, asked himself if this was not a good sowing, the +furrows of Paris strewn with light by the divine sun for the great future +harvest, that harvest of truth and justice of whose advent he had +despaired. + +At last he rose and took his leave, promising to return at once, if there +should 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 much +suddenly rose to her face, just as she, in her turn, also wished to send +her loving message to the injured man. However, with her gay, candid eyes +fixed on those of the priest, she bravely spoke the words: “_Au revoir, +Monsieur l’Abbé_. 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 and +consumed by fever and impatience, experienced fresh anxiety directly the +newspapers arrived. Pierre had tried to keep them from him, but Guillaume +then worried himself the more, and so the priest had to read him column +by column all the extraordinary articles that were published respecting +the crime. + +Never before had so many rumours inundated the press. Even the “Globe,” + usually so grave and circumspect, yielded to the general _furore_, and +printed whatever statements reached it. But the more unscrupulous papers +were the ones to read. The “Voix du Peuple” in particular made use of the +public feverishness to increase its sales. Each morning it employed some +fresh device, and printed some frightful story of a nature to drive +people mad with terror. It related that not a day passed without Baron +Duvillard 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 his +house would none the less be blown up. And as a measure of precaution the +house was guarded day and night alike by a perfect army of plain-clothes +officers. Then another article contained an amazing piece of invention. +Some anarchists, after carrying barrels of powder into a sewer near the +Madeleine, were said to have undermined the whole district, planning a +perfect volcano there, into which one half of Paris would sink. And at +another time it was alleged that the police were on the track of a +terrible plot which embraced all Europe, from the depths of Russia to the +shores of Spain. The signal for putting it into execution was to be given +in France, and there would be a three days’ massacre, with grape shot +sweeping everyone off the Boulevards, and the Seine running red, swollen +by a torrent of blood. Thanks to these able and intelligent devices of +the Press, terror now reigned in the city; frightened foreigners fled +from the hotels _en masse_; and Paris had become a mere mad-house, where +the most idiotic delusions at once found credit. + +It was not all this, however, that worried Guillaume. He was only anxious +about Salvat and the various new “scents” which the newspaper reporters +attempted to follow up. The engineer was not yet arrested, and, so far +indeed, there had been no statement in print to indicate that the police +were on his track. At last, however, Pierre one morning read a paragraph +which made the injured man turn pale. + +“Dear me! It seems that a tool has been found among the rubbish at the +entrance of the Duvillard mansion. It is a bradawl, and its handle bears +the name of Grandidier, which is that of a man who keeps some well-known +metal works. He is to appear before the investigating magistrate to-day.” + +Guillaume made a gesture of despair. “Ah!” said he, “they are on the +right track at last. That tool must certainly have been dropped by +Salvat. 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 order +to follow the scent.” + +Pierre then remembered that he had heard the Grandidier factory mentioned +at Montmartre. Guillaume’s eldest son, Thomas, had served his +apprenticeship there, and even worked there occasionally nowadays. + +“You told me,” resumed Guillaume, “that during my absence Thomas intended +to go back to the factory. It’s in connection with a new motor which he’s +planning, and has almost hit upon. If there should be a perquisition +there, he may be questioned, and may refuse to answer, in order to guard +his 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 will +go to see Thomas this afternoon. Perhaps I may come across Monsieur +Grandidier himself and learn how far the affair has gone, and what was +said at the investigating magistrate’s.” + +With a moist glance and an affectionate grasp of the hand, Guillaume at +once thanked Pierre: “Yes, yes, brother, go there, it will be good and +brave of you.” + +“Besides,” continued the priest, “I really wanted to go to Montmartre +to-day. I haven’t told you so, but something has been worrying me. If +Salvat has fled, he must have left the woman and the child all alone up +yonder. On the morning of the day when the explosion took place I saw the +poor creatures in such a state of destitution, such misery, that I can’t +think of them without a heart-pang. Women and children so often die of +hunger when the man is no longer there.” + +At this, Guillaume, who had kept Pierre’s hand in his own, pressed it +more tightly, and in a trembling voice exclaimed: “Yes, yes, and that +will 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 the +whole filthy _cloaca_, in which the poor of Paris suffer unto death. And +on returning thither that afternoon, he found the same slimy mud around +it; its yard littered with the same filth, its dark, damp stairways +redolent of the same stench of neglect and poverty, as before. In winter +time, while the fine central districts of Paris are dried and cleansed, +the far-away districts of the poor remain gloomy and miry, beneath the +everlasting tramp of the wretched ones who dwell in them. + +Remembering the staircase which conducted to Salvat’s lodging, Pierre +began to climb it amidst a loud screaming of little children, who +suddenly became quiet, letting the house sink into death-like silence +once more. Then the thought of Laveuve, who had perished up there like a +stray dog, came back to Pierre. And he shuddered when, on the top +landing, he knocked at Salvat’s door, and profound silence alone answered +him. Not a breath was to be heard. + +However, he knocked again, and as nothing stirred he began to think that +nobody could be there. Perhaps Salvat had returned to fetch the woman and +the child, and perhaps they had followed him to some humble nook abroad. +Still this would have astonished him; for the poor seldom quit their +homes, 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 heard +amidst the silence. Then a weak, childish voice ventured to inquire: “Who +is there?” + +“Monsieur l’Abbé.” + +The silence fell again, nothing more stirred. There was evidently +hesitation on the other side. + +“Monsieur l’Abbé who came the other day,” said Pierre again. + +This evidently put an end to all uncertainty, for the door was set ajar +and little Céline admitted the priest. “I beg your pardon, Monsieur +l’Abbé,” said she, “but Mamma Théodore has gone out, and she told me not +to 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 Théodore +doubtless feared a visit from the police. Had she seen Salvat since the +crime? Did she know where he was hiding? Had he come back there to +embrace and tranquillise them both? + +“And your papa, my dear,” said Pierre to Céline, “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 Théodore, no doubt?” + +“I don’t know.” + +Pierre asked no further questions. In fact, he felt somewhat ashamed of +his attempt to extract information from this child of eleven, whom he +thus found alone. It was quite possible that she knew nothing, that +Salvat, in a spirit of prudence, had even refrained from sending any +tidings of himself. Indeed, there was an expression of truthfulness on +the child’s fair, gentle and intelligent face, which was grave with the +gravity that extreme misery imparts to the young. + +“I am sorry that Mamma Théodore isn’t here,” said Pierre, “I wanted to +speak to her.” + +“But perhaps you would like to wait for her, Monsieur l’Abbé. She has +gone to my Uncle Toussaint’s in the Rue Marcadet; and she can’t stop much +longer, for she’s been away more than an hour.” + +Thereupon Céline cleared one of the chairs on which lay a handful of +scraps of wood, picked up on some waste ground. + +The bare and fireless room was assuredly also a breadless one. Pierre +could divine the absence of the bread-winner, the disappearance of the +man who represents will and strength in the home, and on whom one still +relies even when weeks have gone by without work. He goes out and scours +the city, and often ends by bringing back the indispensable crust which +keeps death at bay. But with his disappearance comes complete +abandonment, the wife and child in danger, destitute of all prop and +help. + +Pierre, who had sat down and was looking at that poor, little, blue-eyed +girl, to whose lips a smile returned in spite of everything, could not +keep 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 old +list-slippers, from which her little toes protruded, red with cold. + +“Besides,” she continued, “Mamma Théodore says that one doesn’t go to +school when one’s got nothing to eat. Mamma Théodore wanted to work but +she couldn’t, because her eyes got burning hot and full of water. And so +we don’t know what to do, for we’ve had nothing left since yesterday, and +if 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 had +gathered in her eyes. And the sight of the child shut up in that bare +room, apart from all the happy ones of earth, so upset the priest that he +again felt his anger with want and misery awakening. Then, another ten +minutes having elapsed, he became impatient, for he had to go to the +Grandidier works before returning home. + +“I don’t know why Mamma Théodore doesn’t come back,” repeated Céline. +“Perhaps she’s chatting.” Then, an idea occurring to her she continued: +“I’ll take you to my Uncle Toussaint’s, Monsieur l’Abbé, 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 will +be better, take me there. And I’ll buy you some shoes.” + +Céline turned quite pink, and then made haste to follow him after +carefully 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 Théodore that before calling on +her brother Toussaint to try to borrow a franc from him, she might first +essay her luck with her younger sister, Hortense, who had married little +Chrétiennot, the clerk, and occupied a flat of four rooms on the +Boulevard de Rochechouart. This was quite an affair, however, and the +poor woman only made the venture because Céline had been fasting since +the previous day. + +Eugène Toussaint, the mechanician, a man of fifty, was her stepbrother, +by the first marriage contracted by her father. A young dressmaker whom +the latter had subsequently wedded, had borne him three daughters, +Pauline, Léonie and Hortense. And on his death, his son Eugène, who +already had a wife and child of his own, had found himself for a short +time with his stepmother and sisters on his hands. The stepmother, +fortunately, was an active and intelligent woman, and knew how to get out +of difficulties. She returned to her former workroom where her daughter +Pauline was already apprenticed, and she next placed Léonie there; so +that Hortense, the youngest girl, who was a spoilt child, prettier and +more delicate than her sisters, was alone left at school. And, later +on,--after Pauline had married Labitte the stonemason, and Léonie, Salvat +the journeyman-engineer,--Hortense, while serving as assistant at a +confectioner’s in the Rue des Martyrs, there became acquainted with +Chrétiennot, a clerk, who married her. Léonie had died young, only a few +weeks after her mother; Pauline, forsaken by her husband, lived with her +brother-in-law Salvat, and Hortense alone wore a light silk gown on +Sundays, resided in a new house, and ranked as a _bourgeoise_, at the +price, however, of interminable worries and great privation. + +Madame Théodore knew that her sister was generally short of money towards +the month’s end, and therefore felt rather ill at ease in thus venturing +to apply for a loan. Chrétiennot, moreover, embittered by his own +mediocrity, had of late years accused his wife of being the cause of +their spoilt life, and had ceased all intercourse with her relatives. +Toussaint, no doubt, was a decent workman; but that Madame Théodore who +lived in misery with her brother-in-law, and that Salvat who wandered +from workshop to workshop like an incorrigible ranter whom no employer +would keep; those two, with their want and dirt and rebellion, had ended +by incensing the vain little clerk, who was not only a great stickler for +the proprieties, but was soured by all the difficulties he encountered in +his own life. And thus he had forbidden Hortense to receive her sister. + +All the same, as Madame Théodore climbed the carpeted staircase of the +house on the Boulevard Rochechouart, she experienced a certain feeling of +pride at the thought that she had a relation living in such luxury. The +Chrétiennot’s rooms were on the third floor, and overlooked the +courtyard. Their _femme-de-ménage_--a woman who goes out by the day or +hour charring, cleaning and cooking--came back every afternoon about four +o’clock to see to the dinner, and that day she was already there. She +admitted the visitor, though she could not conceal her anxious surprise +at her boldness in calling in such slatternly garb. However, on the very +threshold of the little salon, Madame Théodore stopped short in +wonderment herself, for her sister Hortense was sobbing and crouching on +one of the armchairs, upholstered in blue repp, of which she was so +proud. + +“What is the matter? What has happened to you?” asked Madame Théodore. + +Her sister, though scarcely two and thirty, was no longer “the beautiful +Hortense” of former days. She retained a doll-like appearance, with a +tall slim figure, pretty eyes and fine, fair hair. But she who had once +taken so much care of herself, had now come down to dressing-gowns of +doubtful cleanliness. Her eyelids, too, were reddening, and blotches were +appearing on her skin. She had begun to fade after giving birth to two +daughters, 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 the +palaces and equipages of some Prince Charming. And at this moment she was +plunged in such despair, that her sister’s sudden appearance on the scene +did not even astonish her: “Ah! it’s you,” she gasped. “Ah! if you only +knew what a blow’s fallen on me in the middle of all our worries!” + +Madame Théodore 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. But +the fact is, my dear, I’m _enceinte_, and when I told Chrétiennot of it +after _déjeuner_, he flew into a most fearful passion, saying the most +dreadful, the most cruel things!” + +Then she again sobbed. Gentle and indolent by nature, desirous of peace +and quietness before anything else, she was incapable of deceiving her +husband, as he well knew. But the trouble was that an addition to the +family would upset the whole economy of the household. + +“_Mon Dieu_!” said Madame Théodore 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’t +yours. How are we to bring up another child when we can scarcely make +both ends meet as it is?” + +And thereupon, forgetting the _bourgeois_ pride which usually prompted +her 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 were +left 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 the +indispensable black coat for monsieur, the new dress which madame must +have at regular intervals, under penalty of losing caste, the new boots +which the children required almost every month, in fact, all sorts of +things that could not possibly be dispensed with. One might strike a dish +or two out of the daily menu, and even go without wine; but evenings came +when 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 in +which the discouraged wife left the house, and the despair of the +husband, who was convinced that he would never extricate himself from his +difficulties, even should his salary some day be raised to as high a +figure as 4000 francs. Briefly, one here found the unbearable penury of +the petty clerk, with consequences as disastrous as the black want of the +artisan: the mock façade and lying luxury; all the disorder and suffering +which lie behind intellectual pride at not earning one’s living at a +bench or on a scaffolding. + + * $140. + + ** $600. + +“Well, well,” repeated Madame Théodore, “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 dressing +gown, tears once more gushing from her red and swollen eyes. + +Much vexed that circumstances should be so unpropitious, Madame Théodore +nevertheless ventured to ask for the loan of twenty sous; and this +brought her sister’s despair and confusion to a climax. “I really haven’t +a centime in the house,” said she, “just now I borrowed ten sous for the +children from the servant. I had to get ten francs from the Mont de Piété +on a little ring the other day. And it’s always the same at the end of +the month. However, Chrétiennot will be paid to-day, and he’s coming back +early with the money for dinner. So if I can I will send you something +to-morrow.” + +At this same moment the servant hastened in with a distracted air, being +well 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 another +scene if he met you here. To-morrow, if I can, I promise you.” + +To avoid Chrétiennot who was coming in, Madame Théodore had to hide +herself in the kitchen. As he passed, she just caught sight of him, well +dressed as usual in a tight-fitting frock-coat. Short and lean, with a +thin face and long and carefully tended beard, he had the bearing of one +who is both vain and quarrelsome. Fourteen years of office life had +withered him, and now the long evening hours which he spent at a +neighbouring café were finishing him off. + +When Madame Théodore had quitted the house she turned with dragging steps +towards the Rue Marcadet where the Toussaints resided. Here, again, she +had no great expectations, for she well knew what ill-luck and worry had +fallen upon her brother’s home. During the previous autumn Toussaint, +though he was but fifty, had experienced an attack of paralysis which had +laid him up for nearly five months. Prior to this mishap he had borne +himself bravely, working steadily, abstaining from drink, and bringing up +his three children in true fatherly fashion. One of them, a girl, was now +married to a carpenter, with whom she had gone to Le Havre, while of the +others, both boys--one a soldier, had been killed in Tonquin, and the +other Charles, after serving his time in the army, had become a working +mechanician. Still, Toussaint’s long illness had exhausted the little +money which he had in the Savings Bank, and now that he had been set on +his legs again, he had to begin life once more without a copper before +him. + +Madame Théodore found her sister-in-law alone in the cleanly kept room +which she and her husband occupied. Madame Toussaint was a portly woman, +whose corpulence increased in spite of everything, whether it were worry +or fasting. She had a round puffy face with bright little eyes; and was a +very worthy woman, whose only faults were an inclination for gossiping +and a fondness for good cheer. Before Madame Théodore even opened her +mouth she understood the object of her visit. “You’ve come on us at a bad +moment, my dear,” she said, “we’re stumped. Toussaint wasn’t able to go +back to the works till the day before yesterday, and he’ll have to ask +for an advance this evening.” + +As she spoke, she looked at the other with no great sympathy, hurt as she +felt by her slovenly appearance. “And Salvat,” she added, “is he still +doing nothing?” + +Madame Théodore doubtless foresaw the question, for she quietly lied: “He +isn’t in Paris, a friend has taken him off for some work over Belgium +way, 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 bomb +affairs we couldn’t help thinking of him, and saying that he was quite +mad enough to mix himself up in them.” + +The other did not even blink. If she knew anything she kept it to +herself. + +“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 longer +possible for me to sew.” + +“That’s true. A seamstress gets done for. When Toussaint was laid up here +I 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 that +one 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’s +miserable appearance. She made her sit down, and told her that she would +give her something if Toussaint should come home with money. Then, +yielding to her partiality for gossiping, since there was somebody to +listen to her, she started telling stories. The one affair, however, on +which she invariably harped was the sorry business of her son Charles and +the servant girl at a wine shop over the way. Before going into the army +Charles had been a most hard-working and affectionate son, invariably +bringing his pay home to his mother. And certainly he still worked and +showed himself good-natured; but military service, while sharpening his +wits, had taken away some of his liking for ordinary manual toil. It +wasn’t that he regretted army life, for he spoke of his barracks as a +prison. Only his tools had seemed to him rather heavy when, on quitting +the service, he had been obliged to take them in hand once more. + +“And so, my dear,” continued Madame Toussaint, “it’s all very well for +Charles to be kind-hearted, he can do no more for us. I knew that he +wasn’t in a hurry to get married, as it costs money to keep a wife. And +he was always very prudent, too, with girls. But what would you have? +There was that moment of folly with that Eugénie over the road, a regular +baggage who’s already gone off with another man, and left her baby +behind. Charles has put it out to nurse, and pays for it every month. And +a lot of expense it is too, perfect ruination. Yes, indeed, every +possible misfortune has fallen on us.” + +In this wise Madame Toussaint rattled on for a full half hour. Then +seeing that waiting and anxiety had made her sister-in-law turn quite +pale, she suddenly stopped short. “You’re losing patience, eh?” she +exclaimed. “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 to +bring any money home.” + +They then decided to go down, but at the bottom of the stairs they +lingered for another quarter of an hour chatting with a neighbour who had +lately lost a child. And just as they were at last leaving the house they +heard a call: “Mamma! mamma!” + +It came from little Céline, whose face was beaming with delight. She was +wearing a pair of new shoes and devouring a cake. “Mamma,” she resumed, +“Monsieur l’Abbé who came the other day wants to see you. Just look! he +bought me all this!” + +On seeing the shoes and the cake, Madame Théodore understood matters. And +when Pierre, who was behind the child, accosted her she began to tremble +and stammer thanks. Madame Toussaint on her side had quickly drawn near, +not indeed to ask for anything herself, but because she was well pleased +at such a God-send for her sister-in-law, whose circumstances were worse +than her own. And when she saw the priest slip ten francs into Madame +Théodore’s hand she explained to him that she herself would willingly +have lent something had she been able. Then she promptly started on the +stories of Toussaint’s attack and her son Charles’s ill-luck. + +But Céline broke in: “I say, mamma, the factory where papa used to work +is here in this street, isn’t it? Monsieur l’Abbé has some business +there.”* + + * 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 just +going there, and we can show Monsieur l’Abbé 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 about +Salvat from Madame Théodore. But she at once became very prudent. She had +not seen him again, she declared; he must have gone with a mate to +Belgium, where there was a prospect of some work. From what she said, it +appeared to the priest that Salvat had not dared to return to the Rue des +Saules since his crime, in which all had collapsed, both his past life of +toil and hope, and his recent existence with its duties towards the woman +and the child. + +“There’s the factory, Monsieur l’Abbé,” suddenly said Madame Toussaint, +“my sister-in-law won’t have to wait now, since you’ve been kind enough +to help her. Thank you for her and for us.” + +Madame Théodore and Céline likewise poured forth their thanks, standing +beside Madame Toussaint in the everlasting mud of that populous district, +amidst the jostling of the passers-by. And lingering there as if to see +Pierre 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 the +street there was only a brick building with narrow windows and a great +archway, through which one espied a long courtyard. But, in the rear, +came a suite of habitations, workshops, and sheds, above whose never +ending roofs arose the two lofty chimneys of the generators. From the +very threshold one detected the rumbling and quivering of machinery, all +the noise and bustle of work. Black water flowed by at one’s feet, and up +above white vapour spurted from a slender pipe with a regular strident +puff, as if it were the very breath of that huge, toiling hive. + +Bicycles were now the principal output of the works. When Grandidier had +taken them on leaving the Dijon Arts and Trades School, they were +declining under bad management, slowly building some little motive +engines by the aid of antiquated machinery. Foreseeing the future, +however, he had induced his elder brother, one of the managers of the Bon +Marche, to finance him, on the promise that he would supply that great +emporium with excellent bicycles at 150 francs apiece. And now quite a +big venture was in progress, for the Bon Marché was already bringing out +the new popular machine “La Lisette,” the “Bicycle for the Multitude,” as +the advertisements asserted. Nevertheless, Grandidier was still in all +the throes of a great struggle, for his new machinery had cast a heavy +burden of debt on him. At the same time each month brought its effort, +the perfecting or simplifying of some part of the manufacture, which +meant a saving in the future. He was ever on the watch; and even now was +thinking of reverting to the construction of little motors, for he +thought 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 old +workman to a little shed, where he found the young fellow in the linen +jacket of a mechanician, his hands black with filings. He was adjusting +some piece of mechanism, and nobody would have suspected him to be a +former pupil of the Lycée Condorcet, one of the three clever Froments who +had there rendered the name famous. But his only desire had been to act +as his father’s faithful servant, the arm that forges, the embodiment of +the manual toil by which conceptions are realised. And, a giant of three +and twenty, ever attentive and courageous, he was likewise a man of +patient, 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 the +Rue Godot-de-Mauroy, and it made him anxious, because the police may make +a perquisition here.” + +Thomas, his own anxiety allayed, began to smile. “Tell him he may sleep +quietly,” he responded. “To begin with, I’ve unfortunately not yet hit on +our little motor such as I want it to be. In fact, I haven’t yet put it +together. I’m keeping the pieces at our house, and nobody here knows +exactly what I come to do at the factory. So the police may search, it +will find nothing. Our secret runs no risk.” + +Pierre promised to repeat these words to Guillaume, so as to dissipate +his fears. However, when he tried to sound Thomas, and ascertain the +position of affairs, what the factory people thought of the discovery of +the bradawl, and whether there was as yet any suspicion of Salvat, he +once 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, on +account of his Anarchist opinions. But what had Grandidier, the master, +said, on returning from the investigating magistrate’s? As for that +Thomas knew nothing. He had not seen Grandidier that day. + +“But here he comes!” the young man added. “Ah! poor fellow, his wife, I +fancy, had another attack this morning.” + +He alluded to a frightful story which Guillaume had already recounted to +Pierre. Grandidier, falling in love with a very beautiful girl, had +married her; but for five years now she had been insane: the result of +puerperal fever and the death of an infant son. Her husband, with his +ardent affection for her, had been unwilling to place her in an asylum, +and had accordingly kept her with him in a little pavilion, whose +windows, overlooking the courtyard of the factory, always remained +closed. She was never seen; and never did he speak of her to anybody. It +was said that she was usually like a child, very gentle and very sad, and +still beautiful, with regal golden hair. At times, however, attacks of +frantic madness came upon her, and he then had to struggle with her, and +often hold her for hours in his arms to prevent her from splitting her +head against the walls. Fearful shrieks would ring out for a time, and +then deathlike silence would fall once more. + +Grandidier came into the shed where Thomas was working. A handsome man of +forty, with an energetic face, he had a dark and heavy moustache, +brush-like hair and clear eyes. He was very partial to Thomas, and during +the young fellow’s apprenticeship there, had treated him like a son. And +he now let him return thither whenever it pleased him, and placed his +appliances at his disposal. He knew that he was trying to devise a new +motor, a question in which he himself was extremely interested; still he +evinced the greatest discretion, never questioning Thomas, but awaiting +the result of his endeavours. + +“This is my uncle, Abbé Froment, who looked in to wish me good day,” said +the young man, introducing Pierre. + +An exchange of polite remarks ensued. Then Grandidier sought to cast off +the sadness which made people think him stern and harsh, and in a +bantering tone exclaimed: “I didn’t tell you, Thomas, of my business with +the investigating magistrate. If I hadn’t enjoyed a good reputation we +should have had all the spies of the Prefecture here. The magistrate +wanted me to explain the presence of that bradawl in the Rue +Godot-de-Mauroy, and I at once realised that, in his opinion, the culprit +must have worked here. For my part I immediately thought of Salvat. But I +don’t denounce people. The magistrate has my hiring-book, and as for +Salvat I simply answered that he worked here for nearly three months last +autumn, and then disappeared. They can look for him themselves! Ah! that +magistrate! you can picture him a little fellow with fair hair and +cat-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 present +which those Anarchists have made him, with that crime of theirs.” + +The priest listened in deep anxiety. As his brother had feared, the true +scent, the first conducting wire, had now been found. And he looked at +Thomas to see if he also were disturbed. But the young man was either +ignorant of the ties which linked Salvat to his father, or else he +possessed great power of self-control, for he merely smiled at +Grandidier’s sketch of the magistrate. + +Then, as Grandidier went to look at the piece of mechanism which Thomas +was finishing, and they began to speak about it, Pierre drew near to an +open doorway which communicated with a long workshop where engine lathes +were rumbling, and the beams of press-drills falling quickly and +rhythmically. Leather gearing spun along with a continuous gliding, and +there was ceaseless bustle and activity amidst the odoriferous dampness +of all the steam. Scores of perspiring workmen, grimy with dust and +filings, 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 when +he heard one of them, a tall, ginger-haired fellow, call another +Toussaint, and the third Charles. + +Toussaint, a big, square-shouldered man with knotty arms, only showed his +fifty years on his round, scorched face, which besides being roughened +and wrinkled by labour, bristled with grey hairs, which nowadays he was +content to shave off once a week. It was only his right arm that was +affected by paralysis, and moved rather sluggishly. As for Charles, a +living portrait of his father, he was now in all the strength of his six +and twentieth year, with splendid muscles distending his white skin, and +a full face barred by a heavy black moustache. The three men, like their +employer, were speaking of the explosion at the Duvillard mansion, of the +bradawl found there, and of Salvat, whom they all now suspected. + +“Why, only a brigand would do such a thing!” said Toussaint. “That +Anarchism disgusts me. I’ll have none of it. But all the same it’s for +the _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 and +social injustice; it was the indifference of an old toiler, who, weary of +struggling and hoping for improvements, was now quite ready to tolerate +the crumbling of a social system, which threatened him with hunger in his +impotent 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 take +yourself, father; you’ve been working for thirty years, and isn’t it +abominable that you should have had to pass through all that you did pass +through recently, liable to go off like some old horse that’s slaughtered +at the first sign of illness? And, of course, it makes me think of +myself, and I can’t help feeling that it won’t be at all amusing to end +like that. And may the thunder of God kill me if I’m wrong, but one feels +half inclined to join in their great flare-up if it’s really to make +everybody happy!” + +He certainly lacked the flame of enthusiasm, and if he had come to these +views it was solely from impatience to lead a less toilsome life, for +obligatory military service had given him ideas of equality among all +men--a desire to struggle, raise himself and obtain his legitimate share +of life’s enjoyments. It was, in fact, the inevitable step which carries +each generation a little more forward. There was the father, who, +deceived in his hope of a fraternal republic, had grown sceptical and +contemptuous; and there was the son advancing towards a new faith, and +gradually yielding to ideas of violence, since political liberty had +failed to keep its promises. + +Nevertheless, as the big, ginger-haired fellow grew angry, and shouted +that if Salvat were guilty, he ought to be caught and guillotined at +once, without waiting for judges, Toussaint ended by endorsing his +opinion. “Yes, yes, he may have married one of my sisters, but I renounce +him.... 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 to +extremities he goes mad.” + +They had now washed themselves; but Toussaint, on perceiving his +employer, lingered there in order to ask him for an advance. As it +happened, 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 a +card. As a rule, he was altogether against the practice of advancing +money, and his men disliked him, and said he was over rigid, though in +point of fact he had a good heart. But he had his position as an employer +to defend, and to him concessions meant ruin. With such keen competition +on all sides, with the capitalist system entailing a terrible and +incessant struggle, how could one grant the demands of the workers, even +when they were legitimate? + +Sudden compassion came upon Pierre when, after quitting Thomas, he saw +Grandidier, who had finished his round, crossing the courtyard in the +direction of the closed pavilion, where all the grief of his +heart-tragedy awaited him. Here was that man waging the battle of life, +defending his fortune with the risk that his business might melt away +amidst the furious warfare between capital and labour; and at the same +time, in lieu of evening repose, finding naught but anguish it his +hearth: a mad wife, an adored wife, who had sunk back into infancy, and +was for ever dead to love! How incurable was his secret despair! Even on +the days when he triumphed in his workshops, disaster awaited him at +home. And could any more unhappy man, any man more deserving of pity, be +found 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 see +Madame Toussaint and Madame Théodore still there with little Céline. With +their feet in the mud, like bits of wreckage against which beat the +ceaseless flow of wayfarers, they had lingered there, still and ever +chatting, loquacious and doleful, lulling their wretchedness to rest +beneath a deluge of tittle-tattle. And when Toussaint, followed by his +son, came out, delighted with the advance he had secured, he also found +them on the same spot. Then he told Madame Théodore the story of the +bradawl, and the idea which had occurred to him and all his mates that +Salvat might well be the culprit. She, however, though turning very pale, +began to protest, concealing both what she knew and what she really +thought. + +“I tell you I haven’t seen him for several days,” said she. “He must +certainly be in Belgium. And as for a bomb, that’s humbug. You say +yourself that he’s very gentle and wouldn’t harm a fly!” + +A little later as Pierre journeyed back to Neuilly in a tramcar he fell +into a deep reverie. All the stir and bustle of that working-class +district, the buzzing of the factory, the overflowing activity of that +hive of labour, seemed to have lingered within him. And for the first +time, amidst his worries, he realised the necessity of work. Yes, it was +fatal, but it also gave health and strength. In effort which sustains and +saves, he at last found a solid basis on which all might be reared. Was +this, then, the first gleam of a new faith? But ah! what mockery! Work an +uncertainty, work hopeless, work always ending in injustice! And then +want ever on the watch for the toiler, strangling him as soon as slack +times came round, and casting him into the streets like a dead dog +immediately old age set in. + +On reaching Neuilly, Pierre found Bertheroy at Guillaume’s bedside. The +old _savant_ had just dressed the injured wrist, and was not yet certain +that 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 emotion +which is the worst possible thing for you. You must calm yourself, my +dear fellow, and not allow anything to worry you.” + +A few minutes later, though, just as he was going away, he said with his +pleasant smile: “Do you know that a newspaper writer came to interview me +about that explosion? Those reporters imagine that scientific men know +everything! 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 will +be just a few persons present. You might come as well, Pierre, so as to +give 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 the +afternoon, how Salvat was suspected, and how the investigating magistrate +had been put on the right scent. And at this news, intense fever again +came over Guillaume, who, with his head buried in the pillow, and his +eyes closed, stammered as if in a kind of nightmare: “Ah! then, this is +the end! Salvat arrested, Salvat interrogated! Ah! that so much toil and +so 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 had +placed at his disposal, in order that he might install in it a laboratory +for study and research. Thus the whole first floor had been transformed +into one spacious apartment, where, from time to time, the illustrious +chemist was fond of receiving a limited number of pupils and admirers, +before whom he made experiments, and explained his new discoveries and +theories. + +For these occasions a few chairs were set out before the long and massive +table, which was covered with jars and appliances. In the rear one saw +the furnace, while all around were glass cases, full of vials and +specimens. The persons present were, for the most part, fellow _savants_, +with a few young men, and even a lady or two, and, of course, an +occasional journalist. The whole made up a kind of family gathering, the +visitors chatting with the master in all freedom. + +Directly Bertheroy perceived Pierre he came forward, pressed his hand and +seated him on a chair beside Guillaume’s son François, who had been one +of the first arrivals. The young man was completing his third year at the +École Normale, close by, so he only had a few steps to take to call upon +his master Bertheroy, whom he regarded as one of the firmest minds of the +age. Pierre was delighted to meet his nephew, for he had been greatly +impressed in his favour on the occasion of his visit to Montmartre. +François, on his side, greeted his uncle with all the cordial +expansiveness of youth. He was, moreover, well pleased to obtain some +news of his father. + +However, Bertheroy began. He spoke in a familiar and sober fashion, but +frequently employed some very happy expressions. At first he gave an +account of his own extensive labours and investigations with regard to +explosive substances, and related with a laugh that he sometimes +manipulated powders which would have blown up the entire district. But, +said he, in order to reassure his listeners, he was always extremely +prudent. At last he turned to the subject of that explosion in the Rue +Godot-de-Mauroy, which, for some days, had filled Paris with dismay. The +remnants of the bomb had been carefully examined by experts, and one +fragment had been brought to him, in order that he might give his opinion +on it. The bomb appeared to have been prepared in a very rudimentary +fashion; it had been charged with small pieces of iron, and fired by +means of a match, such as a child might have devised. The extraordinary +part of the affair was the formidable power of the central cartridge, +which, although it must have been a small one, had wrought as much havoc +as any thunderbolt. And the question was this: What incalculable power of +destruction might one not arrive at if the charge were increased ten, +twenty or a hundredfold. Embarrassment began, and divergencies of opinion +clouded the issue directly one tried to specify what explosive had been +employed. Of the three experts who had been consulted, one pronounced +himself in favour of dynamite pure and simple; but the two others, +although they did not agree together, believed in some combination of +explosive 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 any +positive pronouncement. But his opinion was that one found oneself in +presence of some unknown powder, some new explosive, whose power exceeded +anything that had hitherto been dreamt of. He could picture some unknown +_savant_, or some ignorant but lucky inventor, discovering the formula of +this explosive under mysterious conditions. And this brought him to the +point he wished to reach, the question of all the explosives which are so +far unknown, and of the coming discoveries which he could foresee. In the +course of his investigations he himself had found cause to suspect the +existence of several such explosives, though he had lacked time and +opportunity to prosecute his studies in that direction. However, he +indicated the field which should be explored, and the best way of +proceeding. In his opinion it was there that lay the future. And in a +broad and eloquent peroration, he declared that explosives had hitherto +been degraded by being employed in idiotic schemes of vengeance and +destruction; whereas it was in them possibly that lay the liberating +force which science was seeking, the lever which would change the face of +the world, when they should have been so domesticated and subdued as to +be only the obedient servants of man. + +Throughout this familiar discourse Pierre could feel that François was +growing impassioned, quivering at thought of the vast horizon which the +master opened up. He himself had become extremely interested, for he +could not do otherwise than notice certain allusions, and connect what he +heard with what he had guessed of Guillaume’s anxiety regarding that +secret which he feared to see at the mercy of an investigating +magistrate. And so as he, Pierre, before going off with François, +approached Bertheroy to wish him good day, he pointedly remarked: +“Guillaume will be very sorry that he was unable to hear you unfold those +admirable ideas.” + +The old _savant_ smiled. “Pooh!” said he; “just give him a summary of +what I said. He will understand. He knows more about the matter than I +do.” + +In presence of the illustrious chemist, François preserved the silent +gravity of a respectful pupil, but when he and Pierre had taken a few +steps down the street in silence, he remarked: “What a pity it is that a +man of such broad intelligence, free from all superstition, and anxious +for the sole triumph of truth, should have allowed himself to be +classified, ticketed, bound round with titles and academical functions! +How greatly our affection for him would increase if he took less State +pay, and freed himself from all the grand cordons which tie his hands.” + +“What would you have!” rejoined Pierre, in a conciliatory spirit. “A man +must live! At the same time I believe that he does not regard himself as +tied by anything.” + +Then, as they had reached the entrance of the École Normale, the priest +stopped, thinking that his companion was going back to the college. But +François, 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 it +often 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 the +École Polytechnique or the École Normale,* and he had chosen the latter, +entering its scientific section with No. 1 against his name. His father +had wished him to make sure of an avocation, that of professor, even if +circumstances should allow him to remain independent and follow his own +bent on leaving the college. François, who was very precocious, was now +preparing for his last examination there, and the only rest he took was +in walking to and from Montmartre, or in strolling through the Luxembourg +gardens. + + * The purposes of the École Normale have been referred to on + p. 197. At the École 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 by +Pierre and chatting with him. One found the mildness of springtime there +that February afternoon; for pale sunshine streamed between the trees, +which were still leafless. It was indeed one of those first fine days +which draw little green gems from the branches of the lilac bushes. + +The École Normale was still the subject of conversation and Pierre +remarked: “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 is +to teach men the trade by cramming them with the necessary knowledge. But +the worst is that although all the students are trained for the teaching +profession, 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 part +unbearable. After swearing by Voltaire they have gone back to +spirituality and mysticism, the last drawing-room craze. Now that a firm +faith in science is regarded as brutish and inelegant, they fancy that +they rid themselves of their caste by feigning amiable doubt, and +ignorance, and innocence. What they most fear is that they may carry a +scent of the schools about with them, so they put on extremely Parisian +airs, venture on somersaults and slang, and assume all the grace of +dancing bears in their eager desire to please. From that desire spring +the sarcastic shafts which they aim at science, they who pretend that +they know everything, but who go back to the belief of the humble, the +_naive_ idealism of Biblical legends, just because they think the latter +to be more distinguished.” + +François 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 growing +animated. “And among them all I have noticed that a fear of being duped +leads them to reaction against the entire effort, the whole work of the +century. Disgust with liberty, distrust of science, denial of the future, +that is what they now profess. And they have such a horror of the +commonplace that they would rather believe in nothing or the incredible. +It may of course be commonplace to say that two and two make four, yet +it’s true enough; and it is far less foolish for a man to say and repeat +it than to believe, for instance, in the miracles of Lourdes.” + +François glanced at the priest in astonishment. The other noticed it and +strove to restrain himself. Nevertheless, grief and anger carried him +away 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 pitied +the toilers dying of hunger in the districts of misery and want, so here +he overflowed with contempt for the young minds that lacked bravery in +the presence of knowledge, and harked back to the consolation of +deceptive spirituality, the promise of an eternity of happiness in death, +which last was longed for and exalted as the very sum of life. Was not +the cowardly thought of refusing to live for the sake of living so as to +discharge one’s simple duty in being and making one’s effort, equivalent +to absolute assassination of life? However, the _Ego_ was always the +mainspring; each one sought personal happiness. And Pierre was grieved to +think that those young people, instead of discarding the past and +marching on to the truths of the future, were relapsing into shadowy +metaphysics through sheer weariness and idleness, due in part perhaps to +the excessive exertion of the century, which had been overladen with +human toil. + +However, François had begun to smile again. “But you are mistaken,” said +he; “we are not all like that at the École Normale. You only seem to know +the Normalians of the Section of Letters, and your opinions would surely +change if you knew those of the Section of Sciences. It is quite true +that the reaction against Positivism is making itself felt among our +literary fellow-students, and that they, like others, are haunted by the +idea of that famous bankruptcy of science. This is perhaps due to their +masters, the neo-spiritualists and dogmatical rhetoricians into whose +hands they have fallen. And it is still more due to fashion, the whim of +the times which, as you have very well put it, regards scientific truth +as bad taste, something graceless and altogether too brutal for light and +distinguished minds. Consequently, a young fellow of any shrewdness who +desires 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 a +terrible one, an offensive return of the powers of darkness against those +of light, of servitude against free thought, truth and justice.” + +Then, as the young man again looked at him with growing astonishment, he +relapsed into silence. The figure of Monseigneur Martha had risen before +his eyes, and he fancied he could again hear the prelate at the +Madeleine, striving to win Paris over to the policy of Rome, to that +spurious neo-Catholicism which, with the object of destroying democracy +and science, accepted such portions of them as it could adapt to its own +views. This was indeed the supreme struggle. Thence came all the poison +poured forth to the young. Pierre knew what efforts were being made in +religious circles to help on this revival of mysticism, in the mad hope +of hastening the rout of science. Monseigneur Martha, who was +all-powerful at the Catholic University, said to his intimates, however, +that three generations of devout and docile pupils would be needed before +the Church would again be absolute sovereign of France. + +“Well, as for the École Normale,” continued François, “I assure you that +you are mistaken. There are a few narrow bigots there, no doubt. But even +in the Section of Letters the majority of the students are sceptics at +bottom--sceptics of discreet and good-natured average views. Of course +they are professors before everything else, though they are a trifle +ashamed of it; and, as professors, they judge things with no little +pedantic irony, devoured by a spirit of criticism, and quite incapable of +creating anything themselves. I should certainly be astonished to see the +man of genius whom we await come out of their ranks. To my thinking, +indeed, it would be preferable that some barbarian genius, neither well +read nor endowed with critical faculty, or power of weighing and shading +things, should come and open the next century with a hatchet stroke, +sending up a fine flare of truth and reality.... But, as for my +comrades of the Scientific Section, I assure you that neo-Catholicism and +Mysticism and Occultism, and every other branch of the fashionable +phantasmagoria trouble them very little indeed. They are not making a +religion of science, they remain open to doubt on many points; but they +are mostly men of very clear and firm minds, whose passion is the +acquirement of certainty, and who are ever absorbed in the investigations +which continue throughout the whole vast field of human knowledge. They +haven’t flinched, they have remained Positivists, or Evolutionists, or +Determinists, and have set their faith in observation and experiment to +help on the final conquest of the world.” + +François himself was growing excited, as he thus confessed his faith +while strolling along the quiet sunlit garden paths. “The young indeed!” + he resumed. “Do people know them? It makes us laugh when we see all sorts +of apostles fighting for us, trying to attract us, and saying that we are +white or black or grey, according to the hue which they require for the +triumph of their particular ideas! The young, the real ones, why, they’re +in the schools, the laboratories and the libraries. It’s they who work +and who’ll bring to-morrow to the world. It’s not the young fellows of +dinner and supper clubs, manifestoes and all sorts of extravagances. The +latter make a great deal of noise, no doubt; in fact, they alone are +heard. But if you knew of the ceaseless efforts and passionate striving +of the others, those who remain silent, absorbed in their tasks. And I +know many of them: they are with their century, they have rejected none +of its hopes, but are marching on to the coming century, resolved to +pursue the work of their forerunners, ever going towards more light and +more equity. And just speak to them of the bankruptcy of science. They’ll +shrug their shoulders at the mere idea, for they know well enough that +science has never before inflamed so many hearts or achieved greater +conquests! It is only if the schools, laboratories and libraries were +closed, and the social soil radically changed, that one would have cause +to fear a fresh growth of error such as weak hearts and narrow minds hold +so dear!” + +At this point François’s fine flow of eloquence was interrupted. A tall +young fellow stopped to shake hands with him; and Pierre was surprised to +recognise Baron Duvillard’s son Hyacinthe, who bowed to him in very +correct style. “What! you here in our old quarter,” exclaimed François. + +“My dear fellow, I’m going to Jonas’s, over yonder, behind the +Observatory. Don’t you know Jonas? Ah! my dear fellow, he’s a delightful +sculptor, who has succeeded in doing away with matter almost entirely. He +has carved a figure of Woman, no bigger than the finger, and entirely +soul, free from all baseness of form, and yet complete. All Woman, +indeed, in her essential symbolism! Ah! it’s grand, it’s overpowering. A +perfect scheme of aesthetics, a real religion!” + +François smiled as he looked at Hyacinthe, buttoned up in his long +pleated frock-coat, with his made-up face, and carefully cropped hair and +beard. “And yourself?” said he, “I thought you were working, and were +going to publish a little poem, shortly?” + +“Oh! the task of creating is so distasteful to me, my dear fellow! A +single line often takes me weeks.... Still, yes, I have a little poem +on hand, ‘The End of Woman.’ And you see, I’m not so exclusive as some +people pretend, since I admire Jonas, who still believes in Woman. His +excuse is sculpture, which, after all, is at best such a gross +materialistic art. But in poetry, good heavens, how we’ve been +overwhelmed with Woman, always Woman! It’s surely time to drive her out +of the temple, and cleanse it a little. Ah! if we were all pure and lofty +enough to do without Woman, and renounce all those horrid sexual +questions, so that the last of the species might die childless, eh? The +world would then at least finish in a clean and proper manner!” + +Thereupon, Hyacinthe walked off with his languid air, well pleased with +the effect which he had produced on the others. + +“So you know him?” said Pierre to François. + +“He was my school-fellow at Condorcet, we were in the same classes +together. Such a funny fellow he was! A perfect dunce! And he was always +making a parade of Father Duvillard’s millions, while pretending to +disdain them, and act the revolutionist, for ever saying that he’d use +his cigarette to fire the cartridge which was to blow up the world! He +was 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 diseased +mind!” + +“It’s a terrible symptom,” muttered Pierre, “when through _ennui_ or +lassitude, or the contagion of destructive fury, the sons of the happy +and privileged ones start doing the work of the demolishers.” + +François had resumed his walk, going down towards the ornamental water, +where some children were sailing their boats. “That fellow is simply +grotesque,” he replied; “but how would you have sane people give any heed +to that mysticism, that awakening of spirituality which is alleged by the +same _doctrinaires_ who started the bankruptcy of science cry, when after +so brief an evolution it produces such insanity, both in art and +literature? 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 with +new 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 back +the past, we are simply witnessing a transitory reaction, which many +things explain? The old world would rather not die, and is struggling in +a final convulsion, reviving for a last hour before it is swept away by +the overflowing river of human knowledge, whose waters ever increase. And +yonder, in the future, is the new world, which the real young ones will +bring into existence, those who work, those who are not known, who are +not heard. And yet, just listen! Perhaps you will hear them, for we are +among them, in their ‘quarter.’ This deep silence is that of the labour +of all the young fellows who are leaning over their work-tables, and day +by day carrying forward the conquest of truth.” + +So saying François waved his hand towards all the day-schools and +colleges and high schools beyond the Luxembourg garden, towards the +Faculties of Law and Medicine, the Institute and its five Academies, the +innumerable libraries and museums which made up the broad domain of +intellectual labour. And Pierre, moved by it all, shaken in his theories +of negation, thought that he could indeed hear a low but far-spreading +murmur of the work of thousands of active minds, rising from +laboratories, studies and class, reading and lecture rooms. It was not +like the jerky, breathless trepidation, the loud clamour of factories +where manual labour toils and chafes. But here, too, there were sighs of +weariness, efforts as killing, exertion as fruitful in its results. Was +it indeed true that the cultured young were still and ever in their +silent forge, renouncing no hope, relinquishing no conquest, but in full +freedom of mind forging the truth and justice of to-morrow with the +invincible hammers of observation and experiment? + +François, however, had raised his eyes to the palace clock to ascertain +the time. “I’m going to Montmartre,” he said; “will you come part of the +way with me?” + +Pierre assented, particularly as the young man added that on his way he +meant to call for his brother Antoine at the Museum of the Louvre. That +bright afternoon the Louvre picture galleries were steeped in warm and +dignified quietude, which one particularly noticed on coming from the +tumult and scramble of the streets. The majority of the few people one +found there were copyists working in deep silence, which only the +wandering footsteps of an occasional tourist disturbed. Pierre and +François found Antoine at the end of the gallery assigned to the +Primitive masters. With scrupulous, almost devout care he was making a +drawing of a figure by Mantegna. The Primitives did not impassion him by +reason of any particular mysticism and ideality, such as fashion pretends +to find in them, but on the contrary, and justifiably enough, by reason +of the sincerity of their ingenuous realism, their respect and modesty in +presence of nature, and the minute fidelity with which they sought to +transcribe it. He spent days of hard work in copying and studying them, +in order to learn strictness and probity of drawing from them--all that +lofty distinction of style which they owe to their candour as honest +artists. + +Pierre was struck by the pure glow which a sitting of good hard work had +set in Antoine’s light blue eyes. It imparted warmth and even +feverishness to his fair face, which was usually all dreaminess and +gentleness. His lofty forehead now truly looked like a citadel armed for +the conquest of truth and beauty. He was only eighteen, and his story was +simply this: as he had grown disgusted with classical studies and been +mastered by a passion for drawing, his father had let him leave the Lycée +Condorcet when he was in the third class there. Some little time had then +elapsed while he felt his way and the deep originality within him was +being evolved. He had tried etching on copper, but had soon come to wood +engraving, and had attached himself to it in spite of the discredit into +which 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 part +he dreamt of engraving his own drawings, of being at once the brain which +conceives and the hand which executes, in such wise as to obtain new +effects of great intensity both as regards perception and touch. To +comply with the wishes of his father, who desired each of his sons to +have a trade, he earned his bread like other engravers by working for the +illustrated newspapers. But, in addition to this current work, he had +already engraved several blocks instinct with wonderful power and life. +They were simply copies of real things, scenes of everyday existence, but +they were accentuated, elevated so to say, by the essential line, with a +maestria which on the part of so young a lad fairly astonished one. + +“Do you want to engrave that?” François asked him, as he placed his copy +of Mantegna’s figure in his portfolio. + +“Oh! no, that’s merely a dip into innocence, a good lesson to teach one +to be modest and sincere. Life is very different nowadays.” + +Then, while walking along the streets--for Pierre, who felt growing +sympathy for the two young fellows, went with them in the direction of +Montmartre, forgetful of all else,--Antoine, who was beside him, spoke +expansively 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 that +I 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 essential +manner, without any of the dupery which lies in colour. But what a task +it is! I should like to depict the Paris of to-day in a few scenes, a few +typical figures, which would serve as testimony for all time. And I +should like to do it with great fidelity and candour, for an artist only +lives by reason of his candour, his humility and steadfast belief in +Nature, which is ever beautiful. I’ve already done a few figures, I will +show them to you. But ah! if I only dared to tackle my blocks with the +graver, at the outset, without drawing my subject beforehand. For that +generally takes away one’s fire. However, what I do with the pencil is a +mere sketch; for with the graver I may come upon a find, some unexpected +strength or delicacy of effect. And so I’m draughtsman and engraver all +in one, in such a way that my blocks can only be turned out by myself. If +the drawings on them were engraved by another, they would be quite +lifeless.... Yes, life can spring from the fingers just as well as +from the brain, when one really possesses creative power.” + +They walked on, and when they found themselves just below Montmartre, and +Pierre spoke of taking a tramcar to return to Neuilly, Antoine, quite +feverish 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 future +before him. You’ll see an angel of his which has been declined.” + +Then, as François began to praise the angel in question, Pierre agreed to +accompany them. On the summit of the height, among all the sheds which +the building of the basilica necessitated, Jahan had been able to set up +a glazed workshop large enough for the huge angel ordered of him. His +three visitors found him there in a blouse, watching a couple of +assistants, who were rough-hewing the block of stone whence the angel was +to emerge. Jahan was a sturdy man of thirty-six, with dark hair and +beard, a large, ruddy mouth and fine bright eyes. Born in Paris, he had +studied at the Fine Art School, but his impetuous temperament had +constantly landed him in trouble there. + +“Ah! yes,” said he, “you’ve come to see my angel, the one which the +Archbishop 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 wings +expanding as if with passionate desire for the infinite. The body, barely +draped, was that of a slim yet robust youth, whose face beamed with the +rapture 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 hesitates +as to the sex; and when faith is lacking one has to take the first model +one finds and copy it and spoil it. For my part, while I was modelling +that one, I tried to imagine a beautiful youth suddenly endowed with +wings, and carried by the intoxication of his flight into all the joy of +the sunshine. But it upset them, they wanted something more religious, +they said; and so then I concocted that wretched thing over there. After +all, one has to earn one’s living, you know.” + +So saying, he waved his hand towards another model, the one for which his +assistants were preparing the stone. And this model represented an angel +of the correct type, with symmetrical wings like those of a goose, a +figure of neither sex, and commonplace features, expressing the silly +ecstasy that tradition requires. + +“What would you have?” continued Jahan. “Religious art has sunk to the +most disgusting triteness. People no longer believe; churches are built +like barracks, and decorated with saints and virgins fit to make one +weep. The fact is that genius is only the fruit of the social soil; and a +great artist can only send up a blaze of the faith of the time he lives +in. For my part, I’m the grandson of a Beauceron peasant. My father came +to Paris to set himself up in business as a marble worker for tombstones +and so forth, just at the top of the Rue de la Roquette. It was there I +grew up. I began as a workman, and all my childhood was spent among the +masses, in the streets, without ever a thought coming to me of setting +foot in a church. So few Parisians think of doing so nowadays. And so +what’s to become of art since there’s no belief in the Divinity or even +in beauty? We’re forced to go forward to the new faith, which is the +faith in life and work and fruitfulness, in all that labours and +produces.” + +Then suddenly breaking off he exclaimed: “By the way, I’ve been doing +some more work to my figure of Fecundity, and I’m fairly well pleased +with it. Just come with me and I’ll show it you.” + +Thereupon he insisted on taking them to his private studio, which was +near by, just below Guillaume’s little house. It was entered by way of +the Rue du Calvaire, a street which is simply a succession of ladder-like +flights of steps. The door opened on to one of the little landings, and +one found oneself in a spacious, well-lighted apartment littered with +models and casts, fragments and figures, quite an overflow of sturdy, +powerful talent. On a stool was the unfinished model of Fecundity swathed +in wet cloths. These Jahan removed, and then she stood forth with her +rounded figure, her broad hips and her wifely, maternal bosom, full of +the milk which nourishes and redeems. + +“Well, what do you think of her?” asked Jahan. “Built as she is, I fancy +that her children ought to be less puny than the pale, languid, aesthetic +fellows of nowadays!” + +While Antoine and François were admiring the figure, Pierre, for his +part, 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 a +book she was reading. This was Jahan’s sister, Lise. A score of years +younger than himself, she was but sixteen, and had been living alone with +him since their father’s death. Very slight and delicate looking, she had +a 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 with +difficulty, and her mind also was belated, still full of childish +_naïveté_. At first this had much saddened her brother, but with time he +had grown accustomed to her innocence and languor. Busy as he always was, +ever in a transport, overflowing with new plans, he somewhat neglected +her by force of circumstances, letting her live beside him much as she +listed. + +Pierre had noticed, however, the sisterly impulsiveness with which she +had greeted Antoine. And the latter, after congratulating Jahan on his +statue, came and sat down beside her, questioned her and wished to see +the book which she was reading. During the last six months the most pure +and affectionate intercourse had sprung up between them. He, from his +father’s garden, up yonder on the Place du Tertre, could see her through +the huge window of that studio where she led so innocent a life. And +noticing that she was always alone, as if forsaken, he had begun to take +an interest in her. Then had come acquaintance; and, delighted to find +her so simple and so charming, he had conceived the design of rousing her +to intelligence and life, by loving her, by becoming at once the mind and +the heart whose power fructifies. Weak plant that she was, in need of +delicate care, sunshine and affection, he became for her all that her +brother had, through circumstances, failed to be. He had already taught +her to read, a task in which every mistress had previously failed. But +him she listened to and understood. And by slow degrees a glow of +happiness came to the beautiful clear eyes set in her irregular face. It +was love’s miracle, the creation of woman beneath the breath of a young +lover who gave himself entirely. No doubt she still remained very +delicate, with such poor health that one ever feared that she might +expire in a faint sigh; and her legs, moreover, were still too weak to +admit of her walking any distance. But all the same, she was no longer +the little wilding, the little ailing flower of the previous spring. + +Jahan, who marvelled at the incipient miracle, drew near to the young +people. “Ah!” said he, “your pupil does you honour. She reads quite +fluently, you know, and understands the fine books you send her. You read +to me of an evening now, don’t you, Lise?” + +She raised her candid eyes, and gazed at Antoine with a smile of infinite +gratitude. “Oh! whatever he’ll teach me,” she said, “I’ll learn it, and +do it.” + +The others laughed gently. Then, as the visitors were going off, François +paused before a model which had cracked while drying. “Oh! that’s a +spoilt 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 hand +again.” + +When they were outside, it occurred to Pierre to go as far as the +basilica of the Sacred Heart in the hope of finding Abbé Rose there. So +the three of them went round by way of the Rue Gabrielle and climbed the +steps of the Rue Chape. And just as they were reaching the summit where +the basilica reared its forest of scaffoldings beneath the clear sky, +they encountered Thomas, who, on leaving the factory, had gone to give an +order to a founder in the Rue Lamarck. + +He, who as a rule was so silent and discreet, now happened to be in an +expansive 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 our +little motor. Tell father that things are going on all right, and that he +must make haste to get well.” + +At these words his brothers, François and Antoine, drew close to him with +a common impulse. And they stood there all three, a valiant little group, +their hearts uniting and beating with one and the same delight at the +idea that their father would be gladdened, that the good news they were +sending him would help him towards recovery. As for Pierre, who, now that +he 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 strikingly +like the other, and drawn together so closely and so promptly, directly +their filial affection took fire. + +“Tell him that we are waiting for him, and will come to him at the first +sign if we are wanted.” + +Then each in turn shook the priest’s hand vigorously. And while he +remained watching them as they went off towards the little house, whose +garden he perceived over the wall of the Rue Saint Eleuthère, he fancied +he could there detect a delicate silhouette, a white, sunlit face under a +help of dark hair. It was doubtless the face of Marie, examining the buds +on her lilac bushes. At that evening hour, however, the diffuse light was +so 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 but +the overwhelming, chalky mass of the basilica, whose hugeness shut out +all view of the horizon. + +For a moment he remained motionless on that spot, so agitated by +conflicting thoughts and feelings that he could read neither heart nor +mind clearly. Then, as he turned towards the city, all Paris spread +itself out at his feet, a limpid, lightsome Paris, beneath the pink glow +of that spring-like evening. The endless billows of house-roofs showed +forth with wonderful distinctness, and one could have counted the chimney +stacks and the little black streaks of the windows by the million. The +edifices rising into the calm atmosphere seemed like the anchored vessels +of some fleet arrested in its course, with lofty masting which glittered +at the sun’s farewell. And never before had Pierre so distinctly observed +the divisions of that human ocean. Eastward and northward was the city of +manual 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 from +the central districts, where the crowds rolled and scrambled amidst an +everlasting uproar of wheels; while westward, the city of the happy and +powerful ones, those who fought for sovereignty and wealth, spread out +its piles of palaces amidst the slowly reddening flare of the declining +planet. + +And then, from the depths of his negation, the chaos into which his loss +of faith had plunged him, Pierre felt a delicious freshness pass like the +vague advent of a new faith. So vague it was that he could not have +expressed even his hope of it in words. But already among the rough +factory workers, manual toil had appeared to him necessary and +redemptive, in spite of all the misery and abominable injustice to which +it led. And now the young men of intellect of whom he had despaired, that +generation of the morrow which he had thought spoilt, relapsing into +ancient 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 absolute +justice. + + + + +V. PROBLEMS + +A FULL month had already gone by since Guillaume had taken refuge at his +brother’s little house at Neuilly. His wrist was now nearly healed. He +had 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 ones +and resume his work there, he was each morning prompted to defer his +return by the news he found in the newspapers. The situation was ever the +same. Salvat, whom the police now suspected, had been perceived one +evening near the central markets, and then again lost sight of. Every +day, however, his arrest was said to be imminent. And in that case what +would 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 the +entrance of the Duvillard mansion. Nearly every reporter in Paris had +called at the Grandidier factory and interviewed both workmen and master. +Some had even started on personal investigations, in the hope of +capturing the culprit themselves. There was no end of jesting about the +incompetence of the police, and the hunt for Salvat was followed all the +more passionately by the general public, as the papers overflowed with +the most ridiculous concoctions, predicting further explosions, and +declaring even that all Paris would some morning be blown into the air. +The “Voix du Peuple” set a fresh shudder circulating every day by its +announcements of threatening letters, incendiary placards and mysterious, +far-reaching plots. And never before had so base and foolish a spirit of +contagion wafted insanity through a civilised city. + +Guillaume, for his part, no sooner awoke of a morning than he was all +impatience to see the newspapers, quivering at the idea that he would at +last read of Salvat’s arrest. In his state of nervous expectancy, the +wild campaign which the press had started, the idiotic and the ferocious +things which he found in one or another journal, almost drove him crazy. +A number of “suspects” had already been arrested in a kind of chance +razzia, which had swept up the usual Anarchist herd, together with sundry +honest workmen and bandits, _illumines_ and lazy devils, in fact, a most +singular, motley crew, which investigating magistrate Amadieu was +endeavouring to turn into a gigantic association of evil-doers. One +morning, moreover, Guillaume found his own name mentioned in connection +with a perquisition at the residence of a revolutionary journalist, who +was a friend of his. At this his heart bounded with revolt, but he was +forced to the conclusion that it would be prudent for him to remain +patient a little longer, in his peaceful retreat at Neuilly, since the +police might at any moment break into his home at Montmartre, to arrest +him 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 of +March had come, and precocious springtide imparted delightful charm and +warmth 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 by +the illustrious chemist were still there, and among the latter Guillaume +found a number of unfinished essays, the perusal of which greatly excited +his interest, and often absorbed him from morning till night. It was this +which largely enabled him to bear his voluntary seclusion patiently. +Seated on the other side of the big table, Pierre also mostly occupied +himself with reading; but at times his eyes would quit his book and +wander away into gloomy reverie, into all the chaos into which he still +and ever sank. For long hours the brothers would in this wise remain side +by side, without speaking a word. Yet they knew they were together; and +occasionally, when their eyes met, they would exchange a smile. The +strong affection of former days was again springing up within them; their +childhood, their home, their parents, all seemed to live once more in the +quiet atmosphere they breathed. However, the bay window overlooked the +garden in the direction of Paris, and often, when they emerged from their +reading or their reverie, it was with a sudden feeling of anxiety, and in +order to lend ear to the distant rumbling, the increased clamour of the +great city. + +On other occasions they paused as if in astonishment at hearing a +continuous footfall overhead. It was that of Nicholas Barthès, who still +lingered in the room above. He seldom came downstairs, and scarcely ever +ventured into the garden, for fear, said he, that he might be perceived +and recognised from a distant house whose windows were concealed by a +clump of trees. One might laugh at the old conspirator’s haunting thought +of the police. Nevertheless, the caged-lion restlessness, the ceaseless +promenade of that perpetual prisoner who had spent two thirds of his life +in the dungeons of France in his desire to secure the liberty of others, +imparted to the silence of the little house a touching melancholy, the +very 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 came +less frequently now that Guillaume’s wrist was healing. The most +assiduous caller was certainly Théophile Morin, whose discreet ring was +heard every other day at the same hour. Though he did not share the ideas +of Barthès he worshipped him as a martyr; and would always go upstairs to +spend an hour with him. However, they must have exchanged few words, for +not a sound came from the room. Whenever Morin sat down for a moment in +the laboratory with the brothers, Pierre was struck by his seeming +weariness, his ashen grey hair and beard and dismal countenance, all the +life of which appeared to have been effaced by long years spent in the +teaching profession. Indeed, it was only when the priest mentioned Italy +that he saw his companion’s resigned eyes blaze up like live coals. One +day when he spoke of the great patriot Orlando Prada, Morin’s companion +of victory in Garibaldi’s days, he was amazed by the sudden flare of +enthusiasm which lighted up the other’s lifeless features. However, these +were but transient flashes: the old professor soon reappeared, and all +that one found in Morin was the friend of Proudhon and the subsequent +disciple of Auguste Comte. Of his Proudhonian principles he had retained +all a pauper’s hatred of wealth, and a desire for a more equitable +partition of fortune. But the new times dismayed him, and neither +principle nor temperament allowed him to follow Revolutionism to its +utmost limits. Comte had imparted unshakable convictions to him in the +sphere of intellectual questions, and he contented himself with the clear +and decisive logic of Positivism, rejecting all metaphysical hypotheses +as useless, persuaded as he was that the whole human question, whether +social or religious, would be solved by science alone. This faith, firm +as it had remained, was, however, coupled with secret bitterness, for +nothing seemed to advance in a sensible manner towards its goal. Comte +himself had ended in the most cloudy mysticism; great _savants_ recoiled +from truth in terror; and now barbarians were threatening the world with +fresh night; all of which made Morin almost a reactionist in politics, +already resigned to the advent of a dictator, who would set things +somewhat in order, so that humanity might be able to complete its +education. + +Other visitors who occasionally called to see Guillaume were Bache and +Janzen, who invariably came together and at night-time. Every now and +then they would linger chatting with Guillaume in the spacious study +until two o’clock in the morning. Bache, who was fat and had a fatherly +air, with his little eyes gently beaming amidst all the snowy whiteness +of 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 a +polite bow to Saint-Simon, the initiator, the first to lay down the law +that work was a necessity for one and all according to their capacities; +but on coming to Fourier his voice softened and he confessed his whole +religion. To his thinking, Fourier had been the real messiah of modern +times, the saviour of genius, who had sown the good seed of the future +world, by regulating society such as it would certainly be organised +to-morrow. The law of harmony had been promulgated; human passions, +liberated and utilised in healthy fashion, would become the requisite +machinery; and work, rendered pleasant and attractive, would prove the +very function of life. Nothing could discourage Bache; if merely one +parish began by transforming itself into a _phalansterium_, the whole +department would soon follow, then the adjacent departments, and finally +all France. Moreover, Bache even favoured the schemes of Cabet, whose +Icaria, said he, had in no wise been such a foolish idea. Further, he +recalled a motion he had made, when member of the Commune in 1871, to +apply Fourier’s ideas to the French Republic; and he was apparently +convinced that the troops of Versailles had delayed the triumph of +Communism for half a century. Whenever people nowadays talked of +table-turning he pretended to laugh, but at bottom he had remained an +impenitent “spiritist.” Since he had been a municipal councillor he had +been travelling from one socialist sect to another, according as their +ideas offered points of resemblance to his old faith. And he was fairly +consumed by his need of faith, his perplexity as to the Divine, which he +was now occasionally inclined to find in the legs of some piece of +furniture, 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 theories +remained somewhat obscure, partly by reason of this brevity of his, and +partly on account of the difficulty he experienced in expressing himself +in 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 with +his dream of blood-shedding fraternity. Whenever, with his wonted +frigidity, he gave utterance to one of those terrible remarks of his +which, like a scythe in a meadow, cut away all before him, little less +than the necessity of thus mowing down nations, in order to sow the earth +afresh with a young and better community, became apparent. At each +proposition unfolded by Bache, such as labour rendered agreeable by +police regulations, _phalansteria_ organised like barracks, religion +transformed into pantheist or spiritist deism, he gently shrugged his +shoulders. What could be the use of such childishness, such hypocritical +repairing, when the house was falling and the only honest course was to +throw it to the ground, and build up the substantial edifice of to-morrow +with entirely new materials? On the subject of propaganda by deeds, +bomb-throwing and so forth, he remained silent, though his gestures were +expressive of infinite hope. He evidently approved that course. The +legend which made him one of the perpetrators of the crime of Barcelona +set 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 who +had already been compromised in some piece of thieving, plainly declared +that the aforesaid Bergaz was a bandit, Janzen contented himself with +smiling, and replying quietly that theft was merely forced restitution. +Briefly, in this man of culture and refinement, in whose own mysterious +life one might perhaps have found various crimes but not a single act of +base 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 Théophile Morin coincided with one +from Bache and Janzen, and they and Guillaume lingered chatting until far +into the night, Pierre would listen to them in despair from the shadowy +corner where he remained motionless, never once joining in the +discussions. Distracted, by his own unbelief and thirst for truth, he had +at the outset taken a passionate interest in these debates, desirous as +he was of drawing up a balance-sheet of the century’s ideas, so as to +form some notion of the distance that had been travelled, and the profits +that had accrued. But he recoiled from all this in fresh despair, on +hearing the others argue, each from his own standpoint and without +possibility of concession and agreement. After the repulses he had +encountered at Lourdes and Rome, he well realised that in this fresh +experiment which he was making with Paris, the whole brain of the century +was in question, the new truths, the expected gospel which was to change +the face of the world. And, burning with inconsiderate zeal, he went from +one belief to another, which other he soon rejected in order to adopt a +third. If he had first felt himself to be a Positivist with Morin, an +Evolutionist and Determinist with Guillaume, he had afterwards been +touched by the fraternal dream of a new golden age which he had found in +Bache’s humanitarian Communism. And indeed even Janzen had momentarily +shaken him by his fierce confidence in the theory of liberative +Individualism. But afterwards he had found himself out of his depth; and +each and every theory had seemed to him but part of the chaotic +contradictions and incoherences of humanity on its march. It was all a +continuous piling up of dross, amidst which he lost himself. Although +Fourier had sprung from Saint-Simon he denied him in part; and if +Saint-Simon’s doctrine ended in a kind of mystical sensuality, the +other’s conducted to an unacceptable regimenting of society. Proudhon, +for his part, demolished without rebuilding anything. Comte, who created +method and declared science to be the one and only sovereign, had not +even suspected the advent of the social crisis which now threatened to +sweep 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 so +blind that the truths common to them all were obscured and disfigured +beyond recognition. Thence came the extraordinary muddle of the present +hour; Bache with Saint-Simon and Fourier, and Morin with Proudhon and +Comte, utterly failing to understand Mège, the Collectivist deputy, whom +they held up to execration, him and his State Collectivism, in the same +way, moreover, as they thundered against all the other present-time +Socialist sects, without realising that these also, whatever their +nature, had more or less sprung from the same masters as themselves. And +all this seemingly indicated that Janzen was right when he declared that +the 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 remained +with 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 though +his brother alone was there to hear him, he went on speaking. He +expressed all his horror of the Collectivist State as imagined by Mège, a +Dictator-State re-establishing ancient servitude on yet closer lines. The +error of all the Socialist sects was their arbitrary organisation of +Labour, which enslaved the individual for the profit of the community. +And, forced to conciliate the two great currents, the rights of society +and the rights of the individual, Guillaume had ended by placing his +whole faith in free Communism, an anarchical state in which he dreamt of +seeing the individual freed, moving and developing without restraint, for +the benefit both of himself and of all others. Was not this, said he, the +one truly scientific theory, unities creating worlds, atoms producing +life by force of attraction, free and ardent love? All oppressive +minorities would disappear; and the faculties and energies of one and all +would by free play arrive at harmony amidst the equilibrium--which +changed according to needs--of the active forces of advancing humanity. +In this wise he pictured a nation, saved from State tutelage, without a +master, 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 thousand +necessities of life. And thence would spring society, free association, +hundreds of associations which would regulate social life; though at the +same time they would remain variable, in fact often opposed and hostile +to one another. For progress is but the fruit of conflict and struggle; +the world has only been created by the battle of opposing forces. And +that was all; there would be no more oppressors, no more rich, no more +poor; the domain of the earth with its natural treasures and its +implements of labour would be restored to the people, its legitimate +owners, who would know how to enjoy it with justice and logic, when +nothing abnormal would impede their expansion. And then only would the +law of love make its action felt; then would human solidarity, which, +among mankind, is the living form of universal attraction, acquire all +its power, bringing men closer and closer together, and uniting them in +one sole family. A splendid dream it was--the noble and pure dream of +absolute freedom--free man in free society. And thither a _savant’s_ +superior mind was fated to come after passing on the road the many +Socialist sects which one and all bore the stigma of tyranny. And, +assuredly, as thus indulged, the Anarchist idea is the loftiest, the +proudest, of all ideas. And how delightful to yield to the hope of +harmony in life--life which restored to the full exercise of its natural +powers 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 might +have said too much and have hurt his feelings. Pierre--moved though he +was, for a moment in fact almost won over--had just seen the terrible +practical objection, which destroyed all hope, arise before his mind’s +eye. Why had not harmony asserted itself in the first days of the world’s +existence, at the time when societies were formed? How was it that +tyranny had triumphed, delivering nations over to oppressors? And +supposing that the apparently insolvable problem of destroying +everything, and beginning everything afresh, should ever be solved, who +could promise that mankind, obedient to the same laws, would not again +follow the same paths as formerly? After all, mankind, nowadays, is +simply what life has made it; and nothing proves that life would again +make it other than it is. To begin afresh, ah, yes! but to attain another +result! But could that other result really come from man? Was it not +rather man himself who should be changed? To start afresh from where one +was, to continue the evolution that had begun, undoubtedly meant slow +travel and dismal waiting. But how great would be the danger and even the +delay, if one went back without knowing by what road across the whole +chaos of ruins one might regain all the lost time! + +“Let us go to bed,” at last said Guillaume, smiling. “It’s silly of me to +weary 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 again +restrained him. His brother only knew him as a believing priest, faithful +to his faith. And so, without answering, he betook himself to his room. + +On the following evening, about ten o’clock, while Guillaume and Pierre +sat reading in the study, the old servant entered to announce M. Janzen +and a friend. The friend was Salvat. + +“He wished to see you,” Janzen explained to Guillaume. “I met him, and +when he heard of your injury and anxiety he implored me to bring him +here. 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 not +stir 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’d +put you in; for I shall never forget that you were very kind to me when +everybody else turned me away.” + +As he spoke he balanced himself alternately on either leg, and +transferred his old felt hat from hand to hand. + +“And so I wanted to come and tell you myself that if I took a cartridge +of your powder one evening when you had your back turned, it’s the only +thing that I feel any remorse about in the whole business, since it may +compromise you. And I also want to take my oath before you that you’ve +nothing to fear from me, that I’ll let my head be cut off twenty times if +need 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 an +expression of respectful worship. And Pierre was still gazing at him +athwart the hateful vision which his arrival had conjured up, that of the +poor, dead, errand girl, the fair pretty child lying ripped open under +the 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 his +hand. “I am well aware, Salvat,” said he, “that you are not wicked at +heart. But what a foolish and abominable thing you did!” + +Salvat showed no sign of anger, but gently smiled. “Oh! if it had to be +done 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 with +Guillaume, while Janzen, as if he washed his hands of the business, +deeming this visit both useless and dangerous, sat down and turned over +the leaves of a picture book. And Guillaume made Salvat tell him what he +had done on the day of the crime; how like a stray dog he had wandered in +distraction through Paris, carrying his bomb with him, originally in his +tool-bag and then under his jacket; how he had gone a first time to the +Duvillard mansion and found its carriage entrance closed; then how he had +betaken himself first to the Chamber of Deputies which the ushers had +prevented him from entering, and afterwards to the Circus, where the +thought of making a great sacrifice of _bourgeois_ had occurred to him +too late. And finally, how he had at last come back to the Duvillard +mansion, as if drawn thither by the very power of destiny. His tool-bag +was lying in the depths of the Seine, he said; he had thrown it into the +water with sudden hatred of work, since it had even failed to give him +bread. And he next told the story of his flight; the explosion shaking +the whole district behind him, while, with delight and astonishment, he +found himself some distance off, in quiet streets where nothing was as +yet known. And for a month past he had been living in chance fashion, how +or where he could hardly tell, but he had often slept in the open, and +gone for a day without food. One evening little Victor Mathis had given +him five francs. And other comrades had helped him, taken him in for a +night and sent him off at the first sign of peril. A far-spreading, tacit +complicity had hitherto saved him from the police. As for going abroad, +well, he had, at one moment, thought of doing so; but a description of +his person must have been circulated, the gendarmes must be waiting for +him at the frontiers, and so would not flight, instead of retarding, +rather hasten his arrest? Paris, however, was an ocean; it was there that +he incurred the least risk of capture. Moreover, he no longer had +sufficient energy to flee. A fatalist as he was after his own fashion, he +could not find strength to quit the pavements of Paris, but there awaited +arrest, like a social waif carried chancewise through the multitude as in +a dream. + +“And your daughter, little Céline?” Guillaume inquired. “Have you +ventured to go back to see her?” + +Salvat waved his hand in a vague way. “No, but what would you have? She’s +with Mamma Théodore. 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 poor +little thing!” he added, “I kissed her with all my heart before I went +away. If she and the woman hadn’t been starving so long the idea of that +business would perhaps never have come to me.” + +Then, in all simplicity, he declared that he was ready to die. If he had +ended by depositing his bomb at the entrance of Duvillard’s house, it was +because he knew the banker well, and was aware that he was the wealthiest +of those _bourgeois_ whose fathers at the time of the Revolution had +duped the people, by taking all power and wealth for themselves,--the +power and wealth which the sons were nowadays so obstinately bent in +retaining that they would not even bestow the veriest crumbs on others. +As for the Revolution, he understood it in his own fashion, like an +illiterate fellow who had learnt the little he knew from newspapers and +speeches at public meetings. And he struck his chest with his fist as he +spoke of his honesty, and was particularly desirous that none should +doubt his courage because he had fled. + +“I’ve never robbed anybody,” said he, “and if I don’t go and hand myself +up to the police, it’s because they may surely take the trouble to find +and arrest me. I’m very well aware that my affair’s clear enough as +they’ve found that bradawl and know me. All the same, it would be silly +of me to help them in their work. Still, they’d better make haste, for +I’ve almost had enough of being tracked like a wild beast and no longer +knowing how I live.” + +Janzen, yielding to curiosity, had ceased turning over the leaves of the +picture book and was looking at Salvat. There was a smile of disdain in +the Anarchist leader’s cold eyes; and in his usual broken French he +remarked: “A man fights and defends himself, kills others and tries to +avoid being killed himself. That’s warfare.” + +These words fell from his lips amidst deep silence. Salvat, however, did +not seem to have heard them, but stammered forth his faith in a long +sentence laden with fulsome expressions, such as the sacrifice of his +life in order that want might cease, and the example of a great action, +in the certainty that it would inspire other heroes to continue the +struggle. And with this certainly sincere faith and illuminism of his +there 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 as +if the night which had brought him had carried him back into its +impenetrable depths. And then only did Pierre rise from his chair. He was +stifling, and threw the large window of the room wide open. It was a very +mild but moonless night, whose silence was only disturbed by the +subsiding clamour of Paris, which stretched away, invisible, on the +horizon. + +Guillaume, according to his habit, had begun to walk up and down. And at +last he spoke, again forgetting that his brother was a priest. “Ah! the +poor fellow! How well one can understand that deed of violence and hope! +His whole past life of fruitless labour and ever-growing want explains +it. Then, too, there has been all the contagion of ideas; the +frequentation of public meetings where men intoxicate themselves with +words, and of secret meetings among comrades where faith acquires +firmness and the mind soars wildly. Ah! I think I know that man well +indeed! He’s a good workman, sober and courageous. Injustice has always +exasperated him. And little by little the desire for universal happiness +has cast him out of the realities of life which he has ended by holding +in horror. So how can he do otherwise than live in a dream--a dream of +redemption, which, from circumstances, has turned to fire and murder as +its fitting instruments. As I looked at him standing there, I fancied I +could picture one of the first Christian slaves of ancient Rome. All the +iniquity of olden pagan society, agonising beneath the rottenness born of +debauchery and covetousness, was weighing on his shoulders, bearing him +down. He had come from the dark Catacombs where he had whispered words of +deliverance and redemption with his wretched brethren. And a thirst for +martyrdom consumed him, he spat in the face of Caesar, he insulted the +gods, he fired the pagan temples, in order that the reign of Jesus might +come and abolish servitude. And he was ready to die, to be torn to pieces +by the wild beasts!” + +Pierre did not immediately reply. He had already been struck, however, by +the fact that there were undoubted points of resemblance between the +secret propaganda and militant faith of the Anarchists, and certain +practices of the first Christians. Both sects abandon themselves to a new +faith in the hope that the humble may thereby at last reap justice. +Paganism disappears through weariness of the flesh and the need of a more +lofty and pure faith. That dream of a Christian paradise opening up a +future 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 long +experiment is over and the toiler finds himself duped and still and ever +a slave, he once more dreams of getting happiness upon this earth, +particularly as each day Science tends more and more to show him that the +happiness of the spheres beyond is a lie. And in all this there is but +the eternal struggle of the poor and the rich, the eternal question of +bringing more justice and less suffering to the world. + +“But surely,” Pierre at last replied, “you can’t be on the side of those +bandits, those murderers whose savage violence horrifies me. I let you +talk on yesterday, when you dreamt of a great and happy people, of ideal +anarchy in which each would be free amidst the freedom of all. But what +abomination, what disgust both for mind and heart, when one passes from +theory to propaganda and practice! If yours is the brain that thinks, +whose is the hateful hand that acts, that kills children, throws down +doors and empties drawers? Do you accept that responsibility? With your +education, your culture, the whole social heredity behind you, does not +your 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 the +history of the evil hour through which we are passing. It is madness +sweeping by; and, to tell the truth, everything necessary to provoke it +has been done. At the very dawn of the Anarchist theory, at the very +first innocent actions of its partisans, there was such stern repression, +the police so grossly ill-treating the poor devils that fell into its +hands, that little by little came anger and rage leading to the most +horrible reprisals. It is the Terror initiated by the _bourgeois_ that +has produced Anarchist savagery. And would you know whence Salvat and his +crime have come? Why, from all our centuries of impudence and iniquity, +from all that the nations have suffered, from all the sores which are now +devouring us, the impatience for enjoyment, the contempt of the strong +for the weak, the whole monstrous spectacle which is presented by our +rotting society!” + +Guillaume was again slowly walking to and fro; and as if he were +reflecting aloud he continued: “Ah! to reach the point I have attained, +through how much thought, through how many battles, have I not passed! I +was merely a Positivist, a _savant_ devoted to observation and +experiment, accepting nothing apart from proven facts. Scientifically and +socially, I admitted that simple evolution had slowly brought humanity +into being. But both in the history of the globe and that of human +society, I found it necessary to make allowance for the volcano, the +sudden cataclysm, the sudden eruption, by which each geological phase, +each historical period, has been marked. In this wise one ends by +ascertaining that no forward step has ever been taken, no progress ever +accomplished in the world’s history, without the help of horrible +catastrophes. Each advance has meant the sacrifice of millions and +millions of human lives. This of course revolts us, given our narrow +ideas 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 bursts +forth, like _savants_ forewarned of its possibility.... And then, ah, +then! well, perhaps I’m a dreamer like others, but I have my own +notions.” + +With a sweeping gesture he confessed what a social dreamer there was +within him beside the methodical and scrupulous _savant_. His constant +endeavour was to bring all back to science, and he was deeply grieved at +finding in nature no scientific sign of equality or even justice, such as +he craved for in the social sphere. His despair indeed came from this +inability to reconcile scientific logic with apostolic love, the dream of +universal happiness and brotherhood and the end of all iniquity. + +Pierre, however, who had remained near the open window, gazing into the +night towards Paris, whence ascended the last sounds of the evening of +passionate pleasure, felt the whole flood of his own doubt and despair +stifling him. It was all too much: that brother of his who had fallen +upon him with his scientific and apostolic beliefs, those men who came to +discuss contemporary thought from every standpoint, and finally that +Salvat who had brought thither the exasperation of his mad deed. And +Pierre, who had hitherto listened to them all without a word, without a +gesture, who had hidden his secrets from his brother, seeking refuge in +his supposed priestly views, suddenly felt such bitterness stirring his +heart that he could lie no longer. + +“Ah! brother, if you have your dream, I have my sore which has eaten into +me and left me void! Your Anarchy, your dream of just happiness, for +which Salvat works with bombs, why, it is the final burst of insanity +which 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 a +month past. Fourier destroyed Saint-Simon, Proudhon and Comte demolished +Fourier, each in turn piling up incoherences and contradictions, leaving +mere chaos behind them, which nobody dares to sort out. And since then, +Socialist sects have been swarming and multiplying, the more sensible of +them leading simply to dictatorship, while the others indulge in most +dangerous reveries. And after such a tempest of ideas there could indeed +come nothing but your Anarchy, which undertakes to bring the old world to +a finish by reducing it to dust.... Ah! I expected it, I was waiting +for it--that final catastrophe, that fratricidal madness, the inevitable +class 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 a +weight of crime and grief. When I went to Lourdes it was to see if the +divinity of simple minds would work the awaited miracle, and restore the +belief of the early ages to the people, which rebelled through excess of +suffering. And when I went to Rome it was in the _naive_ hope of there +finding the new religion required by our democracies, the only one that +could 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 lighted +on nothingness. There where I so ardently dreamt of finding the salvation +of others, I only sank myself, going down apeak like a ship not a timber +of 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 necessity +and can be stayed by none. And so it is all over, I am mere ashes, an +empty 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 let +all the nothingness within his heart and mind fall from them. And +Guillaume, distracted by the sight of such a fierce denier, such a +despairing Nihilist as was now revealed to him, drew near, quivering: +“What are you saying, brother! I thought you so firm, so calm in your +belief! A priest to be admired, a saint worshipped by the whole of this +parish! I was unwilling even to discuss your faith, and now it is you who +deny all, and believe in nothing whatever!” + +Pierre again slowly stretched out his arms. “There is nothing, I tried to +learn all, and only found the atrocious grief born of the nothingness +that 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 of +terrified compassion in presence of all the grandeur and horror embodied +in that unbelieving priest who watched over the belief of others, and +chastely, honestly discharged his duty amidst the haughty sadness born of +his falsehood. And how heavily must that falsehood have weighed upon his +conscience for him to confess himself in that fashion, amidst an utter +collapse of his whole being! A month previously, in the unexpansiveness +of his proud solitude, he would never have taken such a course. To speak +out it was necessary that he should have been stirred by many things, his +reconciliation with his brother, the conversations he had heard of an +evening, the terrible drama in which he was mingled, as well as his +reflections on labour struggling against want, and the vague hope with +which the sight of intellectual youth had inspired him. And, indeed, amid +the very excess of his negation was there not already the faint dawn of a +new faith? + +This Guillaume must have understood, on seeing how he quivered with +unsatisfied tenderness as he emerged from the fierce silence which he had +preserved so long. He made him sit down near the window, and placed +himself beside him without releasing his hands. “But I won’t have you +suffer, 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 have +suffered were it not for the battle between your heart and your mind, and +you will cease to suffer on the day when they make peace, and you love +what you understand.” And in a lower voice, with infinite affection, he +went on: “You see, it’s our poor mother and our poor father continuing +their painful struggle in you. You were too young at the time, you +couldn’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 the +punishment of God. Yet, what an honest man he was, with a good, great +heart, what a worker, seeking for truth alone, and desirous of the love +and happiness of all! Since we have spent our evenings here, I have felt +him 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 have +kept me here so long, and who at this very moment are present to place +your hands in mine.” + +And, indeed, it seemed to Pierre as if he could feel the breath of +vigilant affection which Guillaume evoked passing over them both. There +was again a revival of all the past, all their youth, and nothing could +have been more delightful. + +“You hear me, brother,” Guillaume resumed. “You must reconcile them, for +it is only in you that they can be reconciled. You have his firm, lofty +brow, and her mouth and eyes of unrealisable tenderness. So, try to bring +them to agreement, by some day contenting, as your reason shall allow, +the everlasting thirst for love, and self-bestowal, and life, which for +lack of satisfaction is killing you. Your frightful wretchedness has no +other cause. Come back to life, love, bestow yourself, be a man!” + +Pierre raised a dolorous cry: “No, no, the death born of doubt has swept +through me, withering and shattering everything, and nothing more can +live in that cold dust!” + +“But, come,” resumed Guillaume, “you cannot have reached such absolute +negation. No man reaches it. Even in the most disabused of minds there +remains a nook of fancy and hope. To deny charity, devotion, the +prodigies which love may work, ah! for my part I do not go so far as +that. And now that you have shown me your sore, why should I not tell you +my 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 spring +up nowadays in chemical laboratories?” + +Intense emotion was stirring Guillaume; there was battle waging in both +his brain and his heart. And at last, yielding to the deep compassion +which filled him, vanquished by his ardent affection for his unhappy +brother, he spoke out. But he had drawn yet closer to Pierre, even passed +one 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 someone +might overhear his secret. “Why should you not know it?” he said. “My own +sons are ignorant of it. But you are a man and my brother, and since +there is nothing of the priest left in you, it is to the brother I will +confide it. This will make me love you the more, and perhaps it may do +you good.” + +Then he told him of his invention, a new explosive, a powder of such +extraordinary force that its effects were incalculable. And he had found +employment for this powder in an engine of warfare, a special cannon, +hurling bombs which would assure the most overwhelming victory to the +army using them. The enemy’s forces would be destroyed in a few hours, +and besieged cities would fall into dust at the slightest bombardment. He +had long searched and doubted, calculated, recalculated and experimented; +but everything was now ready: the precise formula of the powder, the +drawings for the cannon and the bombs, a whole packet of precious papers +stored in a safe spot. And after months of anxious reflection he had +resolved to give his invention to France, so as to ensure her a certainty +of victory in her coming, inevitable war with Germany! + +At the same time, he was not a man of narrow patriotism; on the contrary +he had a very broad, international conception of the future liberative +civilisation. Only he believed in the initiatory mission of France, and +particularly in that of Paris, which, even as it is to-day, was destined +to be the world’s brain to-morrow, whence all science and justice would +proceed. The great idea of liberty and equality had already soared from +it at the prodigious blast of the Revolution; and from its genius and +valour the final emancipation of man would also take its flight. Thus it +was necessary that Paris should be victorious in the struggle in order +that the world might be saved. + +Pierre understood his brother, thanks to the lecture on explosives which +he had heard at Bertheroy’s. And the grandeur of this scheme, this dream, +particularly struck him when he thought of the extraordinary future which +would open for Paris amidst the effulgent blaze of the bombs. Moreover, +he was struck by all the nobility of soul which had lain behind his +brother’s anxiety for a month past. If Guillaume had trembled it was +simply with fear that his invention might be divulged in consequence of +Salvat’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 in +mystery, choosing his own time, awaiting the proper hour, until when the +secret would slumber in its hiding-place, confided to the sole care of +Mère-Grand, who had her orders and knew what she was to do should he, in +any sudden accident, disappear. + +“And, now,” said Guillaume in conclusion, “you know my hopes and my +anguish, and you can help me and even take my place if I am unable to +reach the end of my task. Ah! to reach the end! Since I have been shut up +here, reflecting, consumed by anxiety and impatience, there have been +hours 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, and +who is now being hunted down like a wild beast! There is also that +insensate and insatiable _bourgeoisie_, which will let itself be crushed +by the fall of the shaky old house, rather than allow the least repair to +it! And there is further that avaricious, that abominable Parisian press, +so harsh towards the weak and little, so fond of insulting those who have +none to defend them, so eager to coin money out of public misfortune, and +ready to spread insanity on all sides, simply to increase its sales! +Where, therefore, shall one find truth and justice, the hand endowed with +logic and health that ought to be armed with the thunderbolt? Would Paris +the conqueror, Paris the master of the nations, prove the justiciar, the +saviour that men await! Ah! the anguish of believing oneself to be the +master of the world’s destinies, and to have to choose and decide.” + +He had risen again quivering, full of anger and fear that human +wretchedness and baseness might prevent the realisation of his dream. And +amidst the heavy silence which fell in the room, the little house +suddenly resounded with a regular, continuous footfall. + +“Ah, yes! to save men and love them, and wish them all to be equal and +free,” murmured Pierre, bitterly. “But just listen! Barthès’s footsteps +are answering you, as if from the everlasting dungeon into which his love +of liberty has thrown him!” + +However, Guillaume had already regained possession of himself, and coming +back 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 be +with me, full of hope and full of certainty. You must work, you must +love, you must revive to life. Life alone can give you back peace and +health.” + +Tears returned to the eyes of Pierre, who was penetrated to the heart by +this ardent affection. “Ah! how I should like to believe you,” he +faltered, “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; the +priest that I am is dead--a lifeless, an empty tomb.” + +He was shaken by so frightful a sob, that Guillaume could not restrain +his 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 around +until they should be reconciled and restored to the peace of the earth. +And all the darkness and mildness of the garden streamed in through the +open window, while yonder, on the horizon, Paris had fallen asleep in the +mysterious gloom, beneath a very peaceful sky which was studded with +stars. + + + + + +BOOK III. + + + + +I. THE RIVALS + + +ON the Wednesday preceding the mid-Lent Thursday, a great charity bazaar +was held at the Duvillard mansion, for the benefit of the Asylum of the +Invalids of Labour. The ground-floor reception rooms, three spacious +Louis Seize _salons_, whose windows overlooked the bare and solemn +courtyard, were given up to the swarm of purchasers, five thousand +admission cards having been distributed among all sections of Parisian +society. And the opening of the bombarded mansion in this wise to +thousands of visitors was regarded as quite an event, a real +manifestation, although some people whispered that the Rue +Godot-de-Mauroy and the adjacent streets were guarded by quite an army of +police agents. + +The idea of the bazaar had come from Duvillard himself, and at his +bidding his wife had resigned herself to all this worry for the benefit +of the enterprise over which she presided with such distinguished +nonchalance. On the previous day the “Globe” newspaper, inspired by its +director Fonsègue, who was also the general manager of the asylum, had +published a very fine article, announcing the bazaar, and pointing out +how noble, and touching, and generous was the initiative of the Baroness, +who still gave her time, her money, and even her home to charity, in +spite of the abominable crime which had almost reduced that home to +ashes. Was not this the magnanimous answer of the spheres above to the +hateful passions of the spheres below? And was it not also a peremptory +answer to those who accused the capitalists of doing nothing for the +wage-earners, the disabled and broken-down sons of toil? + +The drawing-room doors were to be opened at two o’clock, and would only +close at seven, so that there would be five full hours for the sales. And +at noon, when nothing was as yet ready downstairs, when workmen and women +were still decorating the stalls, and sorting the goods amidst a final +scramble, there was, as usual, a little friendly _déjeuner_, to which a +few guests had been invited, in the private rooms on the first floor. +However, a scarcely expected incident had given a finishing touch to the +general excitement of the house: that very morning Sagnier had resumed +his 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 were +the intention of the authorities to beguile the public much longer with +the 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-two +corrupt senators and deputies in a very early issue, he had boldly named +Minister Barroux as one who had pocketed a sum of 200,000 francs. Mège +would therefore certainly revive his interpellation, which might become +dangerous, now that Paris had been thrown into such a distracted state by +terror of the Anarchists. At the same time it was said that Vignon and +his party had resolved to turn circumstances to account, with the object +of overthrowing the ministry. Thus a redoubtable crisis was inevitably at +hand. Fortunately, the Chamber did not meet that Wednesday; in fact, it +had adjourned until the Friday, with the view of making mid-Lent a +holiday. And so forty-eight hours were left one to prepare for the +onslaught. + +Eve, that morning, seemed more gentle and languid than ever, rather pale +too, with an expression of sorrowful anxiety in the depths of her +beautiful eyes. She set it all down to the very great fatigue which the +preparations for the bazaar had entailed on her. But the truth was that +Gérard de Quinsac, after shunning any further assignation, had for five +days past avoided her in an embarrassed way. Still she was convinced that +she would see him that morning, and so she had again ventured to wear the +white 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 years +were asserting themselves in her blotchy complexion and the little +creases which were appearing about her lips, eyelids and temples. + +Camille, for her part, though her position as daughter of the house made +it certain that she would attract much custom as a saleswoman, had +obstinately persisted in wearing one of her usual dresses, a dark +“carmelite” gown, an old woman’s frock, as she herself called it with a +cutting laugh. However, her long and wicked-looking face beamed with some +secret delight; such an expression of wit and intelligence wreathing her +thin lips and shining in her big eyes that one lost sight of her +deformity and thought her almost pretty. + +Eve experienced a first deception in the little blue and silver +sitting-room, where, accompanied by her daughter, she awaited the arrival +of her guests. General de Bozonnet, whom Gérard was to have brought with +him, came in alone, explaining that Madame de Quinsac had felt rather +poorly that morning, and that Gérard, like a good and dutiful son, had +wished to remain with her. Still he would come to the bazaar directly +after _déjeuner_. While the Baroness listened to the General, striving to +hide her disappointment and her fear that she would now be unable to +obtain any explanation from Gérard that day, Camille looked at her with +eager, devouring eyes. And a certain covert instinct of the misfortune +threatening her must at that moment have come to Eve, for in her turn she +glanced at her daughter and turned pale as if with anxiety. + +Then Princess Rosemonde de Harn swept in like a whirlwind. She also was +to be one of the saleswomen at the stall chosen by the Baroness, who +liked her for her very turbulence, the sudden gaiety which she generally +brought with her. Gowned in fire-hued satin (red shot with yellow), +looking very eccentric with her curly hair and thin boyish figure, she +laughed and talked of an accident by which her carriage had almost been +cut in halves. Then, as Baron Duvillard and Hyacinthe came in from their +rooms, late as usual, she took possession of the young man and scolded +him, for on the previous evening she had vainly waited for him till ten +o’clock in the expectation that he would keep his promise to escort her +to a tavern at Montmartre, where some horrible things were said to occur. +Hyacinthe, looking very bored, quietly replied that he had been detained +at a seance given by some adepts in the New Magic, in the course of which +the soul of St. Theresa had descended from heaven to recite a love +sonnet. + +However, Fonsègue was now coming in with his wife, a tall, thin, silent +and generally insignificant woman, whom he seldom took about with him. On +this occasion he had been obliged to bring her, as she was one of the +lady-patronesses of the asylum, and he himself was coming to lunch with +the Duvillards in his capacity as general manager. To the superficial +observer he looked quite as gay as usual; but he blinked nervously, and +his first glance was a questioning one in the direction of Duvillard, as +if he wished to know how the latter bore the fresh thrust directed at him +by Sagnier. And when he saw the banker looking perfectly composed, as +superb, as rubicund as usual, and chatting in a bantering way with +Rosemonde, he also put on an easy air, like a gamester who had never lost +but 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 the +Baroness on managerial matters: “Have you now succeeded in seeing M. +l’Abbé Froment for the affair of that old man Laveuve, whom he so warmly +recommended 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 for +three days past.” + +“Yes, I know,” replied Eve; “but I can’t imagine what has become of Abbé +Froment, 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 the +bazaar to-day. In this manner I shall be able to acquaint him with the +good news myself.” + +“It was to leave you the pleasure of doing so,” said Fonsègue, “that I +refrained from sending him any official communication. He’s a charming +priest, is he not?” + +“Oh! charming, we are very fond of him.” + +However, Duvillard now intervened to say that they need not wait for +Duthil, as he had received a telegram from him stating that he was +detained by sudden business. At this Fonsègue’s anxiety returned, and he +once more questioned the Baron with his eyes. Duvillard smiled, however, +and reassured him in an undertone: “It’s nothing serious. Merely a +commission for me, about which he’ll only be able to bring me an answer +by-and-by.” Then, taking Fonsègue 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 Silviane +recited a piece of verse. Well, I wanted to speak to you about it. It +worries 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. “But +I absolutely want it to be inserted, my dear fellow! You would place me +in the greatest embarrassment if it were not to appear, for I promised +Silviane 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 Fonsègue, secretly amused, and well pleased +at this complicity. “As it’s so serious the paragraph shall go in, I +promise you.” + +The whole company was now present, since neither Gérard nor Duthil was to +be expected. So they went into the dining-room amidst a final noise of +hammering in the sale-rooms below. The meal proved somewhat of a +scramble, and was on three occasions disturbed by female attendants, who +came to explain difficulties and ask for orders. Doors were constantly +slamming, and the very walls seemed to shake with the unusual bustle +which 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 previous +night, to the popular mid-Lent festival which would take place on the +morrow, and ever reverting to the bazaar, the prices that had been given +for the goods which would be on sale, the prices at which they might be +sold, and the probable figure of the full receipts, all this being +interspersed with strange anecdotes, witticisms and bursts of laughter. +On the General mentioning magistrate Amadieu, Eve declared that she no +longer dared to invite him to _déjeuner_, knowing how busy he was at the +Palace of Justice. Still, she certainly hoped that he would come to the +bazaar and contribute something. Then Fonsègue amused himself with +teasing Princess Rosemonde about her fire-hued gown, in which, said he, +she must already feel roasted by the flames of hell; a suggestion which +secretly delighted her, as Satanism had now become her momentary passion. +Meantime, Duvillard lavished the most gallant politeness on that silent +creature, Madame Fonsègue, while Hyacinthe, in order to astonish even the +Princess, explained in a few words how the New Magic could transform a +chaste young man into a real angel. And Camille, who seemed very happy +and 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 more +aggressive, and apparently resolved upon open and merciless warfare. + +At last, just as the dessert was coming to an end, the Baroness heard her +daughter exclaim in a piercing, defiant voice: “Oh! don’t talk to me of +the old ladies who still seem to be playing with dolls, and paint +themselves, and dress as if they were about to be confirmed! All such +ogresses 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 we +shan’t have time to drink our coffee in peace.” + +The coffee was served in the little blue and silver sitting-room, where +bloomed some lovely yellow roses, testifying to the Baroness’s keen +passion for flowers, which made the house an abode of perpetual spring. +Duvillard and Fonsègue, however, carrying their cups of steaming coffee +with them, at once went into the former’s private room to smoke a cigar +there and chat in freedom. As the door remained wide open, one could +hear their gruff voices more or less distinctly. Meantime, General de +Bozonnet, delighted to find in Madame Fonsègue a serious, submissive +person, who listened without interrupting, began to tell her a very long +story of an officer’s wife who had followed her husband through +every battle of the war of 1870. Then Hyacinthe, who took no +coffee--contemptuously declaring it to be a beverage only fit for +door-keepers--managed to rid himself of Rosemonde, who was sipping some +kummel, in order to come and whisper to his sister: “I say, it was very +stupid of you to taunt mamma in the way you did just now. I don’t care a +rap about it myself. But it ends by being noticed, and, I warn you +candidly, 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 take +Rosemonde into the adjoining red drawing-room in order to show her a +picture which his father had just purchased. And the General, on being +called by him, likewise conducted Madame Fonsègue thither. + +The mother and daughter then suddenly found themselves alone and face to +face. Eve was leaning on a pier-table, as if overcome; and indeed, the +least sorrow bore her down, so weak at heart she was, ever ready to weep +in her naive and perfect egotism. Why was it that her daughter thus hated +her, and did her utmost to disturb that last happy spell of love in which +her heart lingered? She looked at Camille, grieved rather than irritated; +and the unfortunate idea came to her of making a remark about her dress +at the very moment when the girl was on the point of following the others +into the larger drawing-room. + +“It’s quite wrong of you, my dear,” said she, “to persist in dressing +like an old woman. It doesn’t improve you a bit.” + +As Eve spoke, her soft eyes, those of a courted and worshipped handsome +woman, clearly expressed the compassion she felt for that ugly, deformed +girl, whom she had never been able to regard as a daughter. Was it +possible that she, with her sovereign beauty, that beauty which she +herself had ever adored and nursed, making it her one care, her one +religion--was it possible that she had given birth to such a graceless +creature, with a dark, goatish profile, one shoulder higher than the +other, and a pair of endless arms such as hunchbacks often have? All her +grief and all her shame at having had such a child became apparent in the +quivering of her voice. + +Camille, however, had stopped short, as if struck in the face with a +whip. Then she came back to her mother and the horrible explanation began +with these simple words spoken in an undertone: “You consider that I +dress badly? Well, you ought to have paid some attention to me, have seen +that my gowns suited your taste, and have taught me your secret of +looking beautiful!” + +Eve, with her dislike of all painful feeling, all quarrelling and bitter +words, was already regretting her attack. So she sought to make a +retreat, particularly as time was flying and they would soon be expected +downstairs: “Come, be quiet, and don’t show your bad temper when all +those people can hear us. I have loved you--” + +But with a quiet yet terrible laugh Camille interrupted her. “You’ve +loved me! Oh! my poor mamma, what a comical thing to say! Have you ever +loved _anybody_? You want others to love _you_, but that’s another +matter. As for your child, any child, do you even know how it ought to be +loved? You have always neglected me, thrust me on one side, deeming me so +ugly, so unworthy of you! And besides, you have not had days and nights +enough to love yourself! Oh! don’t deny it, my poor mamma; but even now +you’re looking at me as if I were some loathsome monster that’s in your +way.” + +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 on +speaking 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 wrong +of me to dress like an old woman, perhaps another is rather ridiculous in +dressing 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’t +find 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 I +said.” + +“I dress as I please, and no doubt I do so well enough, since I’m loved +as I am.” + +“What, really! Does someone love you? Well, let him inform us of it and +marry you.” + +“Yes--certainly, certainly! It will be a good riddance, won’t it? And +you’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: +“Gérard is coming here to ask for my hand in a day or two.” + +Eve, livid, with wildly staring eyes, did not seem to understand. +“Gérard? why do you tell me that?” + +“Why, because it’s Gérard who loves me and who is going to marry me! You +drive me to extremities; you’re for ever repeating that I’m ugly; you +treat me like a monster whom nobody will ever care for. So I’m forced to +defend myself and tell you the truth in order to prove to you that +everybody is not of your opinion.” + +Silence fell; the frightful thing which had risen between them seemed to +have arrested the quarrel. But there was neither mother nor daughter left +there. They were simply two suffering, defiant rivals. Eve in her turn +drew a long breath and glanced anxiously towards the adjoining room to +ascertain if anyone were coming in or listening to them. And then in a +tone of resolution she made answer: + +“You cannot marry Gérard.” + +“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 is +that Gérard is your lover! But what does that matter, since I know it and +am willing to take him all the same?” + +And to this retort Camille’s flaming eyes added the words: “And it is +particularly on that account that I want him.” All the long torture born +of her infirmities, all her rage at having always seen her mother +beautiful, courted and adored, was now stirring her and seeking vengeance +in cruel triumph. At last then she was snatching from her rival the lover +of whom she had so long been jealous! + +“You wretched girl!” stammered Eve, wounded in the heart and almost +sinking to the floor. “You don’t know what you say or what you make me +suffer.” + +However, she again had to pause, draw herself erect and smile; for +Rosemonde hastened in from the adjoining room with the news that she was +wanted downstairs. The doors were about to be opened, and it was +necessary she should be at her stall. Yes, Eve answered, she would be +down in another moment. Still, even as she spoke she leant more heavily +on 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 simply +idiotic to quarrel like that. You would do much better to come +downstairs.” + +But Camille harshly dismissed him: “Just _you_ go off, and take the +others with you. It’s quite as well that they shouldn’t be about our +ears.” + +Hyacinthe glanced at his mother, like one who knew the truth and +considered the whole affair ridiculous. And then, vexed at seeing her so +deficient in energy in dealing with that little pest, his sister, he +shrugged his shoulders, and leaving them to their folly, conducted the +others away. One could hear Rosemonde laughing as she went off below, +while the General began to tell Madame Fonsègue another story as they +descended the stairs together. However, at the moment when the mother and +daughter at last fancied themselves alone once more, other voices reached +their ears, those of Duvillard and Fonsègue, 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 strength +to do so; it had been a sheer impossibility for her after those words +which had smote her like a buffet amidst her distress at the thought of +losing her lover. + +“Gérard 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 love +you.” + +“He does. He loves me first because I’m not such a fool as many others +are, and particularly because I’m young.” + +This was a fresh wound for the Baroness; one inflicted with mocking +cruelty in which rang out all the daughter’s triumphant delight at seeing +her mother’s beauty at last ripening and waning. “Ah! my poor mamma, you +no longer know what it is to be young. If I’m not beautiful, at all +events I’m young; my eyes are clear and my lips are fresh. And my hair’s +so long too, and I’ve so much of it that it would suffice to gown me if I +chose. You see, one’s never ugly when one’s young. Whereas, my poor +mamma, everything is ended when one gets old. It’s all very well for a +woman to have been beautiful, and to strive to keep so, but in reality +there’s only ruin left, and shame and disgust.” + +She spoke these words in such a sharp, ferocious voice that each of them +entered her mother’s heart like a knife. Tears rose to the eyes of the +wretched woman, again stricken in her bleeding wound. Ah! it was true, +she remained without weapons against youth. And all her anguish came from +the consciousness that she was growing old, from the feeling that love +was departing from her now, that like a fruit she had ripened and fallen +from the tree. + +“But Gérard’s mother will never let him marry you,” she said. + +“He will prevail on her; that’s his concern. I’ve a dowry of two +millions, and two millions can settle many things.” + +“Do you now want to libel him, and say that he’s marrying you for your +money?” + +“No, indeed! Gérard’s a very nice and honest fellow. He loves me and he’s +marrying me for myself. But, after all, he isn’t rich; he still has no +assured position, although he’s thirty-six; and there may well be some +advantage in a wife who brings you wealth as well as happiness. For, you +hear, mamma, it’s happiness I’m bringing him, real happiness, love that’s +shared 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, was +dragging on, becoming a perfect drama full of murderous violence, +although they never shouted, but still spoke on in low and gasping +voices. Neither gave way to the other, though at every moment they were +liable to some surprise; for not only were all the doors open, so that +the 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 are +alone together!” + +“Yes, just as one says it to a little girl by way of amusing her. But he +has never told you that he meant to marry you.” + +“He told it me the last time he came. And it’s settled. I’m simply +waiting 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 longer +knew that she was a mother, and was speaking to her daughter. The woman, +the _amorosa_, alone remained in her, outraged and exasperated by a +rival. And with a sob she confessed the truth: “It is I he loves! Only +the last time I spoke to him, he swore to me--you hear me?--he swore upon +his 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 derisive +compassion, she replied: “Ah! my poor mamma, you really make me sorry for +you! 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 be +duped 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 and +quiet 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’t +come to _déjeuner_ this morning, it is simply because he’s had enough of +you. He has left you for good; just have the courage to realise it. Of +course he’s still polite and amiable, because he’s a well-bred man, and +doesn’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 his +intentions 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 in +his own interest. Give him back his liberty, and you will soon see that +I’m the one he loves.” + +“You lie, you lie! You wretched child, you only want to torture and kill +me!” + +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 no +stick near her, but from a basket of the yellow roses, whose powerful +scent intoxicated both of them, she plucked a handful of blooms, with +long and spiny stalks, and smote Camille across the face. A drop of blood +appeared on the girl’s left temple, near her eyelid. + +But she sprang forward, flushed and maddened by this correction, with her +hand raised and ready to strike back. “Take care, mother! I swear I’d +beat you like a gipsy! And now just put this into your head: I mean to +marry Gérard, and I will; and I’ll take him from you, even if I have to +raise 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 from +her egotistical desire to be happy, caressed, flattered and adored, was +returning 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, while +Duvillard’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 a +gesture of indulgent contempt. “Ah! you’re no doubt satisfied now! But +what did I tell you? It would have been much better for you to have come +downstairs at once! Everybody is asking for you. It’s all idiotic. I’ve +come to fetch you.” + +Eve and Camille would not yet have followed him, perhaps, if Duvillard +and Fonsègue had not at that moment come out of the former’s room. Having +finished their cigars they also spoke of going downstairs. And Eve had to +rise and smile and show dry eyes, while Camille, standing before a +looking-glass, arranged her hair, and stanched the little drop of blood +that had gathered on her temple. + +There was already quite a number of people below, in the three huge +saloons adorned with tapestry and plants. The stalls had been draped with +red silk, which set a gay, bright glow around the goods. And no ordinary +bazaar could have put forth such a show, for there was something of +everything among the articles of a thousand different kinds, from +sketches by recognised masters, and the autographs of famous writers, +down to socks and slippers and combs. The haphazard way in which things +were laid out was in itself an attraction; and, in addition, there was a +buffet, where the whitest of beautiful hands poured out champagne, and +two lotteries, one for an organ and another for a pony-drawn village +cart, the tickets for which were sold by a bevy of charming girls, who +had scattered through the throng. As Duvillard had expected, however, the +great success of the bazaar lay in the delightful little shiver which the +beautiful ladies experienced as they passed through the entrance where +the bomb had exploded. The rougher repairing work was finished, the walls +and ceilings had been doctored, in part re-constructed. However, the +painters had not yet come, and here and there the whiter stone and +plaster work showed like fresh scars left by all the terrible gashes. It +was with mingled anxiety and rapture that pretty heads emerged from the +carriages which, arriving in a continuous stream, made the flagstones of +the court re-echo. And in the three saloons, beside the stalls, there was +no 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 to +think it might begin again while we are here! One really needs some +courage to come, but then, that asylum is such a deserving institution, +and money is badly wanted to build a new wing. And besides, those +monsters will see that we are not frightened, whatever they do.” + +When the Baroness at last came down to her stall with Camille she found +the saleswomen feverishly at work already under the direction of Princess +Rosemonde, who on occasions of this kind evinced the greatest cunning and +rapacity, robbing the customers in the most impudent fashion. “Ah! here +you are,” she exclaimed. “Beware of a number of higglers who have come to +secure bargains. I know them! They watch for their opportunities, turn +everything topsy-turvy and wait for us to lose our heads and forget +prices, so as to pay even less than they would in a real shop. But I’ll +get good prices from them, you shall see!” + +At this, Eve, who for her own part was a most incapable saleswoman, had +to laugh with the others. And in a gentle voice she made a pretence of +addressing certain recommendations to Camille, who listened with a +smiling and most submissive air. In point of fact the wretched mother was +sinking with emotion, particularly at the thought that she would have to +remain there till seven o’clock, and suffer in secret before all those +people, without possibility of relief. And thus it was almost like a +respite when she suddenly perceived Abbé Froment sitting and waiting for +her on a settee, covered with red velvet, near her stall. Her legs were +failing her, so she took a place beside him. + +“You received my letter then, Monsieur l’Abbé. I am glad that you have +come, for I have some good news to give you, and wished to leave you the +pleasure of imparting it to your _protégé_, that man Laveuve, whom you so +warmly recommended to me. Every formality has now been fulfilled, and you +can 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 me +of it! If I told you of all the trouble that has been taken, of all that +had to be undone and done again, and the discussions and the papers and +the 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 of +life. Ah! _mon Dieu_! what a worry that he should be dead. We shall now +be 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 a +month 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 death +into which she herself must soon descend, in the shroud of her last +passion. And, meantime, Pierre, despite himself, smiled bitterly at the +atrocious irony of it all. Ah! that lame and halting Charity, which +proffers help when men are dead! + +The priest still lingered on the settee when the Baroness rose. She had +seen magistrate Amadieu hurriedly enter like one who just wished to show +himself, 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 him +respecting the affair of that mechanician Salvat, who was accused of +having deposited the bomb at the entrance of the house. Was this simply +an invention of the police, as some newspapers pretended? Or was it +really correct? And if so, would Salvat soon be arrested? In self-defence +Amadieu answered correctly enough that the affair did not as yet concern +him, and would only come within his attributions, if Salvat should be +arrested and the investigation placed in his hands. At the same time, +however, the magistrate’s pompous and affectedly shrewd manner suggested +that he already knew everything to the smallest details, and that, had he +chosen, he could have promised some great events for the morrow. A circle +of ladies had gathered round him as he spoke, quite a number of pretty +women feverish with curiosity, who jostled one another in their eagerness +to hear that brigand tale which sent a little shiver coursing under their +skins. However, Amadieu managed to slip off after paying Rosemonde twenty +francs for a cigarette case, which was perhaps worth thirty sous. + +Massot, on recognising Pierre, came up to shake hands with him. “Don’t +you agree with me, Monsieur l’Abbé, that Salvat must be a long way off by +now if he’s got good legs? Ah! the police will always make me laugh!” + +However, Rosemonde brought Hyacinthe up to the journalist. “Monsieur +Massot,” said she, “you who go everywhere, I want you to be judge. That +Chamber of Horrors at Montmartre, that tavern where Legras sings the +‘Flowers of the Streets’--” + +“Oh! a delightful spot, madame,” interrupted Massot, “I wouldn’t take +even a gendarme there.” + +“No, don’t jest, Monsieur Massot, I’m talking seriously. Isn’t it quite +allowable for a respectable woman to go there when she’s accompanied by a +gentleman?” And, without allowing the journalist time to answer her, she +turned towards Hyacinthe: “There! you see that Monsieur Massot doesn’t +say no! You’ve got to take me there this evening, it’s sworn, it’s +sworn.” + +Then she darted away to sell a packet of pins to an old lady, while the +young man contented himself with remarking, in the voice of one who has +no illusions left: “She’s quite idiotic with her Chamber of Horrors!” + +Massot philosophically shrugged his shoulders. It was only natural that a +woman should want to amuse herself. And when Hyacinthe had gone off, +passing with perverse contempt beside the lovely girls who were selling +lottery tickets, the journalist ventured to murmur: “All the same, it +would do that youngster good if a woman were to take him in hand.” + +Then, again addressing Pierre, he resumed: “Why, here comes Duthil! What +did Sagnier mean this morning by saying that Duthil would sleep at Mazas +to-night?” + +In a great hurry apparently, and all smiles, Duthil was cutting his way +through the crowd in order to join Duvillard and Fonsègue, who still +stood talking near the Baroness’s stall. And he waved his hand to them in +a victorious way, to imply that he had succeeded in the delicate mission +entrusted to him. This was nothing less than a bold manœuvre to hasten +Silviane’s admission to the Comédie Française. The idea had occurred to +her of making the Baron give a dinner at the Cafe Anglais in order that +she might meet at it an influential critic, who, according to her +statements, would compel the authorities to throw the doors wide open for +her as soon as he should know her. However, it did not seem easy to +secure the critic’s presence, as he was noted for his sternness and +grumbling disposition. And, indeed, after a first repulse, Duthil had for +three days past been obliged to exert all his powers of diplomacy, and +bring even the remotest influence into play. But he was radiant now, for +he 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 secure +a concession vote!” Then he laughed with the pretty impudence of a man of +pleasure, whom political conscientiousness did not trouble. And, indeed, +his allusion to the fresh denunciations of the “Voix du Peuple” hugely +amused him. + +“Don’t jest,” muttered Fonsègue, who for his part wished to amuse himself +by frightening the young deputy. “Things are going very badly!” + +Duthil turned pale, and a vision of the police and Mazas rose before his +eyes. 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 to +laugh. “Bah!” he retorted gaily, winking towards Duvillard, “the +governor’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 Fonsègue, he +exclaimed: “I say, you must make one of us this evening. Oh! it’s +necessary. I want something imposing round Silviane. Duthil will +represent the Chamber, you journalism, and I finance--” But he suddenly +paused on seeing Gérard, who, with a somewhat grave expression, was +leisurely picking his way through the sea of skirts. “Gérard, 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 influential +critic had been prevailed upon to attend a dinner which would decide +Silviane’s future; and how it was the duty of all her friends to rally +round her. + +“But I can’t,” the young man answered in embarrassment. “I have to dine +at home with my mother, who was rather poorly this morning.” + +“Oh! a sensible woman like your mother will readily understand that there +are matters of exceptional importance. Go home and excuse yourself. Tell +her some story, tell her that a friend’s happiness is in question.” And +as Gérard began to weaken, Duvillard added: “The fact is, that I really +want 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 with +her, her triumph is certain.” + +Gérard promised, and then chatted for a moment with his uncle, General de +Bozonnet, who was quite enlivened by that throng of women, among whom he +had been carried hither and thither like an old rudderless ship. After +acknowledging the amiability with which Madame Fonsègue had listened to +his stories, by purchasing an autograph of Monseigneur Martha from her +for a hundred francs, he had quite lost himself amid the bevy of girls +who 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 would +have to part with your last copper. But, just look! there’s Mademoiselle +Camille beckoning to you!” + +Camille, indeed, from the moment she had perceived Gérard, had been +smiling at him and awaiting his approach. And when their glances met he +was obliged to go to her, although, at the same moment, he felt that +Eve’s despairing and entreating eyes were fixed upon him. The girl, who +fully realised that her mother was watching her, at once made a marked +display of amiability, profiting by the license which charitable fervour +authorised, to slip a variety of little articles into the young man’s +pockets, and then place others in his hands, which she pressed within her +own, 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 part +them. But it so chanced that Pierre barred her way, for he wished to +submit an idea to her before leaving the bazaar. “Madame,” said he, +“since that man Laveuve is dead, and you have taken so much trouble with +regard to the bed which you now have vacant, will you be so good as to +keep it vacant until I have seen our venerable friend, Abbé Rose? I am to +see him this evening, and he knows so many cases of want, and would be so +glad to relieve one of them, and bring you some poor _protégé_ of his.” + +“Yes, certainly,” stammered the Baroness, “I shall be very happy,--I will +wait a little, as you desire,--of course, of course, Monsieur l’Abbé.” + +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, unaware +even that he was still there, when Gérard, yielding to the dolorous +entreaty of her eyes, at last managed to escape from Camille and join +her. + +“What a stranger you are becoming, my friend!” she said aloud, with a +forced smile. “One never sees you now.” + +“Why, I have been poorly,” he replied, in his amiable way. “Yes, I assure +you 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 did +seem to her paler than usual. It was as if the nobility of the façade +had, in some degree, ceased to hide the irreparable dilapidation within. +And given his real good nature, it must be true that he +suffered--suffered by reason of his useless, wasted life, by reason of +all the money he cost his impoverished mother, and of the needs that were +at last driving him to marry that wealthy deformed girl, whom at first he +had simply pitied. And so weak did he seem to Eve, so like a piece of +wreckage tossed hither and thither by a tempest, that, at the risk of +being overheard by the throng, she let her heart flow forth in a low but +ardent, entreating murmur: “If you suffer, ah! what sufferings are +mine!--Gérard, we must see one another, I will have it so.” + +“No, I beg you, let us wait,” he stammered in embarrassment. + +“It must be, Gérard; Camille has told me your plans. You cannot refuse to +see me. I insist on it.” + +He made yet another attempt to escape the cruel explanation. “But it’s +impossible at the usual place,” he answered, quivering. “The address is +known.” + +“Then to-morrow, at four o’clock, at that little restaurant in the Bois +where we have met before.” + +He had to promise, and they parted. Camille had just turned her head and +was looking at them. Moreover, quite a number of women had besieged the +stall; and the Baroness began to attend to them with the air of a ripe +and nonchalant goddess, while Gérard rejoined Duvillard, Fonsègue and +Duthil, who were quite excited at the prospect of their dinner that +evening. + +Pierre had heard a part of the conversation between Gérard and the +Baroness. He knew what skeletons the house concealed, what physiological +and moral torture and wretchedness lay beneath all the dazzling wealth +and power. There was here an envenomed, bleeding sore, ever spreading, a +cancer eating into father, mother, daughter and son, who one and all had +thrown social bonds aside. However, the priest made his way out of the +_salons_, half stifling amidst the throng of lady-purchasers who were +making quite a triumph of the bazaar. And yonder, in the depths of the +gloom, he could picture Salvat still running and running on; while the +corpse of Laveuve seemed to him like a buffet of atrocious irony dealt to +noisy and delusive charity. + + + + +II. SPIRIT AND FLESH + +How delightful was the quietude of the little ground-floor overlooking a +strip of garden in the Rue Cortot, where good Abbé Rose resided! +Hereabouts there was not even a rumble of wheels, or an echo of the +panting breath of Paris, which one heard on the other side of the height +of Montmartre. The deep silence and sleepy peacefulness were suggestive +of some distant provincial town. + +Seven o’clock had struck, the dusk had gathered slowly, and Pierre was in +the humble dining-room, waiting for the _femme-de-ménage_ to place the +soup upon the table. Abbé Rose, anxious at having seen so little of him +for a month past, had written, asking him to come to dinner, in order +that they might have a quiet chat concerning their affairs. From time to +time 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 had +accounts together, which they periodically liquidated. So that evening +after dinner they were to talk of it all, and see if they could not do +even more than they had hitherto done. The good old priest was quite +radiant at the thought of the peaceful evening which he was about to +spend in attending to the affairs of his beloved poor; for therein lay +his only amusement, the sole pleasure to which he persistently and +passionately returned, in spite of all the worries that his inconsiderate +charity 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’s +simple repast and yielding to all the kindliness around him, far from his +usual worries. He remembered the vacant bed at the Asylum, which Baroness +Duvillard had promised to keep in reserve until he should have asked Abbé +Rose if he knew of any case of destitution particularly worthy of +interest; and so before sitting down to table he spoke of the matter. + +“Destitution worthy of interest!” replied Abbé Rose, “ah! my dear child, +every case is worthy of interest. And when it’s a question of old toilers +without work the only trouble is that of selection, the anguish of +choosing one and leaving so many others in distress.” Nevertheless, +painful though his scruples were, he strove to think and come to some +decision. “I know the case which will suit you,” he said at last. “It’s +certainly one of the greatest suffering and wretchedness; and, so humble +a one, too--an old carpenter of seventy-five, who has been living on +public charity during the eight or ten years that he has been unable to +find 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 for +weeks together. We shall have to look for him at once. I think that he +sleeps at the Night Refuge in the Rue d’Orsel when lack of room there +doesn’t force him to spend the night crouching behind some palings. Shall +we go down the Rue d’Orsel this evening?” + +Abbé Rose’s eyes beamed brightly as he spoke, for this proposal of his +signified a great debauch, the tasting of forbidden fruit. He had been +reproached so often and so roughly with his visits to those who had +fallen to the deepest want and misery, that in spite of his overflowing, +apostolic compassion, he now scarcely dared to go near them. However, he +continued: “Is it agreed, my child? Only this once? Besides, it is our +only means of finding the big Old’un. You won’t have to stop with me +later than eleven. And I should so like to show you all that! You will +see what terrible sufferings there are! And perhaps we may be fortunate +enough to relieve some poor creature or other.” + +Pierre smiled at the juvenile ardour displayed by this old man with snowy +hair. “It’s agreed, my dear Abbé,” he responded, “I shall be very pleased +to spend my whole evening with you, for I feel it will do me good to +follow you once more on one of those rambles which used to fill our +hearts with grief and joy.” + +At this moment the servant brought in the soup; however, just as the two +priests were taking their seats a discreet ring was heard, and when Abbé +Rose learnt that the visitor was a neighbour, Madame Mathis, who had come +for an answer, he gave orders that she should be shown in. + +“This poor woman,” he explained to Pierre, “needed an advance of ten +francs to get a mattress out of pawn; and I didn’t have the money by me +at the time. But I’ve since procured it. She lives in the house, you +know, in silent poverty, on so small an income that it hardly keeps her +in bread.” + +“But hasn’t she a big son of twenty?” asked Pierre, suddenly remembering +the 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, at +Nantes; and who ran away with her and brought her to Paris, where he +died. It was quite a doleful love-story. By selling the furniture and +realising every little thing she possessed, she scraped together an +income of about two thousand francs a year, with which she was able to +send her son to college and live decently herself. But a fresh blow fell +on her: she lost the greater part of her little fortune, which was +invested in doubtful securities. So now her income amounts at the utmost +to 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 on +her, 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 the +anxious timidity of a poor creature whom the storms of life perpetually +assailed. When Abbé Rose had handed her the ten francs discreetly wrapped +in paper, she blushed and thanked him, promising to pay him back as soon +as she received her month’s money, for she was not a beggar and did not +wish to encroach on the share of those who starved. + +“And your son, Victor, has he found any employment?” asked the old +priest. + +She hesitated, ignorant as she was of what her son might be doing, for +now she did not see him for weeks together. And finally, she contented +herself with answering: “He has a good heart, he is very fond of me. It +is a great misfortune that we should have been ruined before he could +enter the École Normale. It was impossible for him to prepare for the +examination. But at the Lycée he was such a diligent and intelligent +pupil!” + +“You lost your husband when your son was ten years old, did you not?” + said Abbé Rose. + +At this she blushed again, thinking that her husband’s story was known to +the 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 had +the misfortune to wound a police officer. He had also fought at the time +of the Commune. And yet he was a very gentle man and extremely fond of +me.” + +Tears had risen to her eyes; and Abbé Rose, much touched, dismissed her: +“Well, let us hope that your son will give you satisfaction, and be able +to repay you for all you have done for him.” + +With a gesture of infinite sorrow, Madame Mathis discreetly withdrew. She +was quite ignorant of her son’s doings, but fate had pursued her so +relentlessly that she ever trembled. + +“I don’t think that the poor woman has much to expect from her son,” said +Pierre, when she had gone. “I only saw him once, but the gleam in his +eyes was as harsh and trenchant as that of a knife.” + +“Do you think so?” the old priest exclaimed, with his kindly _naïveté_. +“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 sit +down to table, for the soup will be cold.” + +Almost at the same hour, on the other side of Paris, night had in like +fashion slowly fallen in the drawing-room of the Countess de Quinsac, on +the dismal, silent ground-floor of an old mansion in the Rue St. +Dominique. The Countess was there, alone with her faithful friend, the +Marquis de Morigny, she on one side, and he on the other side of the +chimney-piece, where the last embers of the wood fire were dying out. The +servant had not yet brought the lamp, and the Countess refrained from +ringing, finding some relief from her anxiety in the falling darkness, +which hid from view all the unconfessed thoughts that she was afraid of +showing 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 the +silence of the slumberous past, that she dared to speak. + +“Yes, my friend,” she said, “I am not satisfied with Gérard’s health. You +will see him yourself, for he promised to come home early and dine with +me. Oh! I’m well aware that he looks big and strong; but to know him +properly one must have nursed and watched him as I have done! What +trouble I had to rear him! In reality he is at the mercy of any petty +ailment. His slightest complaint becomes serious illness. And the life he +leads 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, of +whose delicate profile, and lofty yet loving bearing, little could be +seen in the gloom. “As he was unable to endure military life, and as even +the fatigues of diplomacy frighten you, what would you have him do? He +can only live apart pending the final collapse, while this abominable +Republic is dragging France to the grave.” + +“No doubt, my friend. And yet it is just that idle life which frightens +me. He is losing in it all that was good and healthy in him. I don’t +refer merely to the _liaisons_ which we have had to tolerate. The last +one, which I found so much difficulty in countenancing at the outset, so +contrary did it seem to all my ideas and beliefs, has since seemed to me +to exercise almost a good influence. Only he is now entering his +thirty-sixth year, and can he continue living in this fashion without +object or duties? If he is ailing it is perhaps precisely because he does +nothing, holds no position, and serves no purpose.” Her voice again +quavered. “And then, my friend, since you force me to tell you +everything, I must own that I am not in good health myself. I have had +several 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, and +wished to take hold of her hands. “You! what, am I to lose you, my last +affection!” he faltered, “I who have seen the old world I belong to +crumble away, I who only live in the hope that you at all events will +still be here to close my eyes!” + +But she begged him not to increase her grief: “No, no, don’t take my +hands, don’t kiss them! Remain there in the shade, where I can scarcely +see you.... We have loved one another so long without aught to cause +shame or regret; and that will prove our strength--our divine +strength--till we reach the grave.... And if you were to touch me, if +I were to feel you too near me I could not finish, for I have not done so +yet.” + +As soon as he had relapsed into silence and immobility, she continued: +“If I were to die to-morrow, Gérard would not even find here the little +fortune which he still fancies is in my hands. The dear child has often +cost me large sums of money without apparently being conscious of it. I +ought 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 now +understand in what anguish I live? I ever have the thought that if I die +Gérard will not even possess enough to live on, for he is incapable of +effecting the miracle which I renew each day, in order to keep the house +up on a decent footing.... Ah! I know him, so supine, so sickly, in +spite 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 dire +distress?” + +Then her tears flowed freely, her heart opened and bled, for she foresaw +what must happen after her death: the collapse of her race and of a whole +world in the person of that big child. And the Marquis, still motionless +but distracted, feeling that he had no title to offer his own fortune, +suddenly understood her, foresaw in what disgrace this fresh disaster +would culminate. + +“Ah! my poor friend!” he said at last in a voice trembling with revolt +and grief. “So you have agreed to that marriage--yes, that abominable +marriage with that woman’s daughter! Yet you swore it should never be! +You would rather witness the collapse of everything, you said. And now +you are consenting, I can feel it!” + +She still wept on in that black, silent drawing-room before the +chimney-piece where the fire had died out. Did not Gérard’s marriage to +Camille mean a happy ending for herself, a certainty of leaving her son +wealthy, loved, and seated at the banquet of life? However, a last +feeling of rebellion arose within her. + +“No, no,” she exclaimed, “I don’t consent, I swear to you that I don’t +consent as yet. I am fighting with my whole strength, waging an incessant +battle, the torture of which you cannot imagine.” + +Then, in all sincerity, she foresaw the likelihood of defeat. “If I +should 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 be +the 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 his +side also, expected nothing but the supreme collapse. Yet how +heartrending was the thought that this noble woman, so dearly and so +purely loved, would prove one of the most mournful victims of the +catastrophe! And in the shrouding gloom he found courage to kneel before +her, take her hand, and kiss it. + +Just as the servant was at last bringing a lighted lamp Gérard made his +appearance. The past-century charm of the old Louis XVI. drawing-room, +with its pale woodwork, again became apparent in the soft light. In order +that his mother might not be over-saddened by his failure to dine with +her that evening the young man had put on an air of brisk gaiety; and +when he had explained that some friends were waiting for him, she at once +released 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 too +much.... I am going to keep Morigny; and the General and Larombière +are coming at nine o’clock. So be easy, I shall have someone with me to +keep me from fretting and feeling lonely.” + +In this wise Gérard after sitting down for a moment and chatting with the +Marquis was able to slip away, dress, and betake himself to the Cafe +Anglais. + +When he reached it women in fur cloaks were already climbing the stairs, +fashionable and merry parties were filling the private rooms, the +electric lights shone brilliantly, and the walls were already vibrating +with the stir of pleasure and debauchery. In the room which Baron +Duvillard had engaged the young man found an extraordinary display, the +most superb flowers, and a profusion of plate and crystal as for a royal +gala. 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 rarest +and most expensive things that could be selected. + +“It’s stylish, isn’t it?” exclaimed Silviane, who was already there with +Duvillard, Fonsègue and Duthil. “I just wanted to make your influential +critic open his eyes a little! When one treats a journalist to such a +dinner as this, he has got to be amiable, hasn’t he?” + +In her desire to conquer, it had occurred to the young woman to array +herself in the most amazing fashion. Her gown of yellow satin, covered +with old Alençon lace, was cut low at the neck; and she had put on all +her diamonds, a necklace, a diadem, shoulder-knots, bracelets and rings. +With her candid, girlish face, she looked like some Virgin in a missal, a +Queen-Virgin, laden with the offerings of all Christendom. + +“Well, well, you look so pretty,” said Gérard, who sometimes jested with +her, “that I think it will do all the same.” + +“Ah!” she replied with equanimity. “You consider me a _bourgeoise_, I +see. Your opinion is that a simple little dinner and a modest gown would +have shown better taste. But ah! my dear fellow, you don’t know the way +to get round men!” + +Duvillard signified his approval, for he was delighted to be able to show +her in all her glory, adorned like an idol. Fonsègue, for his part, +talked of diamonds, saying that they were now doubtful investments, as +the day when they would become articles of current manufacture was fast +approaching, thanks to the electrical furnace and other inventions. +Meantime Duthil, with an air of ecstasy and the dainty gestures of a +lady’s maid, hovered around the young woman, either smoothing a +rebellious 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 while +apologising, he expressed his regret that he should be obliged to leave +at half-past nine, for he was absolutely compelled to put in an +appearance at a little theatre in the Rue Pigalle. He was a big fellow of +fifty with broad shoulders and a full, bearded face. His most +disagreeable characteristic was the narrow dogmatic pedantry which he had +acquired at the École Normale, and had never since been able to shake +off. All his herculean efforts to be sceptical and frivolous, and the +twenty years he had spent in Paris mingling with every section of +society, had failed to rid him of it. _Magister_ he was, and _magister_ +he remained, even in his most strenuous flights of imagination and +audacity. From the moment of his arrival he tried to show himself +enraptured with Silviane. Naturally enough, he already knew her by sight, +and had even criticised her on one occasion in five or six contemptuous +lines. However, the sight of her there, in full beauty, clad like a +queen, and presented by four influential protectors, filled him with +emotion; and he was struck with the idea that nothing would be more +Parisian and less pedantic than to assert she had some talent and give +her his support. + +They had seated themselves at table, and the repast proved a magnificent +one, the service ever prompt and assiduous, an attendant being allotted +to each diner. While the flowers scattered their perfumes through the +room, and the plate and crystal glittered on the snowy cloth, an +abundance of delicious and unexpected dishes were handed round--a +sturgeon from Russia, prohibited game, truffles as big as eggs, and +hothouse vegetables and fruit as full of flavour as if they had been +naturally matured. It was money flung out of window, simply for the +pleasure of wasting more than other people, and eating what they could +not procure. The influential critic, though he displayed the ease of a +man accustomed to every sort of festivity, really felt astonished at it +all, and became servile, promising his support, and pledging himself far +more 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. The +conversation had now turned on Corneille’s “Polyeucte” and the part of +“Pauline,” in which Silviane wished to make her _début_ at the Comédie +Française. This extraordinary caprice, which had quite revolted the +influential critic a week previously, now seemed to him simply a bold +enterprise in which the young woman might even prove victorious if she +consented to listen to his advice. And, once started, he delivered quite +a lecture on the past, asserting that no actress had ever yet understood +it properly, for at the outset Pauline was simply a well-meaning little +creature of the middle classes, and the beauty of her conversion at the +finish arose from the working of a miracle, a stroke of heavenly grace +which endowed her with something divine. This was not the opinion of +Silviane, who from the first lines regarded Pauline as the ideal heroine +of some symbolical legend. However, as the critic talked on and on, she +had to feign approval; and he was delighted at finding her so beautiful +and docile beneath his ferule. At last, as ten o’clock was striking, he +rose 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 of +yours! 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 for +the fact that I have some need of him. Ah! no, it’s too idiotic! Pour me +out a glass of champagne. I want something to set me right after all +that!” + +The _fête_ then took quite an intimate turn between the four men who +remained and that bare-armed, bare-breasted girl, covered with diamonds; +while from the neighbouring passages and rooms came bursts of laughter +and sounds of kissing, all the stir and mirth of the debauchery now +filling the house. And beneath the windows torrents of vehicles and +pedestrians streamed along the Boulevards where reigned the wild fever of +pleasure and harlotry. + +“No, don’t open it, or I shall catch cold!” resumed Silviane, addressing +Fonsègue as he stepped towards the window. “Are you so very warm, then? +I’m just comfortable.... But, Duvillard, my good fellow, please order +some more champagne. It’s wonderful what a thirst your critic has given +me!” + +Amidst the blinding glare of the lamps and the perfume of the flowers and +wines, one almost stifled in the room. And Silviane was seized with an +irresistible desire for a spree, a desire to tipple and amuse herself in +some vulgar fashion, as in her bygone days. A few glasses of champagne +brought her to full pitch, and she showed the boldest and giddiest +gaiety. The others, who had never before seen her so lively, began on +their own side to feel amused. As Fonsègue was obliged to go to his +office she embraced him “like a daughter,” as she expressed it. However, +on remaining alone with the others she indulged in great freedom of +speech, which became more and more marked as her intoxication increased. +And to the class of men with whom she consorted her great attraction, as +she was well aware, lay in the circumstance that with her virginal +countenance and her air of ideal purity was coupled the most monstrous +perversity ever displayed by any shameless woman. Despite her innocent +blue eyes and lily-like candour, she would give rein, particularly when +she was drunk, to the most diabolical of fancies. + +Duvillard let her drink on, but she guessed his thoughts, like she +guessed those of the others, and simply smiled while concocting +impossible stories and descanting fantastically in the language of the +gutter. And seeing her there in her dazzling gown fit for a queenly +virgin, and hearing her pour forth the vilest words, they thought her +most wonderfully droll. However, when she had drunk as much champagne as +she 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 stop +here. It’s so precious slow! You shall take me to the Chamber of +Horrors--eh? just to finish the evening. I want to hear Legras sing ‘La +Chemise,’ that song which all Paris is running to hear him sing.” + +But Duvillard indignantly rebelled: “Oh! no,” said he; “most certainly +not. It’s a vile song and I’ll never take you to such an abominable +place.” + +But she did not appear to hear him. She had already staggered to her feet +and was arranging her hair before a looking-glass. “I used to live at +Montmartre,” 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! ever +so long ago! Come, up you get, and let us be off!” + +“But, my dear girl,” pleaded Duvillard, “we can’t take you into that den +dressed as you are! Just fancy your entering that place in a low-necked +gown and covered with diamonds! Why everyone would jeer at us! Come, +Gérard, just tell her to be a little reasonable.” + +Gérard, equally offended by the idea of such a freak, was quite willing +to intervene. But she closed his mouth with her gloved hand and repeated +with the gay obstinacy of intoxication: “Pooh, it will be all the more +amusing 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 a +man of pleasure whom nothing astonishes or displeases, gallantly took her +part. “But, my dear Baron, everybody goes to the Chamber of Horrors,” + said he. “Why, I myself have taken the noblest ladies there, and +precisely to hear that song of Legras, which is no worse than anything +else.” + +“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 his +honorability!” + +Then, as Duvillard still struggled on in despair at the idea of +exhibiting himself with her in such a scandalous place, she became all +the merrier: “Well, my dear fellow, please yourself. I don’t need you. +You and Gérard can go home if you like. But I’m going to Montmartre with +Duthil. You’ll take charge of me, won’t you, Duthil, eh?” + +Still, the Baron was in no wise disposed to let the evening finish in +that fashion. The mere idea of it gave him a shock, and he had to resign +himself to the girl’s stubborn caprice. The only consolation he could +think of was to secure Gérard’s presence, for the young man, with some +lingering sense of decorum, still obstinately refused to make one of the +party. So the Baron took his hands and detained him, repeating in urgent +tones that he begged him to come as an essential mark of friendship. And +at last the wife’s lover and daughter’s suitor had to give way to the man +who was the former’s husband and the latter’s father. + +Silviane was immensely amused by it all, and, indiscreetly thee-ing and +thou-ing Gérard, suggested that he at least owed the Baron some little +compliance with his wishes. + +Duvillard pretended not to hear her. He was listening to Duthil, who told +him 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, as +Silviane’s carriage--a large closed landau, whose coachman, a sturdy, +handsome fellow, sat waiting impassively on his box--was down below, they +started off. + +The Chamber of Horrors was installed in premises on the Boulevard de +Rochechouart, formerly occupied by a café whose proprietor had become +bankrupt.* It was a suffocating place, narrow, irregular, with all sorts +of twists, turns, and secluded nooks, and a low and smoky ceiling. And +nothing could have been more rudimentary than its decorations. The walls +had simply been placarded with posters of violent hues, some of the +crudest character, showing the barest of female figures. Behind a piano +at one end there was a little platform reached by a curtained doorway. +For the rest, one simply found a number of bare wooden forms set +alongside the veriest pot-house tables, on which the glasses containing +various beverages left round and sticky marks. There was no luxury, no +artistic feature, no cleanliness even. Globeless gas burners flared +freely, heating a dense mist compounded of tobacco smoke and human +breath. Perspiring, apoplectical faces could be perceived through this +veil, and an acrid odour increased the intoxication of the assembly, +which excited itself with louder and louder shouts at each fresh song. It +had been sufficient for an enterprising fellow to set up these boards, +bring out Legras, accompanied by two or three girls, make him sing his +frantic and abominable songs, and in two or three evenings overwhelming +success had come, all Paris being enticed and flocking to the place, +which for ten years or so had failed to pay as a mere café, where by way +of amusement petty cits had been simply allowed their daily games at +dominoes. + + * 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 irresistible +attraction exercised by all that brought opprobrium and disgust. The +Paris of enjoyment, the _bourgeoisie_ which held all wealth and power, +which would relinquish naught of either, though it was surfeited and +gradually wearying of both, simply hastened to the place in order that +obscenity 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 what +a frightful symptom there lay in it all: those condemned ones rushing +upon dirt of their own accord, voluntarily hastening their own +decomposition by that unquenchable thirst for the vile, which attracted +men, reputed to be grave and upright, and lovely women of the most +perfect grace and luxury, to all the beastliness of that low den! + +At one of the tables nearest the stage sat little Princess Rosemonde de +Harn, with wild eyes and quivering nostrils, delighted as she felt at now +being 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 to +refrain from any marked expression of boredom. At a neighbouring table +they had found a shadowy Spaniard of their acquaintance, a so-called +Bourse jobber, Bergaz, who had been introduced to the Princess by Janzen, +and usually attended her entertainments. They virtually knew nothing +about him, not even if he really earned at the Bourse all the money which +he sometimes spent so lavishly, and which enabled him to dress with +affected elegance. His slim, lofty figure was not without a certain air +of distinction, but his red lips spoke of strong passions and his bright +eyes were those of a beast of prey. That evening he had two young fellows +with him, one Rossi, a short, swarthy Italian, who had come to Paris as a +painter’s model, and had soon glided into the lazy life of certain +disreputable callings, and the other, Sanfaute, a born Parisian +blackguard, a pale, beardless, vicious and impudent stripling of La +Chapelle, whose long curly hair fell down upon either side of his bony +cheeks. + +“Oh! pray now!” feverishly said Rosemonde to Bergaz; “as you seem to know +all these horrid people, just show me some of the celebrities. Aren’t +there some thieves and murderers among them?” + +He laughed shrilly, and in a bantering way replied: “But you know these +people well enough, madame. That pretty, pink, delicate-looking woman +over 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 brunette +who shows such queenly dignity, is a Countess, whose carriage passes +yours every day in the Bois. And the thin one yonder, whose eyes glitter +like 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, those +of the lower classes, those whom one comes to see.” + +Then she went on asking questions, and seeking for terrifying and +mysterious countenances. At last, two men seated in a corner ended by +attracting her attention; one of them a very young fellow with a pale, +pinched face, and the other an ageless individual who, besides being +buttoned up to his neck in an old coat, had pulled his cap so low over +his eyes, that one saw little of his face beyond the beard which fringed +it. Before these two stood a couple of mugs of beer, which they drank +slowly and in silence. + +“You are making a great mistake, my dear,” said Hyacinthe with a frank +laugh, “if you are looking for brigands in disguise. That poor fellow +with the pale face, who surely doesn’t have food to eat every day, was my +schoolfellow at Condorcet!” + +Bergaz expressed his amazement. “What! you knew Mathis at Condorcet! +After all, though, you’re right, he received a college education. Ah! and +so you knew him. A very remarkable young man he is, though want is +throttling him. But, I say, the other one, his companion, you don’t know +him?” + +Hyacinthe, after looking at the man with the cap-hidden face, was already +shaking his head, when Bergaz suddenly gave him a nudge as a signal to +keep quiet, and by way of explanation he muttered: “Hush! Here’s +Raphanel. I’ve been distrusting him for some time past. Whenever he +appears anywhere, the police is not far off.” + +Raphanel was another of the vague, mysterious Anarchists whom Janzen had +presented to the Princess by way of satisfying her momentary passion for +revolutionism. This one, though he was a fat, gay, little man, with a +doll-like face and childish nose, which almost disappeared between his +puffy cheeks, had the reputation of being a thorough desperado; and at +public meetings he certainly shouted for fire and murder with all his +lungs. Still, although he had already been compromised in various +affairs, he had invariably managed to save his own bacon, whilst his +companions were kept under lock and key; and this they were now beginning +to think somewhat singular. + +He at once shook hands with the Princess in a jovial way, took a seat +near her without being invited, and forthwith denounced the dirty +_bourgeoisie_ which came to wallow in places of ill fame. Rosemonde was +delighted, and encouraged him, but others near by began to get angry, and +Bergaz examined him with his piercing eyes, like a man of energy who +acts, and lets others talk. Now and then, too, he exchanged quick glances +of intelligence with his silent lieutenants, Sanfaute and Rossi, who +plainly belonged to him, both body and soul. They were the ones who found +their 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 the +Pavement,” two female vocalists had followed one another on the stage, +the first fat and the second thin, one chirruping some silly love songs +with an under-current of dirt, and the other shouting the coarsest of +refrains, in a most violent, fighting voice. She had just finished amidst +a storm of bravos, when the assembly, stirred to merriment and eager for +a laugh, suddenly exploded once more. Silviane was entering the little +box 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 yellow +satin 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 soon +as Duvillard, Gérard and Duthil also showed themselves, looking very +serious and dignified with their white ties and spreading shirt fronts. + +“We told you so!” muttered Duvillard, who was much annoyed with the +affair, while Gérard tried to conceal himself in a dim corner. + +She, however, smiling and enchanted, faced the public, accepting the +storm with the candid bearing of a foolish virgin, much as one inhales +the 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, its +atmosphere was her native air. + +“Well, what of it?” she said replying to the Baron who wanted her to sit +down. “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 set +himself at his ease. “Silviane is right, people naturally like a laugh +now and then!” + +Amidst the uproar, which did not cease, little Princess Rosemonde rose +enthusiastically to get a better view. “Why, it’s your father who’s with +that woman Silviane,” she said to Hyacinthe. “Just look at them! Well, he +certainly has plenty of bounce to show himself here with her!” + +Hyacinthe, however, refused to look. It didn’t interest him, his father +was an idiot, only a child would lose his head over a girl in that +fashion. And with his contempt for woman the young man became positively +insulting. + +“You try my nerves, my dear fellow,” said Rosemonde as she sat down. “You +are the child with your silly ideas about us. And as for your father, he +does quite right to love that girl. I find her very pretty indeed, quite +adorable!” + +Then all at once the uproar ceased, those who had risen resumed their +seats, and the only sound was that of the feverish throb which coursed +through the assembly. Legras had just appeared on the platform. He was a +pale sturdy fellow with a round and carefully shaven face, stern eyes, +and the powerful jaws of a man who compels the adoration of women by +terrorising them. He was not deficient in talent, he sang true, and his +ringing voice was one of extraordinary penetration and pathetic power. +And his _répertoire_, his “Flowers of the Pavement,” completed the +explanation of his success; for all the foulness and suffering of the +lower spheres, the whole abominable sore of the social hell created by +the rich, shrieked aloud in these songs in words of filth and fire and +blood. + +A prelude was played on the piano, and Legras standing there in his +velvet jacket sang “La Chemise,” the horrible song which brought all +Paris to hear him. All the lust and vice that crowd the streets of the +great city appeared with their filth and their poison; and amid the +picture of Woman stripped, degraded, ill-treated, dragged through the +mire and cast into a cesspool, there rang out the crime of the +_bourgeoisie_. But the scorching insult of it all was less in the words +themselves than in the manner in which Legras cast them in the faces of +the rich, the happy, the beautiful ladies who came to listen to him. +Under the low ceiling, amidst the smoke from the pipes, in the blinding +glare of the gas, he sent his lines flying through the assembly like +expectorations, projected by a whirlwind of furious contempt. And when he +had finished there came delirium; the beautiful ladies did not even think +of wiping away the many affronts they had received, but applauded +frantically. The whole assembly stamped and shouted, and wallowed, +distracted, in its ignominy. + +“Bravo! bravo!” the little Princess repeated in her shrill voice. “It’s +astonishing, astonishing, prodigious!” + +And Silviane, whose intoxication seemed to have increased since she had +been there, in the depths of that fiery furnace, made herself +particularly conspicuous by the manner in which she clapped her hands and +shouted: “It’s he, it’s my Legras! I really must kiss him, he’s pleased +me so much!” + +Duvillard, now fairly exasperated, wished to take her off by force. But +she clung to the hand-rest of the box, and shouted yet more loudly, +though without any show of temper. It became necessary to parley with +her. 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. “Go +and wait for me in the carriage!” she said, “I will be with you in a +moment.” + +Just as the assembly was at last becoming calmer, Rosemonde perceived +that the box was emptying; and her own curiosity being satisfied, she +thought of prevailing on Hyacinthe to see her home. He, who had listened +to Legras in a languid way without even applauding, was now talking of +Norway with Bergaz, who pretended that he had travelled in the North. Oh! +the fiords! oh! the ice-bound lakes! oh! the pure lily-white, chaste +coldness of the eternal winter! It was only amid such surroundings, said +Hyacinthe, that he could understand woman and love, like a kiss of the +very snow itself. + +“Shall we go off there to-morrow?” exclaimed the Princess with her +vivacious effrontery. “I’ll shut up my house and slip the key under the +door.” + +Then she added that she was jesting, of course. But Bergaz knew her to be +quite capable of such a freak; and at the idea that she might shut up her +little mansion and perhaps leave it unprotected he exchanged a quick +glance with Sanfaute and Rossi, who still smiled in silence. Ah! what an +opportunity for a fine stroke! What an opportunity to get back some of +the wealth of the community appropriated by the blackguard _bourgeoisie_! + +Meantime Raphanel, after applauding Legras, was looking all round the +place with his little grey, sharp eyes. And at last young Mathis and his +companion, the ill-clad individual, of whose face only a scrap of beard +could be seen, attracted his attention. They had neither laughed nor +applauded; they seemed to be simply a couple of tired fellows who were +resting, and in whose opinion one is best hidden in the midst of a crowd. + +All at once, though, Raphanel turned towards Bergaz: “That’s surely +little Mathis over yonder. But who’s that with him?” + +Bergaz made an evasive gesture; he did not know. Still, he no longer took +his eyes from Raphanel. And he saw the other feign indifference at what +followed, and finish his beer and take his leave, with the jesting remark +that 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 and +jostled people in order to reach little Mathis, into whose ear he +whispered a few words. And the young man at once left his table, taking +his companion and pushing him outside through an occasional exit. It was +all so rapidly accomplished that none of the general public paid +attention to the flight. + +“What is it?” said the Princess to Bergaz, when he had quietly resumed +his seat between Rossi and Sanfaute. + +“Oh! nothing, I merely wished to shake hands with Mathis as he was going +off.” + +Thereupon Rosemonde announced that she meant to do the same. +Nevertheless, she lingered a moment longer and again spoke of Norway on +perceiving that nothing could impassion Hyacinthe except the idea of the +eternal snow, the intense, purifying cold of the polar regions. In his +poem on the “End of Woman,” a composition of some thirty lines, which he +hoped he should never finish, he thought of introducing a forest of +frozen pines by way of final scene. Now the Princess had risen and was +gaily reverting to her jest, declaring that she meant to take him home to +drink a cup of tea and arrange their trip to the Pole, when an +involuntary exclamation fell from Bergaz, who, while listening, had kept +his eyes on the doorway. + +“Mondésir! I was sure of it!” + +There had appeared at the entrance a short, sinewy, broad-backed little +man, about whose round face, bumpy forehead, and snub nose there was +considerable military roughness. One might have thought him a +non-commissioned officer in civilian attire. He gazed over the whole +room, and seemed at once dismayed and disappointed. + +Bergaz, however, wishing to account for his exclamation, resumed in an +easy 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 Mondésir, +who had some trouble when he was in the army. Just look at him, sniffing +like a dog that has lost scent! Well, well, my brave fellow, if you’ve +been told of any game you may look and look for it, the bird’s flown +already!” + +Once outside, when Rosemonde had prevailed on Hyacinthe to see her home, +they hastened to get into the brougham, which was waiting for them, for +near at hand they perceived Silviane’s landau, with the majestic coachman +motionless on his box, while Duvillard, Gérard, and Duthil still stood +waiting on the curbstone. They had been there for nearly twenty minutes +already, in the semi-darkness of that outer boulevard, where all the +vices of the poor districts of Paris were on the prowl. They had been +jostled by drunkards; and shadowy women brushed against them as they went +by whispering beneath the oaths and blows of bullies. And there were +couples seeking the darkness under the trees, and lingering on the +benches there; while all around were low taverns and dirty lodging-houses +and places of ill-fame. All the human degradation which till break of day +swarms in the black mud of this part of Paris, enveloped the three men, +giving them the horrors, and yet neither the Baron nor Gérard nor Duthil +was willing to go off. Each hoped that he would tire out the others, and +take 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 it +would never finish. But an unexpected meeting gave them momentary +occupation. A shadowy form, something which seemed to be a thin, +black-skirted woman, brushed against them. And all of a sudden they were +surprised to find it was a priest. + +“What, is it you, Monsieur l’Abbé Froment?” exclaimed Gérard. “At this +time of night? And in this part of Paris?” + +Thereupon Pierre, without venturing either to express his own +astonishment at finding them there themselves, or to ask them what they +were doing, explained that he had been belated through accompanying Abbé +Rose on a visit to a night refuge. Ah! to think of all the frightful want +which at last drifted to those pestilential dormitories where the stench +had almost made him faint! To think of all the weariness and despair +which there sank into the slumber of utter prostration, like that of +beasts falling to the ground to sleep off the abominations of life! No +name could be given to the promiscuity; poverty and suffering were there +in heaps, children and men, young and old, beggars in sordid rags, beside +the shameful poor in threadbare frock-coats, all the waifs and strays of +the daily shipwrecks of Paris life, all the laziness and vice, and +ill-luck and injustice which the torrent rolls on, and throws off like +scum. Some slept on, quite annihilated, with the faces of corpses. +Others, lying on their backs with mouths agape, snored loudly as if still +venting 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 those +human beings, stretched there like wounded after a battle, from all that +ambulance of life reeking with a stench of rottenness and death, there +ascended a nausea born of revolt, the vengeance-prompting thought of all +the happy chambers where, at that same hour, the wealthy loved or rested +in fine linen and costly lace.* + + * Even the oldest Paris night refuges, which are the outcome + of private philanthropy--L’Œuvre de l’Hospitalité 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 Abbé Rose passed all the poor wretches in review +while seeking the big Old’un, the former carpenter, so as to rescue him +from the cesspool of misery, and send him to the Asylum on the very +morrow. He had presented himself at the refuge that evening, but there +was no room left, for, horrible to say, even the shelter of that hell +could only be granted to early comers. And so he must now be leaning +against a wall, or lying behind some palings. This had greatly distressed +poor Abbé Rose and Pierre, but it was impossible for them to search every +dark, suspicious corner; and so the former had returned to the Rue +Cortot, while the latter was seeking a cab to convey him back to Neuilly. + +The fine drizzling rain was still falling and becoming almost icy, when +Silviane’s coachman, Jules, at last reappeared and interrupted the +priest, who was telling the Baron and the others how his visit to the +refuge still made him shudder. + +“Well, Jules--and madame?” asked Duvillard, quite anxious at seeing the +coachman return alone. + +Impassive and respectful, with no other sign of irony than a slight +involuntary twist of the lips, Jules answered: “Madame sends word that +she is not going home; and she places her carriage at the gentlemen’s +disposal if they will allow me to drive them home.” + +This was the last straw, and the Baron flew into a passion. To have +allowed her to drag him to that vile den, to have waited there hopefully +so 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 for +her abominable conduct! Then he stopped a passing cab and pushed Gérard +inside it saying, “You can set me down at my door.” + +“But she’s left us the carriage!” shouted Duthil, who was already +consoled, 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 as +you like, you know.” + +For his part he gaily climbed into the landau and drove off lounging on +the cushions, while the Baron, in the jolting old cab, vented his rage +without a word of interruption from Gérard, whose face was hidden by the +darkness. To think of it! that she, whom he had overwhelmed with gifts, +who had already cost him two millions of francs, should in this fashion +insult 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 drew +a long breath like a man released from the galleys. + +For a moment Pierre watched the two vehicles go off; and then took his +own way under the trees, so as to shelter himself from the rain until a +vacant cab should pass. Full of distress and battling thoughts he had +begun to feel icy cold. The whole monstrous night of Paris, all the +debauchery and woe that sobbed around him made him shiver. Phantom-like +women 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 ever +wandering past him in search of bread, when suddenly a shadowy form +grazed him, and a voice murmured in his ear: “Warn your brother, the +police 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 upon +it, Pierre thought that he recognised the pale, pinched face of Victor +Mathis. And at the same time, yonder in Abbé Rose’s peaceful dining-room, +he fancied he could again see the gentle face of Madame Mathis, so sad +and so resigned, living on solely by the force of the last trembling hope +which she had unhappily set in her son. + + + + +III. PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT + +ALREADY at eight o’clock on that holiday-making mid-Lent Thursday, when +all the offices of the Home Department were empty, Monferrand, the +Minister, 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 of +emotions. The “Voix du Peuple,” which on the previous day had revived the +African Railway scandal, by accusing Barroux of having pocketed 20,000 +francs, had that morning published its long-promised list of the +bribe-taking senators and deputies. And at the head of this list +Monferrand had found his own name set down against a sum of 80,000 +francs, while Fonsègue was credited with 50,000. Then a fifth of the +latter amount was said to have been Duthil’s share, and Chaigneux had +contented himself with the beggarly sum of 3,000 francs--the lowest price +paid for any one vote, the cost of each of the others ranging from 5 to +20,000. + +It must be said that there was no anger in Monferrand’s emotion. Only he +had never thought that Sagnier would carry his passion for uproar and +scandal so far as to publish this list--a page which was said to have +been torn from a memorandum book belonging to Duvillard’s agent, Hunter, +and which was covered with incomprehensible hieroglyphics that ought to +have been discussed and explained, if, indeed, the real truth was to be +arrived at. Personally, Monferrand felt quite at ease, for he had written +nothing, signed nothing, and knew that one could always extricate oneself +from a mess by showing some audacity, and never confessing. Nevertheless, +what a commotion it would all cause in the parliamentary duck-pond. He at +once realised the inevitable consequences, the ministry overthrown and +swept away by this fresh whirlwind of denunciation and tittle-tattle. +Mège would renew his interpellation on the morrow, and Vignon and his +friends would at once lay siege to the posts they coveted. And he, +Monferrand, could picture himself driven out of that ministerial sanctum +where, for eight months past, he had been taking his ease, not with any +foolish vainglory, but with the pleasure of feeling that he was in his +proper place as a born ruler, who believed he could tame and lead the +multitude. + +Having thrown the newspapers aside with a disdainful gesture, he rose and +stretched himself, growling the while like a plagued lion. And then he +began to walk up and down the spacious room, which showed all the faded +official luxury of mahogany furniture and green damask hangings. Stepping +to and fro, with his hands behind his back, he no longer wore his usual +fatherly, good-natured air. He appeared as he really was, a born +wrestler, short, but broad shouldered, with sensual mouth, fleshy nose +and stern eyes, that all proclaimed him to be unscrupulous, of iron will +and fit for the greatest tasks. Still, in this case, in what direction +lay his best course? Must he let himself be dragged down with Barroux? +Perhaps his personal position was not absolutely compromised? And yet how +could he part company from the others, swim ashore, and save himself +while they were being drowned? It was a grave problem, and with his +frantic desire to retain power, he made desperate endeavours to devise +some suitable manœuvre. + +But he could think of nothing, and began to swear at the virtuous fits of +that silly Republic, which, in his opinion, rendered all government +impossible. To think of such foolish fiddle-faddle stopping a man of his +acumen and strength! How on earth can one govern men if one is denied the +use of money, that sovereign means of sway? And he laughed bitterly; for +the idea of an idyllic country where all great enterprises would be +carried out in an absolutely honest manner seemed to him the height of +absurdity. + +At last, however, unable as he was to come to a determination, it +occurred 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 to +purchase Sagnier’s silence. At first he thought of sending the Baron a +brief note by a messenger; but he disliked committing anything to paper, +for the veriest scrap of writing may prove dangerous; so he preferred to +employ the telephone which had been installed for his private use near +his writing-table. + +“It is Baron Duvillard who is speaking to me?... Quite so. It’s I, the +Minister, Monsieur Monferrand. I shall be much obliged if you will come +to 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 was +as clever a man as himself, and might be able to give him an idea. And he +was still laboriously trying to devise some scheme, when the usher +entered saying that Monsieur Gascogne, the Chief of the Detective Police, +particularly wished to speak to him. Monferrand’s first thought was that +the Prefecture of Police desired to know his views respecting the steps +which ought to be taken to ensure public order that day; for two mid-Lent +processions--one of the Washerwomen and the other of the Students--were +to 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, then +stepped into the ministerial sanctum. Fully acquainted with the +under-currents of Paris life, this Chief of the Detective Force had a +cold dispassionate nature and a clear and methodical mind. +Professionalism slightly spoilt him, however: he would have possessed +more intelligence if he had not credited himself with so much. + +He began by apologising for his superior the Prefect, who would certainly +have called in person had he not been suffering from indisposition. +However, it was perhaps best that he, Gascogne, should acquaint Monsieur +le Ministre with the grave affair which brought him, for he knew every +detail of it. Then he revealed what the grave affair was. + +“I believe, Monsieur le Ministre, that we at last hold the perpetrator of +the crime in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy.” + +At this, Monferrand, who had been listening impatiently, became quite +impassioned. The fruitless searches of the police, the attacks and the +jeers of the newspapers, were a source of daily worry to him. “Ah!--Well, +so much the better for you Monsieur Gascogne,” he replied with brutal +frankness. “You would have ended by losing your post. The man is +arrested?” + +“Not yet, Monsieur le Ministre; but he cannot escape, and it is merely an +affair of a few hours.” + +Then the Chief of the Detective Force told the whole story: how Detective +Mondésir, on being warned by a secret agent that the Anarchist Salvat was +in 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 hundred +paces or so from the tavern, the rascal having foolishly loitered there +to watch the establishment; and afterwards how Salvat had been stealthily +shadowed in the hope that they might catch him in his hiding-place with +his accomplices. And, in this wise, he had been tracked to the +Porte-Maillot, where, realising, no doubt, that he was pursued, he had +suddenly bolted into the Bois de Boulogne. It was there that he had been +hiding since two o’clock in the morning in the drizzle which had not +ceased to fall. They had waited for daylight in order to organise a +_battue_ and hunt him down like some animal, whose weariness must +necessarily ensure capture. And so, from one moment to another, he would +be 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. Detective +Mondésir is over there, directing the hunt. He regrets that he did not +apprehend the man on the Boulevard de Rochechouart; but, all the same, +the idea of following him was a capital one, and one can only reproach +Mondésir with having forgotten the Bois de Boulogne in his calculations.” + +Salvat arrested! That fellow Salvat whose name had filled the newspapers +for three weeks past. This was a most fortunate stroke which would be +talked of far and wide! In the depths of Monferrand’s fixed eyes one +could divine a world of thoughts and a sudden determination to turn this +incident which chance had brought him to his own personal advantage. In +his own mind a link was already forming between this arrest and that +African Railways interpellation which was likely to overthrow the +ministry on the morrow. The first outlines of a scheme already rose +before him. Was it not his good star that had sent him what he had been +seeking--a means of fishing himself out of the troubled waters of the +approaching crisis? + +“But tell me, Monsieur Gascogne,” said he, “are you quite sure that this +man Salvat committed the crime?” + +“Oh! perfectly sure, Monsieur le Ministre. He’ll confess everything in +the cab before he reaches the Prefecture.” + +Monferrand again walked to and fro with a pensive air, and ideas came to +him as he spoke on in a slow, meditative fashion. “My orders! well, my +orders, they are, first, that you must act with the very greatest +prudence. Yes, don’t gather a mob of promenaders together. Try to arrange +things so that the arrest may pass unperceived--and if you secure a +confession keep it to yourself, don’t communicate it to the newspapers. +Yes, I particularly recommend that point to you, don’t take the +newspapers into your confidence at all--and finally, come and tell me +everything, and observe secrecy, absolute secrecy, with everybody else.” + +Gascogne bowed and would have withdrawn, but Monferrand detained him to +say that not a day passed without his friend Monsieur Lehmann, the Public +Prosecutor, receiving letters from Anarchists who threatened to blow him +up with his family; in such wise that, although he was by no means a +coward, he wished his house to be guarded by plain-clothes officers. A +similar watch was already kept upon the house where investigating +magistrate Amadieu resided. And if the latter’s life was precious, that +of Public Prosecutor Lehmann was equally so, for he was one of those +political magistrates, one of those shrewd talented Israelites, who make +their way in very honest fashion by invariably taking the part of the +Government in office. + +Then Gascogne in his turn remarked: “There is also the Barthès affair, +Monsieur le Ministre--we are still waiting. Are we to arrest Barthès at +that little house at Neuilly?” + +One of those chances which sometimes come to the help of detectives and +make people think the latter to be men of genius had revealed to him the +circumstance that Barthès had found a refuge with Abbé Pierre Froment. +Ever since the Anarchist terror had thrown Paris into dismay a warrant +had been out against the old man, not for any precise offence, but simply +because he was a suspicious character and might, therefore, have had some +intercourse with the Revolutionists. However, it had been repugnant to +Gascogne to arrest him at the house of a priest whom the whole district +venerated as a saint; and the Minister, whom he had consulted on the +point, had warmly approved of his reserve, since a member of the clergy +was in question, and had undertaken to settle the affair himself. + +“No, Monsieur Gascogne,” he now replied, “don’t move in the matter. You +know what my feelings are, that we ought to have the priests with us and +not against us--I have had a letter written to Abbé Froment in order that +he may call here this morning, as I shall have no other visitors. I will +speak to him myself, and you may take it that the affair no longer +concerns you.” + +Then he was about to dismiss him when the usher came back saying that the +President 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 out +this way. It is as well that nobody should meet you, as I wish you to +keep silent respecting Salvat’s arrest. It’s fully understood, is it not? +I alone am to know everything; and you will communicate with me here +direct, by the telephone, if any serious incident should arise.” + +The Chief of the Detective Police had scarcely gone off, by way of an +adjoining _salon_, when the usher reopened the door communicating with +the ante-room: “Monsieur le President du Conseil.” + +With a nicely adjusted show of deference and cordiality, Monferrand +stepped forward, his hands outstretched: “Ah! my dear President, why did +you put yourself out to come here? I would have called on you if I had +known that you wished to see me.” + +But with an impatient gesture Barroux brushed aside all question of +etiquette. “No, no! I was taking my usual stroll in the Champs Elysées, +and the worries of the situation impressed me so keenly that I preferred +to come here at once. You yourself must realise that we can’t put up with +what is taking place. And pending to-morrow morning’s council, when we +shall have to arrange a plan of defence, I felt that there was good +reason for us to talk things over.” + +He took an armchair, and Monferrand on his side rolled another forward so +as to seat himself with his back to the light. Whilst Barroux, the elder +of the pair by ten years, blanched and solemn, with a handsome face, +snowy whiskers, clean-shaven chin and upper-lip, retained all the dignity +of power, the bearing of a Conventionnel of romantic views, who sought to +magnify the simple loyalty of a rather foolish but good-hearted +_bourgeois_ nature into something great; the other, beneath his heavy +common countenance and feigned frankness and simplicity, concealed +unknown depths, the unfathomable soul of a shrewd enjoyer and despot who +was 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 and +anger at the thought of all the vulgar insults which the “Voix du Peuple” + had poured upon him again that morning. “Come, my dear colleague,” said +he, “one must stop that scandalous campaign. Moreover, you can realise +what awaits us at the Chamber to-morrow. Now that the famous list has +been published we shall have every malcontent up in arms. Vignon is +bestirring himself already--” + +“Ah! you have news of Vignon?” exclaimed Monferrand, becoming very +attentive. + +“Well, as I passed his door just now, I saw a string of cabs waiting +there. All his creatures have been on the move since yesterday, and at +least twenty persons have told me that the band is already dividing the +spoils. For, as you must know, the fierce and ingenuous Mège is again +going to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for others. Briefly, we are +dead, and the others claim that they are going to bury us in mud before +they fight over our leavings.” With his arm outstretched Barroux made a +theatrical 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 who +founded it, who saved it, should be covered with insults in this fashion, +and obliged to defend myself against abominable charges! To say that I +abused my trust! That I sold myself and took 200,000 francs from that man +Hunter, simply to slip them into my pocket! Well, certainly there _was_ a +question of 200,000 francs between us. But how and under what +circumstances? They were doubtless the same as in your case, with regard +to the 80,000 francs that he is said to have handed you--” + +But Monferrand interrupted his colleague in a clear trenchant voice: “He +never 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 you +had business relations with him, and knew him particularly well.” + +“No, I simply knew Hunter as everyone knew him. I was not even aware that +he was Baron Duvillard’s agent in the African Railways matter; and there +was never any question of that affair between us.” + +This was so improbable, so contrary to everything Barroux knew of the +business, that for a moment he felt quite scared. Then he waved his hand +as if to say that others might as well look after their own affairs, and +reverted to himself. “Oh! as for me,” he said, “Hunter called on me more +than ten times, and made me quite sick with his talk of the African +Railways. It was at the time when the Chamber was asked to authorise the +issue of lottery stock.* And, by the way, my dear fellow, I was then here +at the Home Department, while you had just taken that of Public Works. I +can remember sitting at that very writing-table, while Hunter was in the +same armchair that I now occupy. That day he wanted to consult me about +the employment of the large sum which Duvillard’s house proposed to spend +in advertising; and on seeing what big amounts were set down against the +Royalist journals, I became quite angry, for I realised with perfect +accuracy that this money would simply be used to wage war against the +Republic. And so, yielding to Hunter’s entreaties, I also drew up a list +allotting 200,000 francs among the friendly Republican newspapers, which +were 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 again +rose: “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 my +only defence. An honest man does not fear the truth!” + +But Monferrand, in his turn, had sprung up with a cry which was a +complete confession of his principles: “It’s ridiculous, one never +confesses; you surely won’t do such a thing!” + +“I shall,” retorted Barroux with superb obstinacy. “And we shall see if +the Chamber won’t absolve me by acclamation.” + +“No, you will fall beneath an explosion of hisses, and drag all of us +down with you.” + +“What does it matter? We shall fall with dignity, like honest men!” + +Monferrand made a gesture of furious anger, and then suddenly became +calm. Amidst all the anxious confusion in which he had been struggling +since daybreak, a gleam now dawned upon him. The vague ideas suggested by +Salvat’s approaching arrest took shape, and expanded into an audacious +scheme. Why should he prevent the fall of that big ninny Barroux? The +only thing of importance was that he, Monferrand, should not fall with +him, or at any rate that he should rise again. So he protested no +further, but merely mumbled a few words, in which his rebellious feeling +seemingly died out. And at last, putting on his good-natured air once +more, 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 conversation +continued till they came to a cordial agreement respecting the course +which the Government should adopt in view of the inevitable +interpellation on the morrow. + +Meantime, Baron Duvillard was on his way to the ministry. He had scarcely +slept that night. When on the return from Montmartre Gérard had set him +down 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 his +worries and recover self-control. But slumber would not come; for hours +and hours he vainly sought it. The manner in which he had been insulted +by that creature Silviane was so monstrous! To think that she, whom he +had enriched, whose every desire he had contented, should have cast such +mud at him, the master, who flattered himself that he held Paris and the +Republic in his hands, since he bought up and controlled consciences just +as others might make corners in wool or leather for the purposes of +Bourse speculation. And the dim consciousness that Silviane was the +avenging sore, the cancer preying on him who preyed on others, completed +his exasperation. In vain did he try to drive away his haunting thoughts, +remember his business affairs, his appointments for the morrow, his +millions which were working in every quarter of the world, the financial +omnipotence which placed the fate of nations in his grasp. Ever, and in +spite of all, Silviane rose up before him, splashing him with mud. In +despair he tried to fix his mind on a great enterprise which he had been +planning for months past, a Trans-Saharan railway, a colossal venture +which would set millions of money at work, and revolutionise the trade of +the world. And yet Silviane appeared once more, and smacked him on both +cheeks 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 a +fury that he would never see her again, that he would spurn her, and +order her away, even should she come and drag herself at his feet. + +However, when he awoke at seven, still tired and aching, his first +thought was for her, and he almost yielded to a fit of weakness. The idea +came to him to ascertain if she had returned home, and if so make his +peace. But he jumped out of bed, and after his ablutions he recovered all +his bravery. She was a wretch, and he this time thought himself for ever +cured of his passion. To tell the truth, he forgot it as soon as he +opened the morning newspapers. The publication of the list of +bribe-takers in the “Voix du Peuple” quite upset him, for he had hitherto +thought it unlikely that Sagnier held any such list. However, he judged +the document at a glance, at once separating the few truths it contained +from a mass of foolishness and falsehood. And this time also he did not +consider himself personally in danger. There was only one thing that he +really feared: the arrest of his intermediary, Hunter, whose trial might +have drawn him into the affair. As matters stood, and as he did not cease +to repeat with a calm and smiling air, he had merely done what every +banking-house does when it issues stock, that is, pay the press for +advertisements and puffery, employ brokers, and reward services +discreetly rendered to the enterprise. It was all a business matter, and +for him that expression summed up everything. Moreover, he played the +game of life bravely, and spoke with indignant contempt of a banker who, +distracted and driven to extremities by blackmailing, had imagined that +he would bring a recent scandal to an end by killing himself: a pitiful +tragedy, from all the mire and blood of which the scandal had sprouted +afresh with the most luxuriant and indestructible vegetation. No, no! +suicide was not the course to follow: a man ought to remain erect, and +struggle on to his very last copper, and the very end of his energy. + +At about nine o’clock a ringing brought Duvillard to the telephone +installed in his private room. And then his folly took possession of him +once more: it must be Silviane who wished to speak to him. She often +amused herself by thus disturbing him amidst his greatest cares. No doubt +she had just returned home, realising that she had carried things too far +on the previous evening and desiring to be forgiven. However, when he +found that the call was from Monferrand, who wished him to go to the +ministry, he shivered slightly, like a man saved from the abyss beside +which 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 again +he became absorbed in the intricacies of the scandalous business which +was about to stir all Paris and the legislature. Kill himself! ah, no, +that would be foolish and cowardly. A gust of terror might be sweeping +past; 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 the +gust of terror was becoming a tempest. The publication of the terrible +list in the “Voix du Peuple” had chilled the guilty ones to the heart; +and, pale and distracted, feeling the ground give way beneath them, they +had come to take counsel of Monferrand, who, they hoped, might save them. +The first whom Duvillard perceived was Duthil, looking extremely +feverish, biting his moustaches, and constantly making grimaces in his +efforts to force a smile. The banker scolded him for coming, saying that +it was a great mistake to have done so, particularly with such a scared +face. The deputy, however, his spirits already cheered by these rough +words, began to defend himself, declaring that he had not even read +Sagnier’s article, and had simply come to recommend a lady friend to the +Minister. Thereupon the Baron undertook this business for him and sent +him away with the wish that he might spend a merry mid-Lent. However, the +one who most roused Duvillard’s pity was Chaigneux, whose figure swayed +about as if bent by the weight of his long equine head, and who looked so +shabby and untidy that one might have taken him for an old pauper. On +recognising the banker he darted forward, and bowed to him with +obsequious eagerness. + +“Ah! Monsieur le Baron,” said he, “how wicked some men must be! They are +killing me, I shall die of it all; and what will become of my wife, what +will 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 a +solicitor, in order to seek triumph in Paris with his wife and daughters, +whose menial he had then become--a menial dismayed by the constant +rebuffs and failures which his mediocrity brought upon him. An honest +deputy! ah, good heavens! yes, he would have liked to be one; but was he +not perpetually “hard-up,” ever in search of a hundred-franc note, and +thus, perforce, a deputy for sale? And withal he led such a pitiable +life, so badgered by the women folk about him, that to satisfy their +demands he would have picked up money no matter where or how. + +“Just fancy, Monsieur le Baron, I have at last found a husband for my +eldest girl. It is the first bit of luck that I have ever had; there will +only be three women left on my hands if it comes off. But you can imagine +what a disastrous impression such an article as that of this morning must +create in the young man’s family. So I have come to see the Minister to +beg him to give my future son-in-law a prefectoral secretaryship. I have +already promised him the post, and if I can secure it things may yet be +arranged.” + +He looked so terribly shabby and spoke in such a doleful voice that it +occurred to Duvillard to do one of those good actions on which he +ventured at times when they were likely to prove remunerative +investments. It is, indeed, an excellent plan to give a crust of bread to +some poor devil whom one can turn, if necessary, into a valet or an +accomplice. So the banker dismissed Chaigneux, undertaking to do his +business for him in the same way as he had undertaken to do Duthil’s. And +he added that he would be pleased to see him on the morrow, and have a +chat with him, as he might be able to help him in the matter of his +daughter’s marriage. + +At this Chaigneux, scenting a loan, collapsed into the most lavish +thanks. “Ah! Monsieur le Baron, my life will not be long enough to enable +me to repay such a debt of gratitude.” + +As Duvillard turned round he was surprised to see Abbé Froment waiting in +a corner of the ante-room. Surely that one could not belong to the batch +of _suspects_, although by the manner in which he was pretending to read +a newspaper it seemed as if he were trying to hide some keen anxiety. At +last the Baron stepped forward, shook hands, and spoke to him cordially. +And Pierre thereupon related that he had received a letter requesting him +to call on the Minister that day. Why, he could not tell; in fact, he was +greatly surprised, he said, putting on a smile in order to conceal his +disquietude. He had been waiting a long time already, and hoped that he +would not be forgotten on that bench. + +Just then the usher appeared, and hastened up to the banker. “The +Minister,” said he, “was at that moment engaged with the President of the +Council; but he had orders to admit the Baron as soon as the President +withdrew.” Almost immediately afterwards Barroux came out, and as +Duvillard was about to enter he recognised and detained him. And he spoke +of the denunciations very bitterly, like one indignant with all the +slander. Would not he, Duvillard, should occasion require it, testify +that he, Barroux, had never taken a centime for himself? Then, forgetting +that 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 a +statement of the truth would suffice for the purpose. + +Duvillard listened and looked at him. And all at once the thought of +Silviane came back, and took possession of the Baron, without any attempt +on his part to drive it away. He reflected that if Barroux had chosen to +give him a helping hand when he had asked for it, Silviane would now have +been at the Comédie Française, in which case the deplorable affair of the +previous night would not have occurred; for he was beginning to regard +himself as guilty in the matter; if he had only contented Silviane’s whim +she 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 mine +who wishes to make her _début_ in ‘Polyeucte.’” + +Barroux smiled, and with amiable condescension replied: “Ah! yes, +Silviane d’Aulnay! But, my dear sir, it was Taboureau who put spokes in +the wheel. The Fine Arts are his department, and the question was +entirely one for him. And I could do nothing; for that very worthy and +honest gentleman, who came to us from a provincial faculty, was full of +scruples. 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 more +became excited, eager to obtain that which was denied him. “Taboureau, +Taboureau!” said he, “he’s a nice deadweight for you to load yourself +with! Honest! isn’t everybody honest? Come, my dear Minister, there’s +still time, get Silviane admitted, it will bring you good luck for +to-morrow.” + +This time Barroux burst into a frank laugh: “No, no, I can’t cast +Taboureau adrift at this moment--people would make too much sport of +it--a ministry wrecked or saved by a Silviane question!” + +Then he offered his hand before going off. The Baron pressed it, and for +a moment retained it in his own, whilst saying very gravely and with a +somewhat pale face: “You do wrong to laugh, my dear Minister. Governments +have fallen or set themselves erect again through smaller matters than +that. And should you fall to-morrow I trust that you will never have +occasion to regret it.” + +Wounded to the heart by the other’s jesting air, exasperated by the idea +that there was something he could not achieve, Duvillard watched Barroux +as he withdrew. Most certainly the Baron did not desire a reconciliation +with Silviane, but he vowed that he would overturn everything if +necessary in order to send her a signed engagement for the Comédie, and +this simply by way of vengeance, as a slap, so to say,--yes, a slap which +would make her tingle! That moment spent with Barroux had been a decisive +one. + +However, whilst still following Barroux with his eyes, Duvillard was +surprised to see Fonsègue arrive and manœuvre in such a way as to escape +the Prime Minister’s notice. He succeeded in doing so, and then entered +the ante-room with an appearance of dismay about the whole of his little +figure, 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, somewhat +puzzled. + +“Barroux? No!” + +This quiet lie was equivalent to a confession of everything. Fonsègue was +so intimate with Barroux that he thee’d and thou’d him, and for ten years +had been supporting him in his newspaper, having precisely the same +views, the same political religion. But with a smash-up threatening, he +doubtless realised, thanks to his wonderfully keen scent, that he must +change his friendships if he did not wish to remain under the ruins +himself. If he had, for long years, shown so much prudence and diplomatic +virtue in order to firmly establish the most dignified and respected of +Parisian newspapers, it was not for the purpose of letting that newspaper +be 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 bad +terms with anybody. He’s at the country’s service.” + +In spite of his emotion, Duvillard could not help smiling. “You are +right,” he responded. “Besides, Monferrand is really an able man, whom +one can support without fear.” + +At this Fonsègue began to wonder whether his anguish of mind was visible. +He, who usually played the game of life so well, with his own hand under +thorough control, had been terrified by the article in the “Voix du +Peuple.” For the first time in his career he had perpetrated a blunder, +and felt that he was at the mercy of some denunciation, for with +unpardonable imprudence he had written a very brief but compromising +note. He was not anxious concerning the 50,000 francs which Barroux had +handed him out of the 200,000 destined for the Republican press. But he +trembled lest another affair should be discovered, that of a sum of money +which he had received as a present. It was only on feeling the Baron’s +keen 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 simply +by one’s demeanour! + +But the usher drew near and repeated that the Minister was now waiting +for the Baron; and Fonsègue went to sit down beside Abbé Froment, whom he +also was astonished to find there. Pierre repeated that he had received a +letter, but had no notion what the Minister might wish to say to him. And +the quiver of his hands again revealed how feverishly impatient he was to +know what it might be. However, he could only wait, since Monferrand was +still busy discussing such grave affairs. + +On seeing Duvillard enter, the Minister had stepped forward, offering his +hand. However much the blast of terror might shake others, he had +retained his calmness and good-natured smile. “What an affair, eh, my +dear Baron!” he exclaimed. + +“It’s idiotic!” plainly declared the other, with a shrug of his +shoulders. Then he sat down in the armchair vacated by Barroux, while the +Minister installed himself in front of him. These two were made to +understand one another, and they indulged in the same despairing gestures +and furious complaints, declaring that government, like business, would +no longer be possible if men were required to show such virtue as they +did not possess. At all times, and under every _régime_, when a decision +of the Chambers had been required in connection with some great +enterprise, had not the natural and legitimate tactics been for one to do +what might be needful to secure that decision? It was absolutely +necessary that one should obtain influential and sympathetic support, in +a word, make sure of votes. Well, everything had to be paid for, men like +other things, some with fine words, others with favours or money, +presents made in a more or less disguised manner. And even admitting +that, 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 it +wise to make such an uproar over it? Would not a strong government have +begun by stifling the scandal, from motives of patriotism, a mere sense +of cleanliness even? + +“Why, of course! You are right, a thousand times right!” exclaimed +Monferrand. “Ah! if I were the master you would see what a fine +first-class funeral I would give it all!” Then, as Duvillard looked at +him fixedly, struck by these last words, he added with his expressive +smile: “Unfortunately I’m not the master, and it was to talk to you of +the situation that I ventured to disturb you. Barroux, who was here just +now, seemed to me in a regrettable frame of mind.” + +“Yes, I saw him, he has such singular ideas at times--” Then, breaking +off, the Baron added: “Do you know that Fonsègue is in the ante-room? As +he wishes to make his peace with you, why not send for him? He won’t be +in the way, in fact, he’s a man of good counsel, and the support of his +newspaper often suffices to give one the victory.” + +“What, is Fonsègue there!” cried Monferrand. “Why, I don’t ask better +than to shake hands with him. There were some old affairs between us that +don’t concern anybody! But, good heavens! if you only knew what little +spite I harbour!” + +When the usher had admitted Fonsègue the reconciliation took place in the +simplest fashion. They had been great friends at college in their native +Corrèze, but had not spoken together for ten years past in consequence of +some abominable affair the particulars of which were not exactly known. +However, it becomes necessary to clear away all corpses when one wishes +to have the arena free for a fresh battle. + +“It’s very good of you to come back the first,” said Monferrand. “So it’s +all over, you no longer bear me any grudge?” + +“No, indeed!” replied Fonsègue. “Why should people devour one another +when it would be to their interest to come to an understanding?” + +Then, without further explanations, they passed to the great affair, and +the conference began. And when Monferrand had announced Barroux’ +determination to confess and explain his conduct, the others loudly +protested. That meant certain downfall, they would prevent him, he surely +would not be guilty of such folly. Forthwith they discussed every +imaginable plan by which the Ministry might be saved, for that must +certainly be Monferrand’s sole desire. He himself with all eagerness +pretended to seek some means of extricating his colleagues and himself +from the mess in which they were. However, a faint smile, still played +around 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 another +Cabinet dealing with the African Railways affair. A Vignon Cabinet would +doubtless plume itself on behaving honestly. + +“Well, then, what shall we do?” + +But just then the telephone rang, and Monferrand rose to respond to the +summons: “Allow me.” + +He listened for a moment and then spoke into the tube, nothing that he +said giving the others any inkling of the information which had reached +him. This had come from the Chief of the Detective Police, and was to the +effect that Salvat’s whereabouts in the Bois de Boulogne had been +discovered, 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 follow +the plan which had gradually taken shape in his mind; and returning to +the middle of the room he slowly walked to and fro, while saying with his +wonted familiarity: “But what would you have, my friends? It would be +necessary for me to be the master. Ah! if I were the master! A Commission +of Inquiry, yes! that’s the proper form for a first-class funeral to take +in a big affair like this, so full of nasty things. For my part, I should +confess nothing, and I should have a Commission appointed. And then you +would see the storm subside.” + +Duvillard and Fonsègue began to laugh. The latter, however, thanks to his +intimate knowledge of Monferrand, almost guessed the truth. “Just +listen!” said he; “even if the ministry falls it doesn’t necessarily +follow that you must be on the ground with it. Besides, a ministry can be +mended 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 jointly +responsible, 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 you +in 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 the +recollection of Barroux’ refusal, rose in his turn, and exclaimed: “Why, +certainly! If the ministry’s condemned let it fall! What good can you get +out of a ministry which includes such a man as Taboureau! There you have +an old, worn-out professor without any prestige, who comes to Paris from +Grenoble, and has never set foot in a theatre in his life! Yet the +control of the theatres is handed over to him, and naturally he’s ever +doing the most stupid things!” + +Monferrand, who was well informed on the Silviane question, remained +grave, and for a moment amused himself by trying to excite the Baron. +“Taboureau,” said he, “is a somewhat dull and old-fashioned University +man, but at the department of Public Instruction he’s in his proper +element.” + +“Oh! don’t talk like that, my dear fellow! You are more intelligent than +that, you are not going to defend Taboureau as Barroux did. It’s quite +true that I should very much like to see Silviane at the Comédie. She’s a +very good girl at heart, and she has an amazing lot of talent. Would you +stand in her way if you were in Taboureau’s place?” + +“I? Good heavens, no! A pretty girl on the stage, why, it would please +everybody, I’m sure. Only it would be necessary to have a man of the same +views as were at the department of Instruction and Fine Arts.” + +His sly smile had returned to his face. The securing of that girl’s +_début_ was certainly not a high price to pay for all the influence of +Duvillard’s millions. Monferrand therefore turned towards Fonsègue as if +to consult him. The other, who fully understood the importance of the +affair, was meditating in all seriousness: “A senator is the proper man +for 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 yet +one whose presence at the head of the University wouldn’t cause too much +astonishment--there’s perhaps Dauvergne--” + +“Dauvergne! Who’s he?” exclaimed Monferrand in surprise. “Ah! yes, +Dauvergne the senator for Dijon--but he’s altogether ignorant of +University matters, he hasn’t the slightest qualification.” + +“Well, as for that,” resumed Fonsègue, “I’m trying to think. Dauvergne is +certainly 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 _fêtes_ at his place on the Boulevard +St. Germain.” + +It was only with hesitation that Fonsègue himself had ventured to suggest +Dauvergne. But by degrees his selection appeared to him a real “find.” + “Wait a bit! I recollect now that in his young days Dauvergne wrote a +comedy, a one act comedy in verse, and had it performed at Dijon. And +Dijon’s a literary town, you know, so that piece of his sets a little +perfume of ‘Belles-Lettres’ around him. And then, too, he left Dijon +twenty years ago, and is a most determined Parisian, frequenting every +sphere of society. Dauvergne will do whatever one desires. He’s the man +for us, I tell you.” + +Duvillard thereupon declared that he knew him, and considered him a very +decent 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 reconstructing +the Cabinet in order that that charming young woman may join the Comédie! +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 the +ministry were defeated on the morrow. Although they had not plainly said +so the plan was to let Barroux sink, even help him to do so, and then +fish Monferrand out of the troubled waters. The latter engaged himself +with the two others, because he had need of them, the Baron on account of +his financial sovereignty, and the director of “Le Globe” on account of +the press campaign which he could carry on in his favour. And in the same +way the others, quite apart from the Silviane business, had need of +Monferrand, the strong-handed man of government, who undertook to bury +the African Railways scandal by bringing about a Commission of Inquiry, +all the strings of which would be pulled by himself. There was soon a +perfect understanding between the three men, for nothing draws people +more closely together than common interest, fear and need. Accordingly, +when Duvillard spoke of Duthil’s business, the young lady whom he wished +to recommend, the Minister declared that it was settled. A very nice +fellow was Duthil, they needed a good many like him. And it was also +agreed that Chaigneux’ future son-in-law should have his secretaryship. +Poor Chaigneux! He was so devoted, always ready to undertake any +commission, and his four women folk led him such a hard life! + +“Well, then, it’s understood.” And Monferrand, Duvillard and Fonsègue +vigorously shook hands. + +However, when the first accompanied the others to the door, he noticed a +prelate, in a cassock of fine material, edged with violet, speaking to a +priest in the ante-room. Thereupon he, the Minister, hastened forward, +looking much distressed. “Ah! you were waiting, Monseigneur Martha! Come +in, come in quick!” + +But with perfect urbanity the Bishop refused. “No, no, Monsieur l’Abbé +Froment was here before me. Pray receive him first.” + +Monferrand had to give way; he admitted the priest, and speedily dealt +with him. He who usually employed the most diplomatic reserve when he was +in presence of a member of the clergy plumply unfolded the Barthès +business. Pierre had experienced the keenest anguish during the two hours +that he had been waiting there, for he could only explain the letter he +had received by a surmise that the police had discovered his brother’s +presence in his house. And so when he heard the Minister simply speak of +Barthès, and declare that the government would rather see him go into +exile than be obliged to imprison him once more, he remained for a moment +quite disconcerted. As the police had been able to discover the old +conspirator in the little house at Neuilly, how was it that they seemed +altogether ignorant of Guillaume’s presence there? It was, however, the +usual gap in the genius of great detectives. + +“Pray what do you desire of me, Monsieur le Ministre?” said Pierre at +last; “I don’t quite understand.” + +“Why, Monsieur l’Abbé, I leave all this to your sense of prudence. If +that man were still at your house in forty-eight hours from now, we +should be obliged to arrest him there, which would be a source of grief +to 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 your +disposal. Come in, come in, I beg you.” + +The prelate, who was gaily chatting with Duvillard and Fonsègue, shook +hands 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 a +caressing expression, and he entered the ministerial sanctum leisurely +and gracefully, with an easy air of conquest. + +And now only Monferrand and Monseigneur Martha were left, talking on and +on in the deserted building. Some people had thought that the prelate +wished to become a deputy. But he played a far more useful and lofty part +in governing behind the scenes, in acting as the directing mind of the +Vatican’s policy in France. Was not France still the Eldest Daughter of +the Church, the only great nation which might some day restore +omnipotence to the Papacy? For that reason he had accepted the Republic, +preached the duty of “rallying” to it, and inspired the new Catholic +group in the Chamber. And Monferrand, on his side, struck by the progress +of the New Spirit, that reaction of mysticism which flattered itself that +it would bury science, showed the prelate much amiability, like a +strong-handed man who, to ensure his own victory, utilised every force +that was offered him. + + + + +IV. THE MAN HUNT + +ON the afternoon of that same day such a keen desire for space and the +open air came upon Guillaume, that Pierre consented to accompany him on a +long walk in the Bois de Boulogne. The priest, upon returning from his +interview with Monferrand, had informed his brother that the government +once more wished to get rid of Nicholas Barthès. However, they were so +perplexed as to how they should impart these tidings to the old man, that +they resolved to postpone the matter until the evening. During their walk +they might devise some means of breaking the news in a gentle way. As for +the walk, this seemed to offer no danger; to all appearance Guillaume was +in no wise threatened, so why should he continue hiding? Thus the +brothers sallied forth and entered the Bois by the Sablons gate, which +was the nearest to them. + +The last days of March had now come, and the trees were beginning to show +some greenery, so soft and light, however, that one might have thought it +was pale moss or delicate lace hanging between the stems and boughs. +Although the sky remained of an ashen grey, the rain, after falling +throughout the night and morning, had ceased; and exquisite freshness +pervaded that wood now awakening to life once more, with its foliage +dripping in the mild and peaceful atmosphere. The mid-Lent rejoicings had +apparently attracted the populace to the centre of Paris, for in the +avenues one found only the fashionable folks of select days, the people +of society who come thither when the multitude stops away. There were +carriages and gentlemen on horseback; beautiful aristocratic ladies who +had alighted from their broughams or landaus; and wet-nurses with +streaming ribbons, who carried infants wearing the most costly lace. Of +the middle-classes, however, one found only a few matrons living in the +neighbourhood, who sat here and there on the benches busy with embroidery +or watching their children play. + +Pierre and Guillaume followed the Allée de Longchamp as far as the road +going 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 so +charming and peaceful was the deserted plantation through which they +passed, that they yielded to a desire to sit down and taste the delight +of resting amidst all the budding springtide around them. A fallen tree +served them as a bench, and it was possible for them to fancy themselves +far away from Paris, in the depths of some real forest. It was, too, of a +real forest that Guillaume began to think on thus emerging from his long, +voluntary imprisonment. Ah! for the space; and for the health-bringing +air which courses between that forest’s branches, that forest of the +world which by right should be man’s inalienable domain! However, the +name of Barthès, the perpetual prisoner, came back to Guillaume’s lips, +and he sighed mournfully. The thought that there should be even a single +man whose liberty was thus ever assailed, sufficed to poison the pure +atmosphere he breathed. + +“What will you say to Barthès?” he asked his brother. “The poor fellow +must necessarily be warned. Exile is at any rate preferable to +imprisonment.” + +Pierre sadly waved his hand. “Yes, of course, I must warn him. But what a +painful 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, a +most extraordinary spectacle was presented to their view. Something or +rather someone leapt out of a thicket and bounded past them. It was +assuredly a man, but one who was so unrecognisable, so miry, so woeful +and so frightful, that he might have been taken for an animal, a boar +that hounds had tracked and forced from his retreat. On seeing the +rivulet, he hesitated for a moment, and then followed its course. But, +all at once, as a sound of footsteps and panting breath drew nearer, he +sprang into the water, which reached his thighs, bounded on to the +further bank, and vanished from sight behind a clump of pines. A moment +afterwards some keepers and policemen rushed by, skirting the rivulet, +and in their turn disappearing. It was a man hunt that had gone past, a +fierce, secret hunt with no display of scarlet or blast of horns athwart +the soft, sprouting foliage. + +“Some rascal or other,” muttered Pierre. “Ah! the wretched fellow!” + +Guillaume made a gesture of discouragement. “Gendarmes and prison!” said +he. “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 the +detectives by bounding into the Bois de Boulogne, it had occurred to him +to slip round to the Dauphine gate and there descend into the deep ditch* +of the city ramparts. He remembered days of enforced idleness which he +had spent there, in nooks where, for his own part, he had never met a +living soul. Nowhere, indeed, could one find more secret places of +retreat, hedged round by thicker bushes, or concealed from view by +loftier herbage. Some corners of the ditch, at certain angles of the +massive bastions, are favourite dens or nests for thieves and lovers. +Salvat, as he made his way through the thickest of the brambles, nettles +and ivy, was lucky enough to find a cavity full of dry leaves, in which +he buried himself to the chin. The rain had already drenched him, and +after slipping down the muddy slope, he had frequently been obliged to +grope his way upon all fours. So those dry leaves proved a boon such as +he had not dared to hope for. They dried him somewhat, serving as a +blanket in which he coiled himself after his wild race through the dank +darkness. 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 the +continuous drizzle. When he opened his eyes again, the dawn was breaking, +and it was probably about six o’clock. During his sleep the rain had +ended by soaking the leaves, so that he was now immersed in a kind of +chilly bath. Still he remained in it, feeling that he was there sheltered +from the police, who must now surely be searching for him. None of those +bloodhounds would guess his presence in that hole, for his body was quite +buried, 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 the +ditch, they did not perceive him. As he had anticipated, the hunt had +begun at the first glimmer of light. For a time his heart beat violently; +however, nobody else passed, nothing whatever stirred the grass. The only +sounds that reached him were faint ones from the Bois de Boulogne, the +ring of a bicyclist’s bell, the thud of a horse’s hoofs, the rumble of +carriage wheels. And time went by, nine o’clock came, and then ten +o’clock. Since the rain had ceased falling, Salvat had not suffered so +much from the cold, for he was wearing a thick overcoat which little +Mathis had given him. But, on the other hand, hunger was coming back; +there was a burning sensation in his stomach, and leaden hoops seemed to +be pressing against his ribs. He had eaten nothing for two days; he had +been starving already on the previous evening, when he had accepted a +glass of beer at that tavern at Montmartre. Nevertheless, his plan was to +remain in the ditch until nightfall, and then slip away in the direction +of the village of Boulogne, where he knew of a means of egress from the +wood. He was not caught yet, he repeated, he might still manage to +escape. Then he tried to get to sleep again, but failed, so painful had +his sufferings become. By the time it was eleven, everything swam before +his 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 his +leafy hiding-place, desperately hungering for food, unable to remain +there any longer, and determined to find something to eat, even should it +cost him his liberty and life. It was then noon. + +On leaving the ditch he found the spreading lawns of the château of La +Muette before him. He crossed them at a run, like a madman, instinctively +going towards Boulogne, with the one idea that his only means of escape +lay in that direction. It seemed miraculous that nobody paid attention to +his helter-skelter flight. However, when he had reached the cover of some +trees he became conscious of his imprudence, and almost regretted the +sudden madness which had borne him along, eager for escape. Trembling +nervously, he bent low among some furze bushes, and waited for a few +minutes to ascertain if the police were behind him. Then with watchful +eye and ready ear, wonderful instinct and scent of danger, he slowly went +his way again. He hoped to pass between the upper lake and the Auteuil +race-course; but there were few trees in that part, and they formed a +broad avenue. He therefore had to exert all his skill in order to avoid +observation, availing himself of the slenderest stems, the smallest +bushes, as screens, and only venturing onward after a lengthy inspection +of his surroundings. Before long the sight of a guard in the distance +revived his fears and detained him, stretched on the ground behind some +brambles, for a full quarter of an hour. Then the approach first of a +cab, whose driver had lost his way, and afterwards of a strolling +pedestrian, in turn sufficed to stop him. He breathed once more, however, +when, after passing the Mortemart hillock, he was able to enter the +thickets lying between the two roads which lead to Boulogne and St. +Cloud. The coppices thereabouts were dense, and he merely had to follow +them, screened from view, in order to reach the outlet he knew of, which +was now near at hand. So he was surely saved. + +But all at once, at a distance of some five and thirty yards, he saw a +keeper, erect and motionless, barring his way. He turned slightly to the +left and there perceived another keeper, who also seemed to be awaiting +him. And there were more and more of them; at every fifty paces or so +stood a fresh one, the whole forming a _cordon_, the meshes as it were of +a huge net. The worst was that he must have been perceived, for a light +cry, like the clear call of an owl, rang out, and was repeated farther +and farther off. The hunters were at last on the right scent, prudence +had become superfluous, and it was only by flight that the quarry might +now hope to escape. Salvat understood this so well that he suddenly began +to run, leaping over all obstacles and darting between the trees, +careless whether he were seen or heard. A few bounds carried him across +the Avenue de St. Cloud into the plantations stretching to the Allée de +la Reine Marguerite. There the undergrowth was very dense; in the whole +Bois there are no more closely set thickets. In summer they become one +vast entanglement of verdure, amidst which, had it been the leafy season, +Salvat might well have managed to secrete himself. For a moment he did +find himself alone, and thereupon he halted to listen. He could neither +see nor hear the keepers now. Had they lost his track, then? Profound +quietude reigned under the fresh young foliage. But the light, owlish cry +arose once more, branches cracked, and he resumed his wild flight, +hurrying straight before him. Unluckily he found the Allée de la Reine +Marguerite guarded by policemen, so that he could not cross over, but had +to skirt it without quitting the thickets. And now his back was turned +towards Boulogne; he was retracing his steps towards Paris. However, a +last idea came to his bewildered mind: it was to run on in this wise as +far as the shady spots around Madrid, and then, by stealing from copse to +copse, attempt to reach the Seine. To proceed thither across the bare +expanse of the race-course and training ground was not for a moment to be +thought of. + +So Salvat still ran on and on. But on reaching the Allée de Longchamp he +found it guarded like the other roads, and therefore had to relinquish +his plan of escaping by way of Madrid and the river-bank. While he was +perforce making a bend alongside the Pré Catelan, he became aware that +the keepers, led by detectives, were drawing yet nearer to him, confining +his movements to a smaller and smaller area. And his race soon acquired +all the frenzy of despair. Haggard and breathless he leapt mounds, rushed +past multitudinous obstacles. He forced a passage through brambles, broke +down 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 by +the stinging of his hands and face. It was then Guillaume and Pierre saw +him pass, unrecognisable and frightful, taking to the muddy water of the +rivulet like a stag which seeks to set a last obstacle between itself and +the hounds. There came to him a wild idea of getting to the lake, and +swimming, unperceived, to the island in the centre of it. That, he madly +thought, would be a safe retreat, where he might burrow and hide himself +without possibility of discovery. And so he still ran on. But once again +the sight of some guards made him retrace his steps, and he was compelled +to go back and back in the direction of Paris, chased, forced towards the +very fortifications whence he had started that morning. It was now nearly +three in the afternoon. For more than two hours and a half he had been +running. + +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 little +pathway, a delightful lovers’ lane, as shady in summer as any arbour. For +some time he was able to follow it, concealed from observation, and with +his hopes reviving. But it led him to one of those broad, straight +avenues where carriages and bicycles, the whole afternoon pageant of +society, swept past under the mild and cloudy sky. So he returned to the +thickets, fell once more upon the keepers, lost all notion of the +direction he took, and even all power of thought, becoming a mere thing +carried along and thrown hither and thither by the chances of the pursuit +which pressed more and more closely upon him. Star-like crossways +followed one upon other, and at last he came to a broad lawn, where the +full light dazzled him. And there he suddenly felt the hot, panting +breath of his pursuers close in the rear. Eager, hungry breath it was, +like that of hounds seeking to devour him. Shouts rang out, one hand +almost caught hold of him, there was a rush of heavy feet, a scramble to +seize him. But with a supreme effort he leapt upon a bank, crawled to its +summit, rose again, and once more found himself alone, still running on +amid the fresh and quiet greenery. + +Nevertheless, this was the end. He almost fell flat upon the ground. His +aching 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 that +it seemed likely to break his ribs. Water and perspiration streamed from +him, 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 have +gathered before his wild eyes, he suddenly saw an open doorway, the +doorway of a coach-house in the rear of a kind of chalet, sequestered +among trees. Excepting a big white cat, which took to flight, there was +not a living creature in the place. Salvat plunged into it and rolled +over on a heap of straw, among some empty casks. He was scarcely hidden +there when he heard the chase sweep by, the detectives and the keepers +losing scent, passing the chalet and rushing in the direction of the +Paris ramparts. The noise of their heavy boots died away, and deep +silence fell, while the hunted man, who had carried both hands to his +heart to stay its beating, sank into the most complete prostration, with +big 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 the +crossway of the Cascades, in order to return to Neuilly by the road +beyond the water. However, a shower fell, compelling them to take shelter +under the big leafless branches of a chestnut-tree. Then, as the rain +came down more heavily and they could perceive a kind of chalet, a little +café-restaurant amid a clump of trees, they hastened thither for better +protection. In a side road, which they passed on their way, they saw a +cab standing, its driver waiting there in philosophical fashion under the +falling shower. Pierre, moreover, noticed a young man stepping out +briskly in front of them, a young man resembling Gérard de Quinsac, who, +whilst walking in the Bois, had no doubt been overtaken by the rain, and +like themselves was seeking shelter in the chalet. However, on entering +the latter’s public room, the priest saw no sign of the gentleman, and +concluded that he must have been mistaken. This public room, which had a +kind of glazed verandah overlooking the Bois, contained a few chairs and +tables, the latter with marble tops. On the first floor there were four +or five private rooms reached by a narrow passage. Though the doors were +open the place had as yet scarcely emerged from its winter’s rest. There +was nobody about, and on all sides one found the dampness common to +establishments which, from lack of custom, are compelled to close from +November until March. In the rear were some stables, a coach-house, and +various mossy, picturesque outbuildings, which painters and gardeners +would now soon embellish for the gay pleasure parties which the fine +weather would bring. + +“I really think that they haven’t opened for the season yet,” said +Guillaume as he entered the silent house. + +“At all events they will let us stay here till the rain stops,” answered +Pierre, seating himself at one of the little tables. + +However, a waiter suddenly made his appearance seemingly in a great +hurry. He had come down from the first floor, and eagerly rummaged a +cupboard for a few dry biscuits, which he laid upon a plate. At last he +condescended to serve the brothers two glasses of Chartreuse. + +In one of the private rooms upstairs Baroness Duvillard, who had driven +to the chalet in a cab, had been awaiting her lover Gérard for nearly +half an hour. It was there that, during the charity bazaar, they had +given each other an appointment. For them the chalet had precious +memories: two years previously, on discovering that secluded nest, which +was so deserted in the early, hesitating days of chilly spring, they had +met there under circumstances which they could not forget. And the +Baroness, in choosing the house for the supreme assignation of their +dying passion, had certainly not been influenced merely by a fear that +she might be spied upon elsewhere. She had, indeed, thought of the first +kisses that had been showered on her there, and would fain have revived +them even if they should now prove the last that Gérard would bestow on +her. + +But she would also have liked to see some sunlight playing over the +youthful foliage. The ashen sky and threatening rain saddened her. And +when she entered the private room she did not recognise it, so cold and +dim it seemed with its faded furniture. Winter had tarried there, with +all the dampness and mouldy smell peculiar to rooms which have long +remained closed. Then, too, some of the wall paper which had come away +from the plaster hung down in shreds, dead flies were scattered over the +parquetry flooring; and in order to open the shutters the waiter had to +engage in a perfect fight with their fastenings. However, when he had +lighted a little gas-stove, which at once flamed up and diffused some +warmth, the room became more cosy. + +Eve had seated herself on a chair, without raising the thick veil which +hid her face. Gowned, gloved, and bonneted in black, as if she were +already in mourning for her last passion, she showed naught of her own +person save her superb fair hair, which glittered like a helm of tawny +gold. She had ordered tea for two, and when the waiter brought it with a +little plateful of dry biscuits, left, no doubt, from the previous +season, he found her in the same place, still veiled and motionless, +absorbed, it seemed, in a gloomy reverie. If she had reached the café +half an hour before the appointed time it was because she desired some +leisure and opportunity to overcome her despair and compose herself. She +resolved that of all things she would not weep, that she would remain +dignified and speak calmly, like one who, whatever rights she might +possess, preferred to appeal to reason only. And she was well pleased +with the courage that she found within her. Whilst thinking of what she +should say to dissuade Gérard from a marriage which to her mind would +prove 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. Gérard was entering the +room. + +“What! are you here the first, my dear?” he exclaimed. “I thought that I +myself was ten minutes before the time! And you’ve ordered some tea and +are waiting for me!” + +He forced a smile as he spoke, striving to display the same delight at +seeing her as he had shown in the early golden days of their passion. But +at heart he was much embarrassed, and he shuddered at the thought of the +awful scene which he could foresee. + +She had at last risen and raised her veil. And looking at him she +stammered: “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 could +not restrain her passion. All her skilful arguments, all her fine +resolutions, were swept away. Her flesh irresistibly impelled her towards +him; she loved him, she would keep him, she would never surrender him to +another. And she wildly flung her arms around his neck. + +“Oh! Gérard, Gérard! I suffer too cruelly; I cannot, I cannot bear it! +Tell me at once that you will not marry her, that you will never marry +her!” + +Her voice died away in a sob, tears started from her eyes. Ah! those +tears which she had sworn she would never shed! They gushed forth without +cessation, they streamed from her lovely eyes like a flood of the +bitterest grief. + +“My daughter, O God! What! you would marry my daughter! She, here, on +your neck where I am now! No, no, such torture is past endurance, it must +not be, I will not have it!” + +He shivered as he heard that cry of frantic jealousy raised by a mother +who 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. For +his part, on his way to the assignation, he had come to what he thought +the most sensible decision, resolving to break off the intercourse after +the fashion of a well-bred man, with all sorts of fine consolatory +speeches. But sternness was not in his nature. He was weak and +soft-hearted, and had never been able to withstand a woman’s tears. +Nevertheless, he endeavoured to calm her, and in order to rid himself of +her 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 a +friendly chat, did we not? I assure you that you are greatly exaggerating +matters.” + +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 truth +at 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 as +this; 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 passionately +upon the eyes. “Is it true?” she asked in a transport. “You love me, you +love no one else? Oh! tell me so again, and kiss me, and promise me that +you will never belong to her.” + +Weak as he was he could not resist her ardent caresses and pressing +entreaties. There came a moment of supreme cowardice and passion; her +arms were around him and he forgot all but her, again and again repeating +that he loved none other, and would never, never marry her daughter. At +last he even sank so low as to pretend that he simply regarded that poor, +infirm creature with pity. His words of compassionate disdain for her +rival were like nectar to Eve, for they filled her with the blissful idea +that it was she herself who would ever remain beautiful in his eyes and +whom he would ever love.... + +At last silence fell between them, like an inevitable reaction after such +a tempest of despair and passion. It disturbed Gérard. “Won’t you drink +some tea?” he asked. “It is almost cold already.” + +She was not listening, however. To her the reaction had come in a +different form; and as though the inevitable explanation were only now +commencing, she began to speak in a sad and weary voice. “My dear Gérard, +you really cannot marry my daughter. In the first place it would be so +wrong, and then there is the question of your name, your position. +Forgive my frankness, but the fact is that everybody would say that you +had sold yourself--such a marriage would be a scandal for both your +family and mine.” + +As she spoke she took hold of his hands, like a mother seeking to prevent +her big son from committing some terrible blunder. And he listened to +her, with bowed head and averted eyes. She now evinced no anger, no +jealous rage; all such feelings seemed to have departed with the rapture +of her passion. + +“Just think of what people would say,” she continued. “I don’t deceive +myself, I am fully aware that there is an abyss between your circle of +society and ours. It is all very well for us to be rich, but money simply +enlarges the gap. And it was all very fine for me to be converted, my +daughter is none the less ‘the daughter of the Jewess,’ as folks so often +say. Ah! my Gérard, I am so proud of you, that it would rend my heart to +see you lowered, degraded almost, by a marriage for money with a girl who +is 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 to +be spared such painful talk. “But haven’t I sworn to you, that you are +the only one I love?” he said. “Haven’t I sworn that I would never marry +her! It’s all over. Don’t let us torture ourselves any longer.” + +Their glances met and lingered on one another, instinct with all the +misery which they dared not express in words. Eve’s face had suddenly +aged; her eyelids were red and swollen, and blotches marbled her +quivering cheeks, down which her tears again began to trickle. “My poor, +poor Gérard,” 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 impediment +in your life, and that I shall bring irreparable disaster on you by my +obstinacy 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 from +you. I can be of no help to you, whereas you bestow all on me. And yet +the time has come for you to assure yourself a position. At your age you +can’t continue living without any certainty of the morrow, without a home +and hearth of your own; and it would be cowardly and cruel of me to set +myself 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; and +she therefore dreamt of arranging a quiet life for him, a life of +tranquil happiness free from all fear of want. She loved him so fondly; +and possessed so much genuine kindness of heart that perhaps it might be +possible for her to rise even to renunciation and sacrifice. Moreover, +the very egotism born of her beauty suggested that it might be well for +her to think of retirement and not allow the autumn of her life to be +spoilt by torturing dramas. All this she said to him, treating him like a +child whose happiness she wished to ensure even at the price of her own; +and he, his eyes again lowered, listened without further protest, pleased +indeed to let her arrange a happy life for him. + +Examining the situation from every aspect, she at last began to +recapitulate the points in favour of that abominable marriage, the +thought of which had so intensely distressed her. “It is certain,” she +said, “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 for +the rest, well, I do not wish to excuse myself or you, but I could name +twenty households in which there have been worse things. Besides, I was +wrong when I said that money opened a gap between people. On the +contrary, it draws them nearer together, it secures forgiveness for every +fault; so nobody would dare to blame you, there would only be jealous +ones around you, dazzled by your good fortune.” + +Gérard 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 tell +you. You must think it all over.” + +“I have done so already. It is you that I have loved, and that I love +still. What you say is impossible.” + +She smiled divinely, rose, and again embraced him. “How good and kind you +are, my Gérard. Ah! if you only knew how I love you, how I shall always +love you, whatever happens.” + +Then she again began to weep, and even he shed tears. Their good faith +was absolute; tender of heart as they were, they sought to delay the +painful wrenching and tried to hope for further happiness. But they were +conscious that the marriage was virtually an accomplished fact. Only +tears 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 that +this was the last time they would meet as lovers. Still they strove to +retain 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 round +the room, at the sofa, the table, the four chairs, and the little hissing +gas-stove. The moist, hot atmosphere was becoming quite oppressive. + +“And so,” said Gérard, “you won’t drink a cup of tea?” + +“No, it’s so horrid here,” she answered, while arranging her hair in +front of the looking-glass. + +At that parting moment the mournfulness of this place, where she had +hoped to find such delightful memories, filled her with distress, which +was turning to positive anguish, when she suddenly heard an uproar of +gruff voices and heavy feet. People were hastening along the passage and +knocking at the doors. And, on darting to the window, she perceived a +number of policemen surrounding the chalet. At this the wildest ideas +assailed her. Had her daughter employed somebody to follow her? Did her +husband wish to divorce her so as to marry Silviane? The scandal would be +awful, and all her plans must crumble! She waited in dismay, white like a +ghost; while Gérard, also paling and quivering, begged her to be calm. At +last, when loud blows were dealt upon the door and a Commissary of Police +enjoined 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 waiting +for the rain to cease. Seated in a corner of the glazed verandah they +talked in undertones of Barthès’ painful affair, and ultimately decided +to ask Théophile Morin to dine with them on the following evening, and +inform his old friend that he must again go into exile. + +“That is the best course,” repeated Guillaume. “Morin is very fond of him +and will know how to break the news. I have no doubt too that he will go +with 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 into +prison. Poor fellow! how awful it is to have never known a moment of +happiness and gaiety in one’s life, to have devoted one’s whole existence +to the idea of liberty, and to see it scoffed at and expire with +oneself!” + +Then the priest paused, for he saw several policemen and keepers approach +the café and prowl round it. Having lost scent of the man they were +hunting, they had retraced their steps with the conviction no doubt that +he had sought refuge in the chalet. And in order that he might not again +escape them, they now took every precaution, exerted all their skill in +surrounding the place before venturing on a minute search. Covert fear +came upon Pierre and Guillaume when they noticed these proceedings. It +seemed to them that it must all be connected with the chase which they +had caught a glimpse of some time previously. Still, as they happened to +be in the chalet they might be called upon to give their names and +addresses. At this thought they glanced at one another, and almost made +up their minds to go off under the rain. But they realised that anything +like flight might only compromise them the more. So they waited; and all +at once there came a diversion, for two fresh customers entered the +establishment. + +A victoria with its hood and apron raised had just drawn up outside the +door. The first to alight from it was a young, well-dressed man with a +bored expression of face. He was followed by a young woman who was +laughing merrily, as if much amused by the persistence of the downpour. +By way of jesting, indeed, she expressed her regret that she had not come +to the Bois on her bicycle, whereupon her companion retorted that to +drive 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 the +bottom of the lake, to them.” + +Then, as the couple entered the chalet, Pierre saw that the young woman +who made merry over the rain was little Princess Rosemonde, while her +companion, who regarded the mid-Lent festivities as horrible, and +bicycling as an utterly unaesthetic amusement, was handsome Hyacinthe +Duvillard. On the previous evening, while they were taking a cup of tea +together on their return from the Chamber of Horrors, the young man had +responded to the Princess’s blandishments by declaring that the only form +of 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 on +the following Monday. Their chief regret was that by the time they +reached the fiords the worst part of the northern winter would be over. + +They sat down in the café 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 in +a whisper who the elder brother was. + +Thereupon, with sudden enthusiasm, she sprang to her feet: “Guillaume +Froment, indeed! the great chemist!” And stepping forward with arm +outstretched, she continued: “Ah! monsieur, you must excuse me, but I +really must shake hands with you. I have so much admiration for you! You +have done such wonderful work in connection with explosives!” Then, +noticing the chemist’s astonishment, she again burst into a laugh: “I am +the Princess de Harn, your brother Abbé Froment knows me, and I ought to +have asked him to introduce me. However, we have mutual friends, you and +I; for instance, Monsieur Janzen, a very distinguished man, as you are +aware. He was to have taken me to see you, for I am a modest disciple of +yours. Yes, I have given some attention to chemistry, oh! from pure zeal +for truth and in the hope of helping good causes, not otherwise. So you +will let me call on you--won’t you?--directly I come back from +Christiania, where I am going with my young friend here, just to acquire +some experience of unknown emotions.” + +In this way she rattled on, never allowing the others an opportunity to +say a word. And she mingled one thing with another; her cosmopolitan +tastes, which had thrown her into Anarchism and the society of shady +adventurers; her new passion for mysticism and symbolism; her belief that +the ideal must triumph over base materialism; her taste for aesthetic +verse; and her dream of some unimagined rapture when Hyacinthe should +kiss her with his frigid lips in a realm of eternal snow. + +All at once, however, she stopped short and again began to laugh. “Dear +me!” she exclaimed. “What are those policemen looking for here? Have they +come to arrest us? How amusing it would be!” + +Police Commissary Dupot and detective Mondésir had just made up their +minds to search the café, as their men had hitherto failed to find Salvat +in any of the outbuildings. They were convinced that he was here. Dupot, +a thin, bald, short-sighted, spectacled little man, wore his usual +expression of boredom and weariness; but in reality he was very wide +awake and extremely courageous. He himself carried no weapons; but, as he +anticipated a most violent resistance, such as might be expected from a +trapped wolf, he advised Mondésir to have his revolver ready. From +considerations of hierarchical respect, however, the detective, who with +his 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 scrutinized +the four customers whom he found in the café: the lady, the priest, and +the two other men. And passing them in a disdainful way, he at once made +for the stairs, intending to inspect the upper floor. Thereupon the +waiter, frightened by the sudden intrusion of the police, lost his head +and stammered: “But there’s a lady and gentleman upstairs in one of the +private rooms.” + +Dupot quietly pushed him aside. “A lady and gentleman, that’s not what we +are looking for.... Come, make haste, open all the doors, you mustn’t +leave a cupboard closed.” + +Then climbing to the upper floor, he and Mondésir explored in turn every +apartment and corner till they at last reached the room where Eve and +Gérard were together. Here the waiter was unable to admit them, as the +door 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 to +smile, allowed the trembling lady and gentleman to go downstairs, while +Mondésir, entering the room, looked under every article of furniture, and +even peeped into a little cupboard in order that no neglect might be +imputed to him. + +Meantime, in the public room which they had to cross after descending the +stairs, Eve and Gérard experienced fresh emotion; for people whom they +knew 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’s +glance and she felt sure that he recognised her. What a fatality! He had +so long a tongue and told his sister everything! Then, as the Count, in +despair at such a scandal, hurried off with the Baroness to conduct her +through the pouring rain to her cab, they both distinctly heard little +Princess Rosemonde exclaim: “Why, that was Count de Quinsac! Who was the +lady, do you know?” And as Hyacinthe, greatly put out, returned no +answer, she insisted, saying: “Come, you must surely know her. Who was +she, eh?” + +“Oh! nobody. Some woman or other,” he ended by replying. + +Pierre, who had understood the truth, turned his eyes away to hide his +embarrassment. But all at once the scene changed. At the very moment when +Commissary Dupot and detective Mondésir came downstairs again, after +vainly exploring the upper floor, a loud shout was raised outside, +followed by a noise of running and scrambling. Then Gascogne, the Chief +of 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 on +either side. And this bundle was the man, the hunted man, who had just +been discovered in the coach-house, inside a staved cask, covered with +hay. + +Ah! what a whoop of victory there was after that run of two hours’ +duration, that frantic chase which had left them all breathless and +footsore! It had been the most exciting, the most savage of all sports--a +man hunt! They had caught the man at last, and they pushed him, they +dragged him, they belaboured him with blows. And he, the man, what a +sorry prey he looked! A wreck, wan and dirty from having spent the night +in a hole full of leaves, still soaked to his waist from having rushed +through a stream, drenched too by the rain, bespattered with mire, his +coat and trousers in tatters, his cap a mere shred, his legs and hands +bleeding from his terrible rush through thickets bristling with brambles +and nettles. There no longer seemed anything human about his face; his +hair stuck to his moist temples, his bloodshot eyes protruded from their +sockets; fright, rage, and suffering were all blended on his wasted, +contracted face. Still it was he, the man, the quarry, and they gave him +another push, and he sank on one of the tables of the little café, still +held and shaken, however, by the rough hands of the policemen. + +Then Guillaume shuddered as if thunderstruck, and caught hold of Pierre’s +hand. At this the priest, who was looking on, suddenly understood the +truth and also quivered. Salvat! the man was Salvat! It was Salvat whom +they had seen rushing through the wood like a wild boar forced by the +hounds. And it was Salvat who was there, now conquered and simply a +filthy bundle. Then once more there came to Pierre, amidst his anguish, a +vision of the errand girl lying yonder at the entrance of the Duvillard +mansion, the pretty fair-haired girl whom the bomb had ripped and killed! + +Dupot and Mondésir made haste to participate in Gascogne’s triumph. To +tell the truth, however, the man had offered no resistance; it was like a +lamb that he had let the police lay hold of him. And since he had been in +the café, still roughly handled, he had simply cast a weary and mournful +glance around him. + +At last he spoke, and the first words uttered by his hoarse, gasping +voice were these: “I am hungry.” + +He was sinking with hunger and weariness. This was the third day that he +had eaten nothing. + +“Give him some bread,” said Commissary Dupot to the waiter. “He can eat +it while a cab is being fetched.” + +A policeman went off to find a vehicle. The rain had suddenly ceased +falling, 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 back +to the Bois. + +Meantime, Salvat had fallen gluttonously upon the hunk of bread which had +been given him, and whilst he was devouring it with rapturous animal +satisfaction, he perceived the four customers seated around. He seemed +irritated by the sight of Hyacinthe and Rosemonde, whose faces expressed +the mingled anxiety and delight they felt at thus witnessing the arrest +of some bandit or other. But all at once his mournful, bloodshot eyes +wavered, for to his intense surprise he had recognised Pierre and +Guillaume. When he again looked at the latter it was with the submissive +affection of a grateful dog, and as if he were once more promising that +he 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. “I +don’t know why I did so. It’s best that it should be all ended. I’m +ready.” + + + + +V. THE GAME OF POLITICS + +ON reading the newspapers on the following morning Pierre and Guillaume +were greatly surprised at not finding in them the sensational accounts of +Salvat’s arrest which they had expected. All they could discover was a +brief paragraph in a column of general news, setting forth that some +policemen on duty in the Bois de Boulogne had there arrested an +Anarchist, who was believed to have played a part in certain recent +occurrences. On the other hand, the papers gave a deal of space to the +questions raised by Sagnier’s fresh denunciations. There were innumerable +articles on the African Railways scandal, and the great debate which +might be expected at the Chamber of Deputies, should Mège, the Socialist +member, really renew his interpellation, as he had announced his +intention of doing. + +As Guillaume’s wrist was now fast healing, and nothing seemed to threaten +him, he had already, on the previous evening, decided that he would +return to Montmartre. The police had passed him by without apparently +suspecting any responsibility on his part; and he was convinced that +Salvat would keep silent. Pierre, however, begged him to wait a little +longer, at any rate until the prisoner should have been interrogated by +the investigating magistrate, by which time they would be able to judge +the situation more clearly. Pierre, moreover, during his long stay at the +Home Department on the previous morning, had caught a glimpse of certain +things and overheard certain words which made him suspect some dim +connection between Salvat’s crime and the parliamentary crisis; and he +therefore desired a settlement of the latter before Guillaume returned to +his wonted life. + +“Just listen,” he said to his brother. “I am going to Morin’s to ask him +to come and dine here this evening, for it is absolutely necessary that +Barthès should be warned of the fresh blow which is falling on him. And +then I think I shall go to the Chamber, as I want to know what takes +place there. After that, since you desire it, I will let you go back to +your own home.” + +It was not more than half-past one when Pierre reached the +Palais-Bourbon. It had occurred to him that Fonsègue would be able to +secure him admittance to the meeting-hall, but in the vestibule he met +General de Bozonnet, who happened to possess a couple of tickets. A +friend of his, who was to have accompanied him, had, at the last moment, +been unable to come. So widespread was the curiosity concerning the +debate now near at hand, and so general were the predictions that it +would prove a most exciting one, that the demand for tickets had been +extremely keen during the last twenty-four hours. In fact Pierre would +never have been able to obtain admittance if the General had not +good-naturedly offered to take him in. As a matter of fact the old +warrior was well pleased to have somebody to chat with. He explained that +he had simply come there to kill time, just as he might have killed it at +a concert or a charity bazaar. However, like the ex-Legitimist and +Bonapartist that he was, he had really come for the pleasure of feasting +his eyes on the shameful spectacle of parliamentary ignominy. + +When the General and Pierre had climbed the stairs, they were able to +secure two front seats in one of the public galleries. Little Massot, who +was already there, and who knew them both, placed one of them on his +right and the other on his left. “I couldn’t find a decent seat left in +the press gallery,” said he, “but I managed to get this place, from which +I shall be able to see things properly. It will certainly be a big +sitting. Just look at the number of people there are on every side!” + +The narrow and badly arranged galleries were packed to overflowing. There +were men of every age and a great many women too in the confused, serried +mass of spectators, amidst which one only distinguished a multiplicity of +pale white faces. The real scene, however, was down below in the +meeting-hall, which was as yet empty, and with its rows of seats disposed +in semi-circular fashion looked like the auditorium of a theatre. Under +the cold light which fell from the glazed roofing appeared the solemn, +shiny tribune, whence members address the Chamber, whilst behind it, on a +higher level, and running right along the rear wall, was what is called +the Bureau, with its various tables and seats, including the presidential +armchair. The Bureau, like the tribune, was still unoccupied. The only +persons one saw there were a couple of attendants who were laying out new +pens and filling inkstands. + +“The women,” said Massot with a laugh, after another glance at the +galleries, “come here just as they might come to a menagerie, that is, in +the secret hope of seeing wild beasts devour one another. But, by the +way, did you read the article in the ‘Voix du Peuple’ this morning? What +a wonderful fellow that Sagnier is. When nobody else can find any filth +left, he manages to discover some. He apparently thinks it necessary to +add something new every day, in order to send his sales up. And of course +it all disturbs the public, and it’s thanks to him that so many people +have come here in the hope of witnessing some horrid scene.” + +Then he laughed again, as he asked Pierre if he had read an unsigned +article in the “Globe,” which in very dignified but perfidious language +had called upon Barroux to give the full and frank explanations which the +country had a right to demand in that matter of the African Railways. +This paper had hitherto vigorously supported the President of the +Council, but in the article in question the coldness which precedes a +rupture was very apparent. Pierre replied that the article had much +surprised him, for he had imagined that Fonsègue and Barroux were linked +together by identity of views and long-standing personal friendship. + +Massot was still laughing. “Quite so,” said he. “And you may be sure that +the governor’s heart bled when he wrote that article. It has been much +noticed, 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 to +save both his own position and the paper’s.” + +Then he related what extraordinary confusion and emotion reigned among +the deputies in the lobbies through which he had strolled before coming +upstairs to secure a seat. After an adjournment of a couple of days the +Chamber found itself confronted by this terrible scandal, which was like +one of those conflagrations which, at the moment when they are supposed +to be dying out, suddenly flare up again and devour everything. The +various figures given in Sagnier’s list, the two hundred thousand francs +paid to Barroux, the eighty thousand handed to Monferrand, the fifty +thousand allotted to Fonsègue, the ten thousand pocketed by Duthil, and +the three thousand secured by Chaigneux, with all the other amounts +distributed among So-and-so and So-and-so, formed the general subject of +conversation. And at the same time some most extraordinary stories were +current; there was no end of tittle-tattle in which fact and falsehood +were so inextricably mingled that everybody was at sea as to the real +truth. Whilst many deputies turned pale and trembled as beneath a blast +of terror, others passed by purple with excitement, bursting with +delight, laughing with exultation at the thought of coming victory. For, +in point of fact, beneath all the assumed indignation, all the calls for +parliamentary cleanliness and morality, there simply lay a question of +persons--the question of ascertaining whether the government would be +overthrown, and in that event of whom the new administration would +consist. Barroux no doubt appeared to be in a bad way; but with things in +such a muddle one was bound to allow a margin for the unexpected. From +what was generally said it seemed certain that Mège would be extremely +violent. Barroux would answer him, and the Minister’s friends declared +that he was determined to speak out in the most decisive manner. As for +Monferrand he would probably address the Chamber after his colleague, but +Vignon’s intentions were somewhat doubtful, as, in spite of his delight, +he made a pretence of remaining in the background. He had been seen +going from one to another of his partisans, advising them to keep calm, +in order that they might retain the cold, keen _coup d’œil_ which in +warfare generally decides the victory. Briefly, such was the plotting and +intriguing that never had any witch’s cauldron brimful of drugs and +nameless abominations been set to boil on a more hellish fire than that +of this parliamentary cook-shop. + +“Heaven only knows what they will end by serving us,” said little Massot +by way of conclusion. + +General de Bozonnet for his part anticipated nothing but disaster. If +France had only possessed an army, said he, one might have swept away +that handful of bribe-taking parliamentarians who preyed upon the country +and rotted it. But there was no army left, there was merely an armed +nation, a very different thing. And thereupon, like a man of a past age +whom the present times distracted, he started on what had been his +favourite subject of complaint ever since he had been retired from the +service. + +“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’ll +give you some notes of mine, and you will be able to tell people the +truth.” + +Warfare, he continued, ought to be purely and simply a caste occupation, +with commanders designated by divine right, leading mercenaries or +volunteers into action. By democratising warfare people had simply killed +it; a circumstance which he deeply regretted, like a born soldier who +regarded 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 to +do so; and thus compulsory military service--what was called “the nation +in arms”--would, at a more or less distant date, certainly bring about +the end of warfare. If France had not engaged in a European war since +1870 this was precisely due to the fact that everybody in France was +ready to fight. But rulers hesitated to throw a whole nation against +another nation, for the loss both in life and treasure would be +tremendous. And so the thought that all Europe was transformed into a +vast camp filled the General with anger and disgust. He sighed for the +old times when men fought for the pleasure of the thing, just as they +hunted; whereas nowadays people were convinced that they would +exterminate one another at the very first engagement. + +“But surely it wouldn’t be an evil if war should disappear,” Pierre +gently remarked. + +This somewhat angered the General. “Well, you’ll have pretty nations if +people no longer fight,” he answered, and then trying to show a practical +spirit, he added: “Never has the art of war cost more money than since +war itself has become an impossibility. The present-day defensive peace +is purely and simply ruining every country in Europe. One may be spared +defeat, but utter bankruptcy is certainly at the end of it all. And in +any case the profession of arms is done for. All faith in it is dying +out, and it will soon be forsaken, just as men have begun to forsake the +priesthood.” + +Thereupon he made a gesture of mingled grief and anger, almost cursing +that parliament, that Republican legislature before him, as if he +considered it responsible for the future extinction of warfare. But +little Massot was wagging his head dubiously, for he regarded the subject +as rather too serious a one for him to write upon. And, all at once, in +order to turn the conversation into another channel, he exclaimed: “Ah! +there’s Monseigneur Martha in the diplomatic gallery beside the Spanish +Ambassador. It’s denied, you know, that he intends to come forward as a +candidate in Morbihan. He’s far too shrewd to wish to be a deputy. He +already pulls the strings which set most of the Catholic deputies who +have ‘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, it +seemed to him that he really played an important part in what was going +on. He could hardly take his eyes from him. It was as if he expected that +he would suddenly order men hither and thither, and direct the whole +march of events. + +“Ah!” said Massot again. “Here comes Mège. It won’t be long now before +the sitting begins.” + +The hall, down below, was gradually filling. Deputies entered and +descended the narrow passages between the benches. Most of them remained +standing and chatting in a more or less excited way; but some seated +themselves and raised their grey, weary faces to the glazed roof. It was +a cloudy afternoon, and rain was doubtless threatening, for the light +became quite livid. If the hall was pompous it was also dismal with its +heavy columns, its cold allegorical statues, and its stretches of bare +marble and woodwork. The only brightness was that of the red velvet of +the benches and the gallery hand-rests. + +Every deputy of any consequence who entered was named by Massot to his +companions. Mège, on being stopped by another member of the little +Socialist group, began to fume and gesticulate. Then Vignon, detaching +himself from a group of friends and putting on an air of smiling +composure, descended the steps towards his seat. The occupants of the +galleries, however, gave most attention to the accused members, those +whose names figured in Sagnier’s list. And these were interesting +studies. Some showed themselves quite sprightly, as if they were entirely +at their ease; but others had assumed a most grave and indignant +demeanour. Chaigneux staggered and hesitated as if beneath the weight of +some frightful act of injustice; whereas Duthil looked perfectly serene +save for an occasional twitch of his lips. The most admired, however, was +Fonsègue, who showed so candid a face, so open a glance, that his +colleagues as well as the spectators might well have declared him +innocent. 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 Fonsègue, after this morning’s article.” + +Chance willed it that as Barroux came along with his head erect, his face +pale, and his whole demeanour aggressive, he was obliged to pass Fonsègue +in order to reach the ministerial bench. In doing so he did not speak to +him, 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. Fonsègue seemed +quite at ease, and went on shaking hands with one and another of his +colleagues as if he were altogether unconscious of Barroux’ glance. Nor +did he even appear to see Monferrand, who walked by in the rear of the +Prime Minister, wearing a placid good-natured air, as if he knew nothing +of what was impending, but was simply coming to some ordinary humdrum +sitting. However, when he reached his seat, he raised his eyes and smiled +at Monseigneur Martha, who gently nodded to him. Then well pleased to +think that things were going as he wished them to go, he began to rub his +hands, as he often did by way of expressing his satisfaction. + +“Who is that grey-haired, mournful-looking gentleman on the ministerial +bench?” Pierre inquired of Massot. + +“Why, that’s Taboureau, the Minister of Public Instruction, the excellent +gentleman 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. Just +like Barroux he can’t feel very well pleased with the governor this +afternoon, for to-day’s ‘Globe’ contained an article pointing out his +thorough incapacity in everything concerning the fine arts. It was an +article in measured language, but all the more effective for that very +reason. It would surprise me if Taboureau should recover from it.” + +Just then a low roll of drums announced the arrival of the President and +other officials of the Chamber. A door opened, and a little procession +passed by amidst an uproar of exclamations and hasty footsteps. Then, +standing at his table, the President rang his bell and declared the +sitting open. But few members remained silent, however, whilst one of the +secretaries, a dark, lanky young man with a harsh voice, read the minutes +of the previous sitting. When they had been adopted, various letters of +apology for non-attendance were read, and a short, unimportant bill was +passed without discussion. And then came the big affair, Mège’s +interpellation, and at once the whole Chamber was in a flutter, while the +most passionate curiosity reigned in the galleries above. On the +Government consenting to the interpellation, the Chamber decided that the +debate should take place at once. And thereupon complete silence fell, +save that now and again a brief quiver sped by, in which one could detect +the various feelings, passions and appetites swaying the assembly. + +Mège began to speak with assumed moderation, carefully setting forth the +various points at issue. Tall and thin, gnarled and twisted like a +vine-stock, he rested his hands on the tribune as if to support his bent +figure, and his speech was often interrupted by the little dry cough +which came from the tuberculosis that was burning him. But his eyes +sparkled with passion behind his glasses, and little by little his voice +rose in piercing accents and he drew his lank figure erect and began to +gesticulate vehemently. He reminded the Chamber that some two months +previously, at the time of the first denunciations published by the “Voix +du Peuple,” he had asked leave to interpellate the Government respecting +that deplorable affair of the African Railways; and he remarked, truly +enough, that if the Chamber had not yielded to certain considerations +which he did not wish to discuss, and had not adjourned his proposed +inquiries, full light would long since have been thrown on the whole +affair, in such wise that there would have been no revival, no increase +of the scandal, and no possible pretext for that abominable campaign of +denunciation which tortured and disgusted the country. However, it had at +last been understood that silence could be maintained no longer. It was +necessary that the two ministers who were so loudly accused of having +abused their trusts, should prove their innocence, throw full light upon +all they had done; apart from which the Chamber itself could not possibly +remain beneath the charge of wholesale venality. + +Then he recounted the whole history of the affair, beginning with the +grant of a concession for the African Lines to Baron Duvillard; and next +passing to the proposals for the issue of lottery stock, which proposals, +it was now said, had only been sanctioned by the Chamber after the most +shameful bargaining and buying of votes. At this point Mège became +extremely violent. Speaking of that mysterious individual Hunter, Baron +Duvillard’s recruiter and go-between, he declared that the police had +allowed him to flee from France, much preferring to spend its time in +shadowing Socialist deputies. Then, hammering the tribune with his fist, +he summoned Barroux to give a categorical denial to the charges brought +against him, and to make it absolutely clear that he had never received a +single copper of the two hundred thousand francs specified in Hunter’s +list. Forthwith certain members shouted to Mège that he ought to read the +whole list; but when he wished to do so others vociferated that it was +abominable, that such a mendacious and slanderous document ought not to +be accorded a place in the proceedings of the French legislature. Mège +went on still in frantic fashion, figuratively casting Sagnier into the +gutter, and protesting that there was nothing in common between himself +and such a base insulter. But at the same time he demanded that justice +and punishment should be meted out equally to one and all, and that if +indeed there were any bribe-takers among his colleagues, they should be +sent that very night to the prison of Mazas. + +Meantime the President, erect at his table, rang and rang his bell +without managing to quell the uproar. He was like a pilot who finds the +tempest too strong for him. Among all the men with purple faces and +barking mouths who were gathered in front of him, the ushers alone +maintained imperturbable gravity. At intervals between the bursts of +shouting, Mège’s voice could still be heard. By some sudden transition he +had come to the question of a Collectivist organisation of society such +as he dreamt of, and he contrasted it with the criminal capitalist +society of the present day, which alone, said he, could produce such +scandals. And yielding more and more to his apostolic fervour, declaring +that there could be no salvation apart from Collectivism, he shouted that +the day of triumph would soon dawn. He awaited it with a smile of +confidence. In his opinion, indeed, he merely had to overthrow that +ministry and perhaps another one, and then he himself would at last take +the reins of power in hand, like a reformer who would know how to pacify +the nation. As outside Socialists often declared, it was evident that the +blood of a dictator flowed in that sectarian’s veins. His feverish, +stubborn rhetoric ended by exhausting his interrupters, who were +compelled 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 Mège taking a walk with +his three little children in the Jardin des Plantes the other day. He +looked after them as carefully as an old nurse. I believe he’s a very +worthy fellow at heart, and lives in a very modest way.” + +But a quiver had now sped through the assembly. Barroux had quitted his +seat to ascend the tribune. He there drew himself erect, throwing his +head back after his usual fashion. There was a haughty, majestic, +slightly sorrowful expression on his handsome face, which would have been +perfect had his nose only been a little larger. He began to express his +sorrow and indignation in fine flowery language, which he punctuated with +theatrical gestures. His eloquence was that of a tribune of the romantic +school, and as one listened to him one could divine that in spite of all +his pomposity he was really a worthy, tender-hearted and somewhat foolish +man. That afternoon he was stirred by genuine emotion; his heart bled at +the thought of his disastrous destiny, he felt that a whole world was +crumbling with himself. Ah! what a cry of despair he stifled, the cry of +the man who is buffeted and thrown aside by the course of events on the +very 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 struggled +and suffered persecution for that Republic’s sake; to have established +that Republic amidst the battle of parties, after all the horrors of +national and civil war; and then, when the Republic at last triumphed and +became a living fact, secure from all attacks and intrigues, to suddenly +feel like a survival of some other age, to hear new comers speak a new +language, preach a new ideal, and behold the collapse of all he had +loved, all he had reverenced, all that had given him strength to fight +and conquer! The mighty artisans of the early hours were no more; it had +been meet that Gambetta should die. How bitter it all was for the last +lingering old ones to find themselves among the men of the new, +intelligent and shrewd generation, who gently smiled at them, deeming +their romanticism quite out of fashion! All crumbled since the ideal of +liberty collapsed, since liberty was no longer the one desideratum, the +very basis of the Republic whose existence had been so dearly purchased +after so long an effort! + +Erect and dignified Barroux made his confession. The Republic to him was +like the sacred ark of life; the very worst deeds became saintly if they +were employed to save her from peril. And in all simplicity he, told his +story, how he had found the great bulk of Baron Duvillard’s money going +to the opposition newspapers as pretended payment for puffery and +advertising, whilst on the other hand the Republican organs received but +beggarly, trumpery amounts. He had been Minister of the Interior at the +time, and had therefore had charge of the press; so what would have been +said of him if he had not endeavoured to reestablish some equilibrium in +this distribution of funds in order that the adversaries of the +institutions of the country might not acquire a great increase of +strength by appropriating all the sinews of war? Hands had been stretched +out towards him on all sides, a score of newspapers, the most faithful, +the most meritorious, had claimed their legitimate share. And he had +ensured them that share by distributing among them the two hundred +thousand francs set down in the list against his name. Not a centime of +the money had gone into his own pocket, he would allow nobody to impugn +his personal honesty, on that point his word must suffice. At that moment +Barroux was really grand. All his emphatic pomposity disappeared; he +showed himself, as he really was--an honest man, quivering, his heart +bared, his conscience bleeding, in his bitter distress at having been +among those who had laboured and at now being denied reward. + +For, truth to tell, his words fell amidst icy silence. In his childish +simplicity he had anticipated an outburst of enthusiasm; a Republican +Chamber could but acclaim him for having saved the Republic; and now the +frigidity of one and all quite froze him. He suddenly felt that he was +all alone, done for, touched by the hand of death. Nevertheless, he +continued speaking amidst that terrible silence with the courage of one +who is committing suicide, and who, from his love of noble and eloquent +attitudes, is determined to die standing. He ended with a final +impressive gesture. However, as he came down from the tribune, the +general coldness seemed to increase, not a single member applauded. With +supreme clumsiness he had alluded to the secret scheming of Rome and the +clergy, whose one object, in his opinion, was to recover the predominant +position they had lost and restore monarchy in France at a more or less +distant date. + +“How silly of him! Ought a man ever to confess?” muttered Massot. “He’s +done for, and the ministry too!” + +Then, amidst the general frigidity, Monferrand boldly ascended the +tribune stairs. The prevailing uneasiness was compounded of all the +secret fear which sincerity always causes, of all the distress of the +bribe-taking deputies who felt that they were rolling into an abyss, and +also of the embarrassment which the others felt at thought of the more or +less 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 after +blow on the tribune with one hand, while with the other he smote his +chest. Short and thick-set, with his face thrust forward, hiding his +shrewdness beneath an expression of indignant frankness, he was for a +moment really superb. He denied everything. He was not only ignorant of +what was meant by that sum of eighty thousand francs set down against his +name, but he defied the whole world to prove that he had even touched a +single copper of that money. He boiled over with indignation to such a +point that he did not simply deny bribe-taking on his own part, he denied +it on behalf of the whole assembly, of all present and past French +legislatures, as if, indeed, bribe-taking on the part of a representative +of the people was altogether too monstrous an idea, a crime that +surpassed possibility to such an extent that the mere notion of it was +absurd. And thereupon applause rang out; the Chamber, delivered from its +fears, thrilled by his words, acclaimed him. + +From the little Socialist group, however, some jeers arose, and voices +summoned Monferrand to explain himself on the subject of the African +Railways, reminding him that he had been at the head of the Public Works +Department at the time of the vote, and requiring of him that he should +state what he now meant to do, as Minister of the Interior, in order to +reassure the country. He juggled with this question, declaring that if +there were any guilty parties they would be punished, for he did not +require anybody to remind him of his duty. And then, all at once, with +incomparable maestria, he had recourse to the diversion which he had been +preparing since the previous day. His duty, said he, was a thing which he +never forgot; he discharged it like a faithful soldier of the nation hour +by hour, and with as much vigilance as prudence. He had been accused of +employing the police on he knew not what base spying work in such wise as +to allow the man Hunter to escape. Well, as for that much-slandered +police force, he would tell the Chamber on what work he had really +employed it the day before, and how zealously it had laboured for the +cause of law and order. In the Bois de Boulogne, on the previous +afternoon, it had arrested that terrible scoundrel, the perpetrator of +the crime in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy, that Anarchist mechanician Salvat, +who for six weeks past had so cunningly contrived to elude capture. The +scoundrel had made a full confession during the evening, and the law +would now take its course with all despatch. Public morality was at last +avenged, 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 his +country, whilst villains were vainly seeking to dishonour him by +inscribing his name on a list of infamy, the outcome of the very basest +political intrigues. + +The Chamber listened agape and quivering. This story of Salvat’s arrest, +which none of the morning papers had reported; the present which +Monferrand seemed to be making them of that terrible Anarchist whom many +had already begun to regard as a myth; the whole _mise-en-scène_ of the +Minister’s speech transported the deputies as if they were suddenly +witnessing the finish of a long-interrupted drama. Stirred and flattered, +they prolonged their applause, while Monferrand went on celebrating his +act 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 could +answer for public order. He even won favour with the Conservatives and +Clericals on the Right by separating himself from Barroux, addressing a +few words of sympathy to those Catholics who had “rallied” to the +Republic, and appealing for concord among men of different beliefs in +order that they might fight the common enemy, that fierce, wild socialism +which 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 whose +vociferations only added to the triumphal tumult. Members eagerly +stretched out their hands to the Minister, who for a moment remained +standing there and smiling. But there was some anxiety in that smile of +his; his success was beginning to frighten him. Had he spoken too well, +and saved the entire Cabinet instead of merely saving himself? That would +mean the ruin of his plan. The Chamber ought not to vote under the effect +of that speech which had thrilled it so powerfully. Thus Monferrand, +though he still continued to smile, spent a few anxious moments in +waiting 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 as +among the deputies themselves. Several ladies had been seen applauding, +and Monseigneur Martha had given unmistakable signs of the liveliest +satisfaction. “Ah, General!” said Massot to Bozonnet in a sneering way. +“Those are our fighting men of the present time. And he’s a bold and +strong one, is Monferrand. Of course it is all what people style ‘saving +one’s bacon,’ but none the less it’s very clever work.” + +Just then, however, Monferrand to his great satisfaction had seen Vignon +rise from his seat in response to the urging of his friends. And +thereupon all anxiety vanished from the Minister’s smile, which became +one of malicious placidity. + +The very atmosphere of the Chamber seemed to change with Vignon in the +tribune. He was slim, with a fair and carefully tended beard, blue eyes +and all the suppleness of youth. He spoke, moreover, like a practical +man, in simple, straightforward language, which made the emptiness of the +other’s declamatory style painfully conspicuous. His term of official +service 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 most +intricate 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 a +rather more advanced political programme than that of Barroux and +Monferrand, so that when opportunity offered there might be good reasons +for him to take their place. Moreover, he was quite capable of carrying +out his programme by attempting some of the long-promised reforms for +which the country was waiting. He had guessed that honesty, when it had +prudence 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 what +it was right to say on the subject under discussion, the things that +common sense dictated and that the Chamber itself secretly desired should +be said. He was certainly the first to rejoice over an arrest which would +reassure the country; but he failed to understand what connection there +could be between that arrest and the sad business that had been brought +before the Chamber. The two affairs were quite distinct and different, +and he begged his colleagues not to vote in the state of excitement in +which he saw them. Full light must be thrown on the African Railways +question, and this, one could not expect from the two incriminated +ministers. However, he was opposed to any suggestion of a committee of +inquiry. In his opinion the guilty parties, if such there were, ought to +be brought immediately before a court of law. And, like Barroux, he wound +up with a discreet allusion to the growing influence of the clergy, +declaring that he was against all unworthy compromises, and was equally +opposed to any state dictatorship and any revival of the ancient +theocratic 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 the +situation seemed so clear, and the overthrow of the ministry so certain, +that Mège, who had meant to reply to the others, wisely abstained from +doing so. Meantime people noticed the placid demeanour of Monferrand, who +had listened to Vignon with the utmost complacency, as if he were +rendering homage to an adversary’s talent; whereas Barroux, ever since +the cold silence which had greeted his speech, had remained motionless in +his seat, bowed down and pale as a corpse. + +“Well, it’s all over,” resumed Massot, amidst the hubbub which arose as +the deputies prepared to vote; “the ministry’s done for. Little Vignon +will go a long way, you know. People say that he dreams of the Elysée. At +all events everything points to him as our next prime minister.” + +Then, as the journalist rose, intending to go off, the General detained +him: “Wait a moment, Monsieur Massot,” said he. “How disgusting all that +parliamentary cooking is! You ought to point it out in an article, and +show people how the country is gradually being weakened and rotted to the +marrow by all such useless and degrading discussions. Why, a great battle +resulting in the loss of 50,000 men would exhaust us less than ten years +of this abominable parliamentary system. You must call on me some +morning. I will show you a scheme of military reform, in which I point +out the necessity of returning to the limited professional armies which +we 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 a +dead weight on us, and is bound to pull us down!” + +Pierre, for his part, had not spoken a word since the beginning of the +debate. He had listened to everything, at first influenced by the thought +of his brother’s interests, and afterwards mastered by the feverishness +which gradually took possession of everybody present. He had become +convinced that there was nothing more for Guillaume to fear; but how +curiously did one event fit into another, and how loudly had Salvat’s +arrest re-echoed in the Chamber! Looking down into the seething hall +below 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 Mège, +who was so pleased at having been able to stir up the depths of those +troubled waters, in which he always unwittingly angled for the benefit of +others. Then, too, Pierre had become interested in Fonsègue, who, knowing +what had been arranged between Monferrand, Duvillard and himself, evinced +perfect calmness and strove to reassure Duthil and Chaigneux, who, on +their side, were quite dismayed by the ministry’s impending fall. Yet, +Pierre’s eyes always came back to Monseigneur Martha. He had watched his +serene smiling face throughout the sitting, striving to detect his +impressions of the various incidents that had occurred, as if in his +opinion that dramatic parliamentary comedy had only been played as a step +towards the more or less distant triumph for which the prelate laboured. +And now, while awaiting the result of the vote, as Pierre turned towards +Massot and the General, he found that they were talking of nothing but +recruiting and tactics and the necessity of a bath of blood for the whole +of Europe. Ah! poor mankind, ever fighting and ever devouring one another +in parliaments as well as on battle-fields, when, thought Pierre, would +it decide to disarm once and for all, and live at peace according to the +laws of justice and reason! + +Then he again looked down into the hall, where the greatest confusion was +prevailing among the deputies with regard to the coming vote. There was +quite a rainfall of suggested “resolutions,” from a very violent one +proposed by Mège, to another, which was merely severe, emanating from +Vignon. The ministry, however, would only accept the “Order of the day +pure and simple,” a mere decision, that is, to pass to the next business, +as if Mège’s interpellation had been unworthy of attention. And presently +the Government was defeated, Vignon’s resolution being adopted by a +majority of twenty-five. Some portion of the Left had evidently joined +hands with the Right and the Socialist group. A prolonged hubbub followed +this result. + +“Well, so we are to have a Vignon Cabinet,” said Massot, as he went off +with Pierre and the General. “All the same, though, Monferrand has saved +himself, and if I were in Vignon’s place I should distrust him.” + +That evening there was a very touching farewell scene at the little house +at Neuilly. When Pierre returned thither from the Chamber, saddened but +reassured with regard to the future, Guillaume at once made up his mind +to go home on the morrow. And as Nicholas Barthès was compelled to leave, +the little dwelling seemed on the point of relapsing into dreary quietude +once more. + +Théophile Morin, whom Pierre had informed of the painful alternative in +which Barthès was placed, duly came to dinner; but he did not have time +to speak to the old man before they all sat down to table at seven +o’clock. As usual Barthès had spent his day in marching, like a caged +lion, up and down the room in which he had accepted shelter after the +fashion of a big fearless child, who never worried with regard either to +his present circumstances or the troubles which the future might have in +store for him. His life had ever been one of unlimited hope, which +reality had ever shattered. Although all that he had loved, all that he +had 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 faith +of his youth, and was ever confident in the near future. He would smile +indulgently when new comers, men of violent ideas, derided him and called +him a poor old fellow. For his part, he could make neither head nor tail +of the many new sects. He simply felt indignant with their lack of human +feeling, and stubbornly adhered to his own idea of basing the world’s +regeneration on the simple proposition that men were naturally good and +ought to be free and brotherly. + +That evening at dinner, feeling that he was with friends who cared for +him, Barthès proved extremely gay, and showed all his ingenuousness in +talking of his ideal, which would soon be realised, said he, in spite of +everything. He could tell a story well whenever he cared to chat, and on +that occasion he related some delightful anecdotes about the prisons +through which he had passed. He knew all the dungeons, Ste. Pelagie and +Mont St. Michel, Belle-Ile-en-Mer and Clairvaux, to say nothing of +temporary gaols and the evil-smelling hulks on board which political +prisoners are often confined. And he still laughed at certain +recollections, and related how in the direst circumstances he had always +been able to seek refuge in his conscience. The others listened to him +quite charmed by his conversation, but full of anguish at the thought +that this perpetual prisoner or exile must again rise and take his staff +to sally forth, driven from his native land once more. + +Pierre did not speak out until they were partaking of dessert. Then he +related how the Minister had written to him, and how in a brief interview +he had stated that Barthès must cross the frontier within forty-eight +hours if he did not wish to be arrested. Thereupon the old man gravely +rose, with his white fleece, his eagle beak and his bright eyes still +sparkling 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 still +kept me here at the risk of my compromising you even more than I had done +already! You must forgive me, I did not think of the worry I might cause +you, I thought that everything would be satisfactorily arranged. I must +thank you both--yourself and Guillaume--for the few days of quietude that +you have procured to an old vagabond and madman like myself.” + +Then, as they tried to prevail on him to remain until the following +morning, he would not listen to them. There would be a train for Brussels +about midnight, and he had ample time to take it. He refused to let Morin +accompany him. No, no, said he, Morin was not a rich man, and moreover he +had work to attend to. Why should he take him away from his duties, when +it was so easy, so simple, for him to go off alone? He was going back +into exile as into misery and grief which he had long known, like some +Wandering Jew of Liberty, ever driven onward through the world. + +When he took leave of the others at ten o’clock, in the little sleepy +street just outside the house, tears suddenly dimmed his eyes. “Ah! I’m +no longer a young man,” he said; “it’s all over this time. I shall never +come back again. My bones will rest in some corner over yonder.” And yet, +after he had affectionately embraced Pierre and Guillaume, he drew +himself up like one who remained unconquered, and he raised a supreme cry +of 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, sonorous +footsteps 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 to +accompany Guillaume to Montmartre, he was oppressed by the thought that +on returning home he would once more find himself alone with nothing to +prevent him from relapsing into negation and despair. The idea of this +had kept him from sleeping, and he still found it difficult to hide his +distress and force a smile. + +The sky was so clear and the atmosphere so mild that the brothers had +resolved to go to Montmartre on foot by way of the outer boulevards. Nine +o’clock was striking when they set out. Guillaume for his part was very +gay at the thought of the surprise he would give his family. It was as if +he were suddenly coming back from a long journey. He had not warned them +of his intentions; he had merely written to them now and again to tell +them that he was recovering, and they certainly had no idea that his +return 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 means +of a latch-key, quietly opened the door of his house, which seemed to be +asleep, so profound was the stillness both around and within it. Pierre +found 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 the +garden, 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 perceived +three bicycles leaning against the trees. Beyond them stood the large +work-shop, so gay, and yet so peaceful, with its huge window overlooking +a sea of roofs. + +Guillaume had reached the work-shop without meeting anybody. With an +expression 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 on +the threshold. + +The three sons alone were there. Near his forge stood Thomas working a +boring machine, with which he was making some holes in a small brass +plate. Then François and Antoine were seated on either side of their +large table, the former reading, and the latter finishing a block. The +bright sunshine streamed in, playing over all the seeming disorder of the +room, where so many callings and so many implements found place. A large +bunch of wallflowers bloomed on the women’s work-table near the window; +and absorbed as the young men were in their respective tasks the only +sound was the slight hissing of the boring machine each time that the +eldest 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 raised +their 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 his +arms. + +“Father!” + +Guillaume embraced them, feeling very happy. And that was all; there was +no long spell of emotion, no useless talk. It was as if he had merely +gone out the day before and, delayed by business, had now come back. +Still, he looked at them with his kindly smile, and they likewise smiled +with their eyes fixed on his. Those glances proclaimed everything, the +closest 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 of +discomfort. When his nephews had vigorously shaken hands with him, he sat +down near the window apart from them, as if he felt out of his element +there. + +“Well, youngsters,” said Guillaume, “where’s Mère-Grand, and where’s +Marie?” + +Their grandmother was upstairs in her room, they said; and Marie had +taken it into her head to go marketing. This, by the way, was one of her +delights. She asserted that she was the only one who knew how to buy +new-laid eggs and butter of a nutty odour. Moreover, she sometimes +brought some dainty or some flowers home, in her delight at proving +herself to be so good a housewife. + +“And so things are going on well?” resumed Guillaume. “You are all +satisfied, your work is progressing, eh?” + +He addressed brief questions to each of them, like one who, on his return +home, at once reverts to his usual habits. Thomas, with his rough face +beaming, explained in a couple of sentences that he was now sure of +perfecting his little motor; François, who was still preparing for his +examination, jestingly declared that he yet had to lodge a heap of +learning in his brain; and then Antoine produced the block which he was +finishing, and which depicted his little friend Lise, Jahan’s sister, +reading in her garden amidst the sunshine. It was like a florescence of +that dear belated creature whose mind had been awakened by his affection. + +However, the three brothers speedily went back to their places, reverting +to their work with a natural impulse, for discipline had made them regard +work as life itself. Then Guillaume, who had glanced at what each was +doing, exclaimed: “Ah! youngsters, I schemed and prepared a lot of things +myself while I was laid up. I even made a good many notes. We walked here +from Neuilly, but my papers and the clothes which Mère-Grand sent me will +come in a cab by-and-by.... Ah! how pleased I am to find everything in +order here, and to be able to take up my task with you again! Ah! I shall +polish off some work now, and no mistake!” + +He had already gone to his own corner, the space reserved for him between +the window and the forge. He there had a chemical furnace, several glass +cases and shelves crowded with appliances, and a long table, one end of +which he used for writing purposes. And he once more took possession of +that little world. After glancing around with delight at seeing +everything in its place, he began to handle one object and another, eager +to be at work like his sons. + +All at once, however, Mère-Grand appeared, calm, grave and erect in her +black gown, at the top of the little staircase which conducted to the +bedrooms. “So it’s you, Guillaume?” said she. “Will you come up for a +moment?” + +He immediately did so, understanding that she wished to speak to him +alone and tranquillise him. It was a question of the great secret between +them, that one thing of which his sons knew nothing, and which, after +Salvat’s crime, had brought him much anguish, through his fear that it +might be divulged. When he reached Mère-Grand’s room she at once took him +to the hiding-place near her bed, and showed him the cartridges of the +new explosive, and the plans of the terrible engine of warfare which he +had invented. He found them all as he had left them. Before anyone could +have reached them, she would have blown up the whole place at the risk of +perishing 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. “My +only anxiety,” he replied, “was that the police might come here and treat +you roughly.... You are the guardian of our secret, and it would be +for 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. The +inmates of the house certainly regarded him with no other feeling than +one of affectionate sympathy; and so how came it that he considered them +hostile? The truth was that he asked himself what would become of him +among those workers, who were upheld by a faith of their own, whereas he +believed in nothing, and did not work. The sight of those young men, so +gaily and zealously toiling, ended by quite irritating him; and the +arrival of Marie brought his distress to a climax. + +Joyous and full of life, she came in without seeing him, a basket on her +arm. And she seemed to bring all the sunlight of the spring morning with +her, 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 ever +laughed 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 basket +which 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 especially +for 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. And +look at the cutlets! They’re wonderful, aren’t they? The butcher cuts +them carefully when he sees me. And then here’s a cream cheese, real +cream, you know, it will be delicious! Ah! and here’s the surprise, +something dainty, some radishes, some pretty little pink radishes. Just +fancy! radishes in March, what a luxury!” + +She triumphed like the good little housewife she was, one who had +followed a whole course of cookery and home duties at the Lycée Fénelon. +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’Abbé?” she exclaimed; “I beg your pardon, but I didn’t see +you. How is Guillaume? Have you brought us some news of him?” + +“But father’s come home,” said Thomas; “he’s upstairs with Mère-Grand.” + +Quite thunderstruck, she hastily placed her purchases in the basket. +“Guillaume’s come back, Guillaume’s come back!” said she, “and you don’t +tell me of it, you let me unpack everything! Well, it’s nice of me, I +must say, to go on praising my butter and eggs when Guillaume’s come +back.” + +Guillaume, as it happened, was just coming down with Madame Leroi. Marie +gaily hastened to him and offered him her cheeks, on which he planted two +resounding kisses. Then she, resting her hands on his shoulders, gave him +a 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 had +lost 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 it +makes me to find you as beautiful and as affectionate as ever.” + +Pierre, who was looking at them, deemed them cold. He had doubtless +expected more tears, and a more passionate embrace on the part of an +affianced pair, whom so grievous an accident had separated almost on the +eve of their wedding. Moreover, his feelings were hurt by the +disproportion of their respective ages. No doubt his brother still seemed +to him very sturdy and young, and his feeling of repulsion must have come +from that young woman whom, most decidedly, he did not like. Ever since +her arrival he had experienced increasing discomfort, a keener and keener +desire to go off and never return. + +So acute became his suffering at feeling like a stranger in his brother’s +home, that he at last rose and sought to take his leave, under the +pretext that he had some urgent matters to attend to in town. + +“What! you won’t stay to _déjeuner_ with us!” exclaimed Guillaume in +perfect stupefaction. “Why, it was agreed! You surely won’t distress me +like that! This house is your own, remember!” + +Then, as with genuine affection they all protested and pressed him to +stay, he was obliged to do so. However, he soon relapsed into silence and +embarrassment, seated on the same chair as before, and listening moodily +to those people who, although they were his relatives, seemed to be far +removed from him. + +As it was barely eleven o’clock they resumed work, but every now and +again there was some merry talk. On one of the servants coming for the +provisions, Marie told the girl to call her as soon as it should be time +to boil the eggs, for she prided herself on boiling them to a nicety, in +such wise as to leave the whites like creamy milk. This gave an +opportunity for a few jests from François, who occasionally teased her +about all the fine things she had learnt at the Lycée Fénelon, where her +father had placed her when she was twelve years old. However, she was not +afraid of him, but gave him tit for tat by chaffing him about all the +hours which he lost at the École Normale over a mass of pedagogic trash. + +“Ah! you big children!” she exclaimed, while still working at her +embroidery. “You are all very intelligent, and you all claim to have +broad minds, and yet--confess it now--it worries you a little that a girl +like 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 girls +receiving as complete an education as possible. She was well aware of +this; however, she liked to tease them in return for the manner in which +they themselves plagued her. + +“But do you know,” said she, “you are a great deal behind the times? I am +well aware of the reproaches which are levelled at girls’ colleges by +so-called right-minded people. To begin, there is no religious element +whatever in the education one receives there, and this alarms many +families which consider religious education to be absolutely necessary +for girls, if only as a moral weapon of defence. Then, too, the education +at our Lycées is being democratised--girls of all positions come to them. +Thanks to the scholarships which are so liberally offered, the daughter +of the lady who rents a first floor flat often finds the daughter of her +door-keeper among her school-fellows, and some think this objectionable. +It is said also that the pupils free themselves too much from home +influence, and that too much opportunity is left for personal initiative. +As a matter of fact the extensiveness of the many courses of study, all +the learning that is required of pupils at the examinations, certainly +does tend to their emancipation, to the coming of the future woman and +future society, which you young men are all longing for, are you not?” + +“Of course we are!” exclaimed François; “we all agree on that point.” + +She waved her hand in a pretty way, and then quietly continued: “I’m +jesting. My views are simple enough, as you well know, and I don’t ask +for nearly as much as you do. As for woman’s claims and rights, well, the +question is clear enough; woman is man’s equal so far as nature allows +it. And the only point is to agree and love one another. At the same time +I’m well pleased to know what I do--oh! not from any spirit of pedantry +but simply because I think it has all done me good, and given me some +moral as well as physical health.” + +It delighted her to recall the days she had spent at the Lycée Fénelon, +which of the five State colleges for girls opened in Paris was the only +one counting a large number of pupils. Most of these were the daughters +of officials or professors, who purposed entering the teaching +profession. In this case, they had to win their last diploma at the École +Normale of Sevres, after leaving the Lycée. Marie, for her part, though +her studies had been brilliant, had felt no taste whatever for the +calling of teacher. Moreover, when Guillaume had taken charge of her +after her father’s death, he had refused to let her run about giving +lessons. To provide herself with a little money, for she would accept +none as a gift, she worked at embroidery, an art in which she was most +accomplished. + +While she was talking to the young men Guillaume had listened to her +without interfering. If he had fallen in love with her it was largely on +account 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 the +poetry of the shrinking, lamb-like girl who has been brought up in +ignorance, she had gained absolute rectitude of heart and mind, exempt +from all hypocrisy, all secret perversity such as is stimulated by what +may seem mysterious in life. And whatever she might know, she had +retained such child-like purity that in spite of her six-and-twenty +summers all the blood in her veins would occasionally rush to her cheeks +in fiery blushes, which drove her to despair. + +“My dear Marie,” Guillaume now exclaimed, “you know very well that the +youngsters were simply joking. You are in the right, of course.... And +your boiled eggs cannot be matched in the whole world.” + +He said this in so soft and affectionate a tone that the young woman +flushed purple. Then, becoming conscious of it, she coloured yet more +deeply, and as the three young men glanced at her maliciously she grew +angry with herself. “Isn’t it ridiculous, Monsieur l’Abbé,” she said, +turning towards Pierre, “for an old maid like myself to blush in that +fashion? People might think that I had committed a crime. It’s simply to +make me blush, you know, that those children tease me. I do all I can to +prevent it, but it’s stronger than my will.” + +At this Mère-Grand raised her eyes from the shirt she was mending, and +remarked: “Oh! it’s natural enough, my dear. It is your heart rising to +your cheeks in order that we may see it.” + +The _déjeuner_ hour was now at hand; and they decided to lay the table in +the work-shop, as was occasionally done when they had a guest. The +simple, cordial meal proved very enjoyable in the bright sunlight. +Marie’s boiled eggs, which she herself brought from the kitchen covered +with a napkin, were found delicious. Due honour was also done to the +butter and the radishes. The only dessert that followed the cutlets was +the cream cheese, but it was a cheese such as nobody else had ever +partaken of. And, meantime, while they ate and chatted all Paris lay +below them, stretching away to the horizon with its mighty rumbling. + +Pierre had made an effort to become cheerful, but he soon relapsed into +silence. Guillaume, however, was very talkative. Having noticed the three +bicycles in the garden, he inquired of Marie how far she had gone that +morning. She answered that François and Antoine had accompanied her in +the direction of Orgemont. The worry of their excursions was that each +time they returned to Montmartre they had to push their machines up the +height. From the general point of view, however, the young woman was +delighted with bicycling, which had many virtues, said she. Then, seeing +Pierre glance at her in amazement, she promised that she would some day +explain her opinions on the subject to him. After this bicycling became +the one topic of conversation until the end of the meal. Thomas gave an +account 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, Mère-Grand, who presided at table with the +serene dignity of a queen-mother, leant towards Guillaume, who sat next +to her, and spoke to him in an undertone. Pierre understood that she was +referring to his marriage, which was to have taken place in April, but +must now necessarily be deferred. This sensible marriage, which seemed +likely to ensure the happiness of the entire household, was largely the +work of Mère-Grand and the three young men, for Guillaume would never +have yielded to his heart if she whom he proposed to make his wife had +not already been a well-loved member of the family. At the present time +the last week in June seemed, for all sorts of reasons, to be a +favourable date for the wedding. + +Marie, who heard the suggestion, turned gaily towards Mère-Grand. + +“The end of June will suit very well, will it not, my dear?” said the +latter. + +Pierre expected to see a deep flush rise to the young woman’s cheeks, but +she remained very calm. She felt deep affection, blended with the most +tender gratitude, for Guillaume, and was convinced that in marrying him +she would be acting wisely and well both for herself and the others. + +“Certainly, the end of June,” she repeated, “that will suit very well +indeed.” + +Then the sons, who likewise had heard the proposal, nodded their heads by +way of assenting also. + +When they rose from table Pierre was absolutely determined to go off. The +cordial and simple meal, the sight of that family, which had been +rendered so happy by Guillaume’s return, and of that young woman who +smiled so placidly at life, had brought him keen suffering, though why he +could not tell. However, it all irritated him beyond endurance; and he +therefore again pretended that he had a number of things to see to in +Paris. He shook hands in turn with the young men, Mère-Grand and Marie; +both of the women evincing great friendliness but also some surprise at +his haste to leave the house. Guillaume, who seemed saddened and anxious, +sought to detain him, and failing in this endeavour followed him into the +little garden, where he stopped him in order to have an explanation. + +“Come,” said he, “what is the matter with you, Pierre? Why are you +running off like this?” + +“Oh! there’s nothing the matter I assure you; but I have to attend to a +few urgent affairs.” + +“Oh, Pierre, pray put all pretence aside. Nobody here has displeased you +or 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 perhaps +myself.” + +Guillaume’s sorrow was increasing. “Ah! brother, little brother,” he +resumed, “you distress me, for I can detect that you are hiding something +from me. Remember that new ties have linked us together and that we love +one another as in the old days when you were in your cradle and I used to +come to play with you. I know you well, remember. I know all your +tortures, since you have confessed them to me; and I won’t have you +suffer, I want to cure you, I do!” + +Pierre’s heart was full, and as he heard those words he could not +restrain his tears. “Oh! you must leave me to my sufferings,” he +responded. “They are incurable. You can do nothing for me, I am beyond +the 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 should +go and shut yourself up in that solitary little house of yours, where you +madden yourself by brooding over the fall of your faith. Come and spend +your 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 the +thought of it, at the idea that he would now find himself all alone +there, bereft of the brother with whom he had lately spent so many happy +days. Into what solitude and torment must he not now relapse after that +companionship to which he had become accustomed? However, the very +thought of the latter increased his grief, and confession suddenly gushed +from his lips: “To spend my time here, live with you, oh! no, that is an +impossibility. Why do you compel me to speak out, and tell you things +that I am ashamed of and do not even understand. Ever since this morning +you must have seen that I have been suffering here. No doubt it is +because you and your people work, whereas I do nothing, because you love +one another and believe in your efforts, whereas I no longer know how to +love or believe. I feel out of my element. I’m embarrassed here, and I +embarrass you. In fact you all irritate me, and I might end by hating +you. There remains nothing healthy in me, all natural feelings have been +spoilt and destroyed, and only envy and hatred could sprout up from such +ruins. So let me go back to my accursed hole, where death will some day +come for me. Farewell, brother!” + +But Guillaume, full of affection and compassion, caught hold of his arms +and detained him. “You shall not go, I will not allow you to go, without +a positive promise that you will come back. I don’t wish to lose you +again, especially now that I know all you are worth and how dreadfully +you suffer. I will save you, if need be, in spite of yourself. I will +cure you of your torturing doubts, oh! without catechising you, without +imposing any particular faith on you, but simply by allowing life to do +its 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 as +you can to spend a day with us. You will then see that when folks have +allotted themselves a task and work together in unison, they escape +excessive unhappiness. A task of any kind--yes, that is what is wanted, +together with some great passion and frank acceptance of life, so that it +may 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 be +awakened by the breath of life. Come, brother, consent, consent!” + +Then, seeing that Pierre still remained gloomy and sorrowful, and +persisted in his determination to go away and bury himself, Guillaume +added, “Ah! I don’t say that the things of this world are such as one +might wish them to be. I don’t say that only joy and truth and justice +exist. For instance, the affair of that unhappy fellow Salvat fills me +with anger and revolt. Guilty he is, of course, and yet how many excuses +he had, and how I shall pity him if the crimes of all of us are laid at +his 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 of +it 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 spend +the 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 from +martyrdom 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 he +answered: “Don’t compel me to promise.... All I can say is that I will +try to conquer myself.” + +The week he then spent in his little, dark, empty home proved a terrible +one. Shutting himself up he brooded over his despair at having lost the +companionship of that elder brother whom he once more loved with his +whole 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, for +he vaguely felt that affection, truth and life were there. But on each +occasion he was held back by a return of the discomfort which he had +already experienced, discomfort compounded of shame and fear. Priest that +he was, cut off from love and the avocations of other men, he would +surely find nothing but hurt and suffering among creatures who were all +nature, freedom and health. While he pondered thus, however, there rose +before him the shades of his father and mother, those sad spirits that +seemed to wander through the deserted rooms lamenting and entreating him +to reconcile them in himself, as soon as he should find peace. What was +he to do,--deny their prayer, and remain weeping with them, or go yonder +in search of the cure which might at last lull them to sleep and bring +them happiness in death by the force of his own happiness in life? At +last a morning came when it seemed to him that his father enjoined him +with a smile to betake himself yonder, while his mother consented with a +glance of her big soft eyes, in which her sorrow at having made so bad a +priest of him yielded to her desire to restore him to the life of our +common humanity. + +Pierre did not argue with himself that day: he took a cab and gave +Guillaume’s address to the driver for fear lest he should be overcome on +the way and wish to turn back. And when he again found himself, as in a +dream, in the large work-shop, where Guillaume and the young men welcomed +him in a delicately affectionate way, he witnessed an unexpected scene +which both impressed and relieved him. + +Marie, who had scarcely nodded to him as he entered, sat there with a +pale and frowning face. And Mère-Grand, who was also grave, said, after +glancing at her: “You must excuse her, Monsieur l’Abbé; but she isn’t +reasonable. She is in a temper with all five of us.” + +Guillaume began to laugh. “Ah! she’s so stubborn!” he exclaimed. “You can +have no idea, Pierre, of what goes on in that little head of hers when +anybody says or does anything contrary to her ideas of justice. Such +absolute and lofty ideas they are, that they can descend to no +compromise. For instance, we were talking of that recent affair of a +father who was found guilty on his son’s evidence; and she maintained +that the son had only done what was right in giving evidence against his +father, and that one ought invariably to tell the truth, no matter what +might happen. What a terrible public prosecutor she would make, eh?” + +Thereupon Marie, exasperated by Pierre’s smile, which seemingly indicated +that he also thought her in the wrong, flew into quite a passion: “You +are cruel, Guillaume!” she cried; “I won’t be laughed at like this.” + +“But you are losing your senses, my dear,” exclaimed François, while +Thomas and Antoine again grew merry. “We were only urging a question of +humanity, father and I, for we respect and love justice as much as you +do.” + +“There’s no question of humanity, but simply one of justice. What is just +and right is just and right, and you cannot alter it.” + +Then, as Guillaume made a further attempt to state his views and win her +over to them, she rose trembling, in such a passion that she could +scarcely stammer: “No, no, you are all too cruel, you only want to grieve +me. I prefer to go up into my own room.” + +At this Mère-Grand vainly sought to restrain her. “My child, my child!” + said she, “reflect a moment; this is very wrong, you will deeply regret +it.” + +“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 occasionally +occurred before, but there had never been so serious a one. Guillaume +immediately admitted that he had done wrong in laughing at her, for she +could not bear irony. Then he told Pierre that in her childhood and youth +she had been subject to terrible attacks of passion whenever she +witnessed or heard of any act of injustice. As she herself explained, +these attacks would come upon her with irresistible force, transporting +her to such a point that she would sometimes fall upon the floor and +rave. Even nowadays she proved quarrelsome and obstinate whenever certain +subjects were touched upon. And she afterwards blushed for it all, fully +conscious that others must think her unbearable. + +Indeed, a quarter of an hour later, she came downstairs again of her own +accord, and bravely acknowledged her fault. “Wasn’t it ridiculous of me?” + she said. “To think I accuse others of being unkind when I behave like +that! Monsieur l’Abbé must have a very bad opinion of me.” Then, after +kissing Mère-Grand, she added: “You’ll forgive me, won’t you? Oh! +François may laugh now, and so may Thomas and Antoine. They are quite +right, our differences are merely laughing matters.” + +“My poor Marie,” replied Guillaume, in a tone of deep affection. “You see +what it is to surrender oneself to the absolute. If you are so healthy +and reasonable it’s because you regard almost everything from the +relative point of view, and only ask life for such gifts as it can +bestow. But when your absolute ideas of justice come upon you, you lose +both equilibrium and reason. At the same time, I must say that we are all +liable 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 me +love 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 torments +originated with his desire for the absolute both in things and beings? He +had sought faith in its entirety, and despair had thrown him into +complete negation. Again, was there not some evil desire for the absolute +and some affectation of pride and voluntary blindness in the haughty +bearing which he had retained amidst the downfall of his belief, the +saintly reputation which he had accepted when he possessed no faith at +all? On hearing his brother praise Marie, because she only asked life for +such things as it could give, it had seemed to him that this was advice +for himself. It was as if a refreshing breath of nature had passed before +his face. At the same time his feelings in this respect were still vague, +and the only well-defined pleasure that he experienced came from the +young woman’s fit of anger, that error of hers which brought her nearer +to him, by lowering her in some degree from her pedestal of serene +perfection. It was, perhaps, that seeming perfection which had made him +suffer; 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 he +went off he thought her very good-hearted and very human. + +Two days later he again came to spend the afternoon in the large sunlit +work-shop overlooking Paris. Ever since he had become conscious of the +idle life he was leading, he had felt very bored when he was alone, and +only found relief among that gay, hardworking family. His brother scolded +him for not having come to _déjeuner_, and he promised to do so on the +morrow. By the time a week had elapsed, none of the discomfort and covert +hostility which had prevailed between him and Marie remained: they met +and 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 from +other men. Thus her sisterly cordiality both astonished and delighted +Pierre. It was as if he wore the same garments and held the same ideas as +his big nephews, as if there were nothing whatever to distinguish him +from other men. He was still more surprised, however, by Marie’s silence +on all religious questions. She seemed to live on quietly and happily, +without a thought of what might be beyond life, that terrifying realm of +mystery, which to him had brought such agony of mind. + +Now that he came every two or three days to Montmartre she noticed that +he was suffering. What could be the matter with him, she wondered. When +she questioned him in a friendly manner and only elicited evasive +replies, she guessed that he was ashamed of his sufferings, and that they +were aggravated, rendered well-nigh incurable, by the very secrecy in +which he buried them. Thereupon womanly compassion awoke within her, and +she felt increasing affection for that tall, pale fellow with feverish +eyes, who was consumed by grievous torments which he would confess to +none. No doubt she questioned Guillaume respecting her brother’s sadness, +and he must have confided some of the truth to her in order that she +might help him to extricate Pierre from his sufferings, and give him back +some taste for life. The poor fellow always seemed so happy when she +treated him like a friend, a brother! + +At last, one evening, on seeing his eyes full of tears as he gazed upon +the dismal twilight falling over Paris, she herself pressed him to +confide his trouble to her. And thereupon he suddenly spoke out, +confessing all his torture and the horrible void which the loss of faith +had 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 might +replace the faith that had fled from him! She listened in stupefaction. +Why, he must be mad! And she plainly told him so, such was her +astonishment and revolt at hearing such a desperate cry of wretchedness. +To despair, indeed, and believe in nothing and love nothing, simply +because a religious hypothesis had crumbled! And this, too, when the +whole, vast world was spread before one, life with the duty of living it, +creatures and things to be loved and succoured, without counting the +universal labour, the task which one and all came to accomplish! +Assuredly he must be mad, mad with the gloomiest madness; still she vowed +she would cure him. + +From that time forward she felt the most compassionate affection for this +extraordinary young man, who had first embarrassed and afterwards +astonished her. She showed herself very gentle and gay with him; she +looked after him with the greatest skill and delicacy of heart and mind. +There had been certain similar features in their childhood; each had been +reared in the strictest religious views by a pious mother. But afterwards +how different had been their fates! Whilst he was struggling with his +doubts, bound by his priestly vows, she had grown up at the Lycée +Fénelon, where her father had placed her as soon as her mother died; and +there, far removed from all practice of religion, she had gradually +reached total forgetfulness of her early religious views. It was a +constant source of surprise for him to find that she had thus escaped all +distress of mind at the thought of what might come after death, whereas +that same thought had so deeply tortured him. When they chatted together +and he expressed his astonishment at it, she frankly laughed, saying that +she had never felt any fear of hell, for she was certain that no hell +existed. And she added that she lived in all quietude, without hope of +going to any heaven, her one thought being to comply in a reasonable way +with the requirements and necessities of earthly life. It was, perhaps, +in some measure a matter of temperament with her; but it was also a +matter of education. Yet, whatever that education had been, whatever +knowledge she had acquired, she had remained very womanly and very +loving. There was nothing stern or masculine about her. + +“Ah, my friend,” she said one day to Pierre, “if you only knew how easy +it is for me to remain happy so long as I see those I love free from any +excessive suffering. For my own part I can always adapt myself to life. I +work and content myself no matter what may happen. Sorrow has only come +to me from others, for I can’t help wishing that everybody should be +fairly happy, and there are some who won’t.... I was for a long time +very poor, but I remained gay. I wish for nothing, except for things that +can’t be purchased. Still, want is the great abomination which distresses +me. I can understand that you should have felt everything crumbling when +charity 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 to +give. Some day, too, by dint of reason and toil, by the good and +efficient 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! It +would be ridiculous for me to try to heal you with big phrases. All the +same, I should like to cure you of your gloomy sufferings. To do so, all +that I ask of you is to spend as much time as you can with us. You know +that 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 common +work, that you will come back to truth by joining us in the school of our +good 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 way +with a pretty assumption of wisdom. As she had said too, life was so +delightful 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 as +Pierre was of doing nothing, anxious as he was to occupy his mind and +fingers, he had first taken an interest in Antoine’s engraving, asking +why he should not try something of the kind himself. However, he felt +that he lacked the necessary gift for art. Then, too, he recoiled from +François’ purely intellectual labour, for he himself had scarcely emerged +from the harrowing study of conflicting texts. Thus he was more inclined +for manual toil like that of Thomas. In mechanics he found precision and +clearness such as might help to quench his thirst for certainty. So he +placed himself at the young man’s orders, pulled his bellows and held +pieces of mechanism for him. He also sometimes served as assistant to +Guillaume, tying a large blue apron over his cassock in order to help in +the experiments. From that time he formed part of the work-shop, which +simply 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 Mère-Grand, raised +her 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 he +had witnessed at his first visit. The sun, sinking behind some slight +purple clouds, was throwing down a hail of rays and sparks which on all +sides rebounded and leapt over the endless stretch of roofs. It might +have been thought that some great sower, hidden amidst the glory of the +planet, was scattering handfuls of golden grain from one horizon to the +other. + +Pierre, at sight of it, put his fancy into words: “It is the sun sowing +Paris with grain for a future harvest,” said he. “See how the expanse +looks 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 Paris +with grain. See how it casts the seed of light and health right away to +the distant suburbs! And yet, how singular! The rich districts on the +west seem steeped in a ruddy mist, whilst the good seed falls in golden +dust 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 had +said, it seemed indeed that while the sun slowly sank behind the lacework +of clouds, the sower of eternal life scattered his flaming seed with a +rhythmical swing of the arm, ever selecting the districts of toil and +effort. One dazzling handful of grain fell over yonder on the district of +the schools; and then yet another rained down to fertilise the district +of the factories and work-shops. + +“Ah! well,” said Guillaume gaily. “May the crop soon sprout from the good +ground of our great Paris, which has been turned up by so many +revolutions, and enriched by the blood of so many workers! It is the only +ground in the world where Ideas can germinate and bloom. Yes, yes, Pierre +is quite right, it is the sun sowing Paris with the seed of the future +world, which can sprout only up here!” + +Then Thomas, François and Antoine, who stood behind their father in a +row, nodded as if to say that this was also their own conviction; whilst +Mère-Grand gazed afar with dreamy eyes as though she could already behold +the splendid future. + +“Ah! but it is only a dream; centuries must elapse. We shall never see +it!” 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 at +once there came to him the memory of another Marie*--the adorable Marie +of his youth, that Marie de Guersaint who had been cured at Lourdes, and +the loss of whom had left such a void in his heart. Was that new Marie +who stood there smiling at him, so tranquil and so charming in her +strength, destined to heal that old-time wound? He felt that he was +beginning 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 its +rays, was scattering living golden dust over Paris, still and ever sowing +the 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 helping +Thomas, suddenly caught his foot in the skirt of his cassock and narrowly +escaped 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 priestly +robe as something too heavy and cumbersome, particularly when one had +certain work to perform. Nevertheless, her words deeply impressed Pierre, +and he could not forget them. When he was at home in the evening and +repeated them to himself they gradually threw him into feverish +agitation. Why, indeed, had he not divested himself of that cassock, +which weighed so heavily and painfully on his shoulders? Then a frightful +struggle 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 his +priestly gown aside, for had he not ceased to discharge any priestly +office? He had not said mass for some time past, and this surely meant +renunciation of the priesthood. Nevertheless, so long as he retained his +gown it was possible that he might some day say mass again, whereas if he +cast it aside he would, as it were, strip himself, quit the priesthood +entirely, 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 nothing +himself he had resolved to watch, in all loyalty, over the belief of +others. He would not so lower himself as to forswear his vows, he would +be no base renegade, but however great the torments of the void he felt +within him he would remain the minister of man’s illusions respecting the +Divinity. And it was by reason of his conduct in this respect that he had +ended by being venerated as a saint--he who denied everything, who had +become a mere empty sepulchre. For a long time his falsehood had never +disturbed him, but it now brought him acute suffering. It seemed to him +that he would be acting in the vilest manner if he delayed placing his +life in accord with his opinions. The thought of it all quite rent his +heart. + +The question was a very clear one. By what right did he remain the +minister of a religion in which he no longer believed? Did not elementary +honesty require that he should quit a Church in which he denied the +presence of the Divinity? He regarded the dogmas of that Church as +puerile errors, and yet he persisted in teaching them as if they were +eternal truths. Base work it was, that alarmed his conscience. He vainly +sought the feverish glow of charity and martyrdom which had led him to +offer himself as a sacrifice, willing to suffer all the torture of doubt +and to find his own life lost and ravaged, provided that he might yet +afford the relief of hope to the lowly. Truth and nature, no doubt, had +already regained too much ascendancy over him for those feelings to +return. The thought of such a lying apostolate now wounded him; he no +longer had the hypocritical courage to call the Divinity down upon the +believers kneeling before him, when he was convinced that the Divinity +would not descend. Thus all the past was swept away; there remained +nothing of the sublime pastoral part he would once have liked to play, +that supreme gift of himself which lay in stubborn adherence to the rules +of the Church, and such devotion to faith as to endure in silence the +torture of having lost it. + +What must Marie think of his prolonged falsehood, he wondered, and +thereupon he seemed to hear her words again: “Why not take your cassock +off?” His conscience bled as if those words were a stab. What contempt +must she not feel for him, she who was so upright, so high-minded? Every +scattered blame, every covert criticism directed against his conduct, +seemed to find embodiment in her. It now sufficed that she should condemn +him, and he at once felt guilty. At the same time she had never voiced +her disapproval to him, in all probability because she did not think she +had any right to intervene in a struggle of conscience. The superb +calmness and healthiness which she displayed still astonished him. He +himself was ever haunted and tortured by thoughts of the unknown, of what +the morrow of death might have in store for one; but although he had +studied and watched her for days together, he had never seen her give a +sign of doubt or distress. This exemption from such sufferings as his own +was due, said she, to the fact that she gave all her gaiety, all her +energy, all her sense of duty, to the task of living, in such wise that +life itself proved a sufficiency, and no time was left for mere fancies +to terrify and stultify her. Well, then, since she with her air of quiet +strength had asked him why he did not take off his cassock, he would take +it off--yes, he would divest himself of that robe which seemed to burn +and weigh him down. + +He fancied himself calmed by this decision, and towards morning threw +himself upon his bed; but all at once a stifling sensation, a renewal of +his abominable anguish, brought him to his feet again. No, no, he could +not divest himself of that gown which clung so tightly to his flesh. His +skin 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 the +priest for ever, and differentiate him from the flock? Even should he +tear off his gown with his skin, he would remain a priest, an object of +scandal and shame, awkward and impotent, shut off from the life of other +men. And so why tear it off, since he would still and ever remain in +prison, and a fruitful life of work in the broad sunlight was no longer +within his reach? He, indeed, fancied himself irremediably stricken with +impotence. Thus he was unable to come to any decision, and when he +returned to Montmartre two days later he had again relapsed into a state +of torment. + +Feverishness, moreover, had come upon the happy home. Guillaume was +becoming more and more annoyed about Salvat’s affair, not a day elapsing +without the newspapers fanning his irritation. He had at first been +deeply touched by the dignified and reticent bearing of Salvat, who had +declared that he had no accomplices whatever. Of course the inquiry into +the crime was what is called a secret one; but magistrate Amadieu, to +whom it had been entrusted, conducted it in a very noisy way. The +newspapers, which he in some degree took into his confidence, were full +of articles and paragraphs about him and his interviews with the +prisoner. Thanks to Salvat’s quiet admissions, Amadieu had been able to +retrace the history of the crime hour by hour, his only remaining doubts +having reference to the nature of the powder which had been employed, and +the making of the bomb itself. It might after all be true that Salvat had +loaded the bomb at a friend’s, as he indeed asserted was the case; but he +must be lying when he added that the only explosive used was dynamite, +derived from some stolen cartridges, for all the experts now declared +that dynamite would never have produced such effects as those which had +been witnessed. This, then, was the mysterious point which protracted the +investigations. And day by day the newspapers profited by it to circulate +the wildest stories under sensational headings, which were specially +devised for the purpose of sending up their sales. + +It was all the nonsense contained in these stories that fanned +Guillaume’s irritation. In spite of his contempt for Sagnier he could not +keep from buying the “Voix du Peuple.” Quivering with indignation, +growing more and more exasperated, he was somehow attracted by the mire +which he found in that scurrilous journal. Moreover, the other +newspapers, 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 in +milder language than Sagnier’s, were none the less abominably unjust. It +seemed indeed as if the whole press had set itself the task of covering +Salvat with mud, so as to be able to vilify Anarchism generally. +According to the journalists the prisoner’s life had simply been one long +abomination. He had already earned his living by thievery in his +childhood at the time when he had roamed the streets, an unhappy, +forsaken vagrant; and later on he had proved a bad soldier and a bad +worker. He had been punished for insubordination whilst he was in the +army, and he had been dismissed from a dozen work-shops because he +incessantly disturbed them by his Anarchical propaganda. Later still, he +had fled his country and led a suspicious life of adventure in America, +where, it was alleged, he must have committed all sorts of unknown +crimes. Moreover there was his horrible immorality, his connection with +his sister-in-law, that Madame Théodore who had taken charge of his +forsaken child in his absence, and with whom he had cohabited since his +return to France. In this wise Salvat’s failings and transgressions were +pitilessly denounced and magnified without any mention of the causes +which had induced them, or of the excuses which lay in the unhappy man’s +degrading environment. And so Guillaume’s feelings of humanity and +justice revolted, for he knew the real Salvat,--a man of tender heart and +dreamy mind, so liable to be impassioned by fancies,--a man cast into +life when a child without weapon of defence, ever trodden down or thrust +aside, 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 had +been shut up in strict confinement, at the mercy of the ambitious and +worldly Amadieu. Guillaume had learnt from his son, Thomas, that the +prisoner could count on no support whatever among his former mates at the +Grandidier works. These works were becoming prosperous once more, thanks +to their steady output of bicycles; and it was said that Grandidier was +only waiting for Thomas to perfect his little motor, in order to start +the manufacture of motor-cars on a large scale. However, the success +which he was now for the first time achieving, and which scarcely repaid +him for all his years of toil and battle, had in certain respects +rendered him prudent and even severe. He did not wish any suspicion to be +cast upon his business through the unpleasant affair of his former +workman Salvat, and so he had dismissed such of his workmen as held +Anarchist views. If he had kept the two Toussaints, one of whom was the +prisoner’s brother-in-law, while the other was suspected of sympathy with +him, this was because they had belonged to the works for a score of +years, and he did not like to cast them adrift. Moreover, Toussaint, the +father, 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 to +the prisoner’s marriage with his sister. + +One evening when Thomas came home from the works, to which he returned +every now and then in order to try his little motor, he related that he +had that day seen Madame Grandidier, the poor young woman who had become +insane through an attack of puerperal fever following upon the death of a +child. Although most frightful attacks of madness occasionally came over +her, and although life beside her was extremely painful, even during the +intervals when she remained downcast and gentle as a child, her husband +had never been willing to send her to an asylum. He kept her with him in +a pavilion near the works, and as a rule the shutters of the windows +overlooking the yard remained closed. Thus Thomas had been greatly +surprised to see one of these windows open, and the young woman appear at +it amidst the bright sunshine of that early spring. True, she only +remained there for a moment, vision-like, fair and pretty, with smiling +face; for a servant who suddenly drew near closed the window, and the +pavilion then again sank into lifeless silence. At the same time it was +reported among the men employed at the works that the poor creature had +not experienced an attack for well-nigh a month past, and that this was +the reason why the “governor” looked so strong and pleased, and worked so +vigorously to help on the increasing prosperity of his business. + +“He isn’t a bad fellow,” added Thomas, “but with the terrible competition +that 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 on +exterminating one another, the latter--if they don’t want to +starve--ought to be well pleased when capital falls into the hands of an +active, fair-minded man.... If he shows no pity for Salvat, it is +because he really believes in the necessity of an example.” + +That same day Thomas, after leaving the works and while threading his way +through the toilsome hive-like Marcadet district, had overtaken Madame +Théodore and little Céline, who were wandering on in great distress. It +appeared that they had just called upon Toussaint, who had been unable to +lend them even such a trifle as ten sous. Since Salvat’s arrest, the +woman and the child had been forsaken and suspected by one and all. +Driven forth from their wretched lodging, they were without food and +wandered hither and thither dependent on chance alms. Never had greater +want and misery fallen on defenceless creatures. + +“I told them to come up here, father,” said Thomas, “for I thought that +one might pay their landlord a month’s rent, so that they might go home +again.... Ah! there’s somebody coming now--it’s they, no doubt.” + +Guillaume had felt angry with himself whilst listening to his son, for he +had not thought of the poor creatures. It was the old story: the man +disappears, 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 Théodore came in, humble and timid, scared like a luckless +creature whom life never wearies of persecuting. She was becoming almost +blind, and little Céline had to lead her. The girl’s fair, thin face wore +its wonted expression of shrewd intelligence, and even now, however +woeful her rags, it was occasionally brightened by a childish smile. + +Pierre and Marie, who were both there, felt extremely touched. Near them +was Madame Mathis, young Victor’s mother, who had come to help Mère-Grand +with the mending of some house-linen. She went out by the day in this +fashion among a few families, and was thus enabled to give her son an +occasional franc or two. Guillaume alone questioned Madame Théodore. + +“Ah! monsieur,” she stammered, “who could ever have thought Salvat +capable 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 I +told everybody that he was in Belgium. I wasn’t quite sure of it, still +I’m glad that he didn’t come back to see us; for if he had been arrested +at our place I should have lost my senses.... Well, now that they have +him, they’ll sentence him to death, that’s certain.” + +At this Céline, 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. Guillaume +kissed her, and then went on questioning Madame Théodore. + +“Well, monsieur,” she answered, “the child’s not old or big enough to +work as yet, and my eyes are done for, people won’t even take me as a +charwoman. And so it’s simple enough, we starve.... Oh! of course I’m +not without relations; I have a sister who married very well. Her husband +is a clerk, Monsieur Chrétiennot, perhaps you know him. Unfortunately +he’s rather proud, and as I don’t want any scenes between him and my +sister, 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 small +household, when one already has two girls.... That’s why the only +person I can apply to is my brother Toussaint. His wife isn’t a bad sort +by any means, but she’s no longer the same since she’s been living in +fear of her husband having another attack. The first one carried off all +her savings, and what would become of her if Toussaint should remain on +her hands, paralysed? Besides, she’s threatened with another burden, for, +as you may know, her son Charles got keeping company with a servant at a +wine shop, who of course ran away after she had a baby, which she left +him to see to. So one can understand that the Toussaints themselves are +hard put. I don’t complain of them. They’ve already lent me a little +money, and of course they can’t go on lending for ever.” + +She continued talking in this spiritless, resigned way, complaining only +on account of Céline; for, said she, it was enough to make one’s heart +break to see such an intelligent child obliged to tramp the streets after +getting on so well at the Communal School. She could feel too that +everybody now kept aloof from them on account of Salvat. The Toussaints +didn’t want to be compromised in any such business. There was only +Charles, who had said that he could well understand a man losing his head +and trying to blow up the _bourgeois_, because they really treated the +workers in a blackguard way. + +“For my part, monsieur,” added Madame Théodore, “I say nothing, for I’m +only 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 what +he 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 the +daughter of a man condemned to death.” + +Once more Céline 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 grieves +me too much!” + +At this Pierre and Marie exchanged compassionate glances, while +Mère-Grand rose from her chair, in order to go upstairs and search her +wardrobes for some articles of clothing which might be of use to the two +poor creatures. Guillaume, who, for his part, had been moved to tears, +and felt full of revolt against the social system which rendered such +distress possible, slipped some alms into the child’s little hand, and +promised Madame Théodore that he would see her landlord so as to get her +back her room. + +“Ah! Monsieur Froment!” replied the unfortunate woman. “Salvat was quite +right when he said you were a real good man! And as you employed him here +for a few days you know too that he isn’t a wicked one.... Now that +he’s been put in prison everybody calls him a brigand, and it breaks my +heart to hear them.” Then, turning towards Madame Mathis, who had +continued sewing in discreet silence, like a respectable woman whom none +of these things could concern, she went on: “I know you, madame, but I’m +better acquainted with your son, Monsieur Victor, who has often come to +chat at our place. Oh! you needn’t be afraid, I shan’t say it, I shall +never compromise anybody; but if Monsieur Victor were free to speak, he’d +be the man to explain Salvat’s ideas properly.” + +Madame Mathis looked at her in stupefaction. Ignorant as she was of her +son’s real life and views, she experienced a vague dread at the idea of +any connection between him and Salvat’s family. Moreover, she refused to +believe it possible. “Oh! you must be mistaken,” she said. “Victor told +me that he now seldom came to Montmartre, as he was always going about in +search of work.” + +By the anxious quiver of the widow’s voice, Madame Théodore understood +that she ought not to have mixed her up in her troubles; and so in all +humility she at once beat a retreat: “I beg your pardon, madame, I didn’t +think I should hurt your feelings. Perhaps, too, I’m mistaken, as you +say.” + +Madame Mathis had again turned to her sewing as to the solitude in which +she lived, that nook of decent misery where she dwelt without +companionship and almost unknown, with scarcely sufficient bread to eat. +Ah! that dear son of hers, whom she loved so well; however much he might +neglect her, she had placed her only remaining hope in him: he was her +last dream, and would some day lavish all kinds of happiness upon her! + +At that moment Mère-Grand came downstairs again, laden with a bundle of +linen and woollen clothing, and Madame Théodore and little Céline +withdrew while pouring forth their thanks. For a long time after they had +gone Guillaume, unable to resume work, continued walking to and fro in +silence, 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 much +surprise a visit of a very different kind. There was a sudden gust of +wind, a whirl of skirts and a ring of laughter as little Princess +Rosemonde swept in, followed by young Hyacinthe Duvillard, who, on his +side, retained a very frigid bearing. + +“It’s I, my dear master,” exclaimed the Princess. “I promised you a +visit, you remember, for I am such a great admirer of your genius. And +our young friend here has been kind enough to bring me. We have only just +returned from Norway, and my very first visit is for you.” + +She turned as she spoke, and bowed in an easy and gracious way to Pierre +and Marie, François 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 we +should return purified, rejuvenated and capable of great renunciations!” + +As a matter of fact she had been well-nigh bored to death there. To make +one’s honeymoon journey to the land of the ice and snow, instead of to +Italy, the hot land of the sun, was doubtless a very refined idea, which +showed that no base materialism formed part of one’s affections. It was +the soul alone that travelled, and naturally it was fit that only kisses +of 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 tears +when this lover’s quarrel had ended as many such quarrels do. Briefly, +they had no longer deemed themselves pure enough for the companionship of +the swans and the lakes of dreamland, and had therefore taken the first +steamer that was sailing for France. + +As it was altogether unnecessary to confess to everybody what a failure +their journey had proved, the Princess abruptly brought her rapturous +references to Norway to an end, and then explained: “By the way, do you +know what I found awaiting me on my return? Why, I found my house +pillaged, oh! completely pillaged! And in such a filthy condition, too! +We at once recognised the mark of the beast, and thought of Bergaz’s +young friends.” + +Already on the previous day Guillaume had read in the newspapers that a +band of young Anarchists had entered the Princess’s little house by +breaking a basement window. She had left it quite deserted, unprotected +even by a caretaker; and the robbers had not merely removed everything +from the premises--including even the larger articles of furniture, but +had lived there for a couple of days, bringing provisions in from +outside, drinking all the wine in the cellars, and leaving every room in +a most filthy and disgusting condition. On discovering all this, +Rosemonde had immediately remembered the evening she had spent at the +Chamber of Horrors in the company of Bergaz and his acolytes, Rossi and +Sanfaute, who had heard her speak of her intended trip to Norway. The two +young men had therefore been arrested, but Bergaz had so far escaped. The +Princess was not greatly astonished by it all, for she had already been +warned of the presence of dangerous characters among the mixed +cosmopolitan set with which she associated. Janzen had told her in +confidence of a number of villanous affairs which were attributed to +Bergaz and his band. And now the Anarchist leader openly declared that +Bergaz had sold himself to the police like Raphanel; and that the +burglary at the Princess’s residence had been planned by the police +officials, who thereby hoped to cover the Anarchist cause with mire. If +proof was wanted of this, added Janzen, it could be found in the fact +that the police had allowed Bergaz to escape. + +“I fancied that the newspapers might have exaggerated matters,” said +Guillaume, when the Princess had finished her story. “They are inventing +such abominable things just now, in order to blacken the case of that +poor devil Salvat.” + +“Oh! they’ve exaggerated nothing!” Rosemonde gaily rejoined. “As a matter +of fact they have omitted a number of particulars which were too filthy +for 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 house +of mine.... All the same, however, Anarchism is hardly a clean +business, and I no longer like to say that I have any connection with +it.” + +She again laughed, and then passed to another subject, asking Guillaume +to tell her of his most recent researches, in order, no doubt, that she +might show she knew enough chemistry to understand him. He had been +rendered 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 his +school-fellows, François and Antoine. He had accompanied the Princess to +Montmartre against his own inclinations; but since she had taken to +whipping him he had become afraid of her. The chemist’s little home +filled him with disdain, particularly as the chemist was a man of +questionable reputation. Moreover, he thought it a duty to insist on his +own superiority in the presence of those old school-fellows of his, whom +he found toiling away in the common rut, like other people. + +“Ah! yes,” said he to François, who was taking notes from a book spread +open before him, “you are at the École Normale, I believe, and are +preparing for your licentiate. Well, for my part, you know, the idea of +being tied to anything horrifies me. I become quite stupid when there’s +any question of examination or competition. The only possible road for +one to follow is that of the Infinite. And between ourselves what dupery +there is in science, how it narrows our horizon! It’s just as well to +remain a child with eyes gazing into the invisible. A child knows more +than all your learned men.” + +François, who occasionally indulged in irony, pretended to share his +opinion. “No doubt, no doubt,” said he, “but one must have a natural +disposition to remain a child. For my part, unhappily, I’m consumed by a +desire to learn and know. It’s deplorable, as I’m well aware, but I pass +my 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 to +learn a little more. You must at all events grant that work, like +idleness, is a means of passing life, though of course it is a less +elegant and aesthetic one.” + +“Less aesthetic, precisely,” rejoined Hyacinthe. “Beauty lies solely in +the unexpressed, and life is simply degraded when one introduces anything +material into it.” + +Simpleton though he was in spite of the enormity of his pretensions, he +doubtless detected that François had been speaking ironically. So he +turned to Antoine, who had remained seated in front of a block he was +engraving. 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 desire +to emphasise his indication of the girl’s awakening to intelligence and +life. + +“So you engrave, I see,” said Hyacinthe. “Well, since I renounced +versification--a little poem I had begun on the End of Woman--because +words seemed to me so gross and cumbersome, mere paving-stones as it +were, fit for labourers, I myself have had some idea of trying drawing, +and perhaps engraving too. But what drawing can portray the mystery which +lies beyond life, the only sphere that has any real existence and +importance for us? With what pencil and on what kind of plate could one +depict 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, their +full significance as we understand it. To transcribe life is my great +passion; and briefly life is the only mystery that there is in things and +beings. When it seems to me that an engraving of mine lives, I’m well +pleased, 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 by +itself, that was rare and exquisite. He tried to explain this, but became +confused, and fell back on the conviction which he had brought back from +Norway, that literature and art were done for in France, killed by +baseness and excess of production. + +“It’s evident!” said François gaily by way of conclusion. “To do nothing +already shows that one has some talent!” + +Meantime, Pierre and Marie listened and gazed around them, somewhat +embarrassed by this strange visit which had set the usually grave and +peaceful workroom topsy-turvy. The little Princess, though, evinced much +amiability, and on drawing near to Marie admired the wonderful delicacy +of some embroidery she was finishing. Before leaving, moreover, Rosemonde +insisted upon Guillaume inscribing his autograph in an album which +Hyacinthe had to fetch from her carriage. The young man obeyed her with +evident boredom. It could be seen that they were already weary of one +another. Pending a fresh caprice, however, it amused Rosemonde to +terrorize her sorry victim. When she at length led him away, after +declaring to Guillaume that she should always regard that visit as a +memorable incident in her life, she made the whole household smile by +saying: “Oh! so your sons knew Hyacinthe at college. He’s a good-natured +little fellow, isn’t he? and he would really be quite nice if he would +only 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 at +Neuilly. Pierre, on these occasions, went home very late, for as soon as +Mère-Grand, Marie, and Guillaume’s sons had retired for the night, there +were endless chats in the workroom, whence Paris could be seen spangled +with thousands of gas lights. Another visitor at these times was +Théophile Morin, but he did not arrive before ten o’clock, as he was +detained by the work of correcting his pupils’ exercises or some other +wearisome labour pertaining to his profession. + +As soon as Guillaume had told the others of the Princess’s visit that +afternoon, Janzen hastily exclaimed: “But she’s mad, you know. When I +first met her I thought for a moment that I might perhaps utilise her for +the cause. She seemed so thoroughly convinced and bold! But I soon found +that she was the craziest of women, and simply hungered for new +emotions!” + +Janzen was at last emerging from his wonted frigidity and mysteriousness. +His cheeks were quite flushed. In all probability he had suffered from +his rupture with the woman whom he had once called ‘the Queen of the +Anarchists,’ and whose fortune and extensive circle of acquaintance had +seemed to him such powerful weapons of propaganda. + +“You know,” said he, when he had calmed down, “it was the police who had +her house pillaged and turned into a pigstye. Yes, in view of Salvat’s +trial, which is now near at hand, the idea was to damn Anarchism beyond +possibility of even the faintest sympathy on the part of the +_bourgeois_.” + +“Yes, she told me so,” replied Guillaume, who had become attentive. “But +I scarcely credit the story. If Bergaz had merely acted under such +influence as you suggest, he would have been arrested with the others, +just as Raphanel was taken with those whom he betrayed. Besides, I know +something of Bergaz; he’s a freebooter.” Guillaume made a sorrowful +gesture, and then in a saddened voice continued: “Oh, I can understand +all claims and all legitimate reprisals. But theft, cynical theft for the +purpose of profit and enjoyment, is beyond me! It lowers my hope of a +better and more equitable form of society. Yes, that burglary at the +Princess’s house has greatly distressed me.” + +An enigmatical smile, sharp like a knife, again played over Janzen’s +lips. “Oh! it’s a matter of heredity with you!” said he. “The centuries +of education and belief that lie behind you compel you to protest. All +the same, however, when people won’t make restoration, things must be +taken from them. What worries me is that Bergaz should have sold himself +just now. The public prosecutor will use that farcical burglary as a +crushing argument when he asks the jury for Salvat’s head.” + +Such was Janzen’s hatred of the police that he stubbornly clung to his +version of the affair. Perhaps, too, he had quarrelled with Bergaz, with +whom he had at one time freely associated. + +Guillaume, who understood that all discussion would be useless, contented +himself with replying: “Ah! yes, Salvat! Everything is against that +unhappy fellow, he is certain to be condemned. But you can’t know, my +friends, what a passion that affair of his puts me into. All my ideas of +truth 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 simply +a martyr who has followed the wrong track. And yet he has become the +scapegoat, laden with the crimes of the whole nation, condemned to pay +for one and all!” + +Bache and Morin nodded without replying. They both professed horror of +Anarchism; while Morin, forgetting that the word if not the thing dated +from his first master Proudhon, clung to his Comtist doctrines, in the +conviction that science alone would ensure the happiness and pacification +of the nations. Bache, for his part, old mystical humanitarian that he +was, claimed that the only solution would come from Fourier, who by +decreeing an alliance of talent, labour and capital, had mapped out the +future in a decisive manner. Nevertheless, both Bache and Morin were so +discontented with the slow-paced _bourgeoise_ Republic of the present +day, and so hurt by the thought that everything was going from bad to +worse through the flouting of their own particular ideas, that they were +quite willing to wax indignant at the manner in which the conflicting +parties of the time were striving to make use of Salvat in order to +retain or acquire power. + +“When one thinks,” said Bache, “that this ministerial crisis of theirs +has now been lasting for nearly three weeks! Every appetite is openly +displayed, it’s a most disgusting sight! Did you see in the papers this +morning that the President has again been obliged to summon Vignon to the +Elysée?” + +“Oh! the papers,” muttered Morin in his weary way, “I no longer read +them! What’s the use of doing so? They are so badly written, and they all +lie!” + +As Bache had said, the ministerial crisis was still dragging on. The +President of the Republic, taking as his guide the debate in the Chamber +of Deputies, by which the Barroux administration had been overthrown, had +very properly sent for Vignon, the victor on that occasion, and entrusted +him with the formation of a new ministry. It had seemed that this would +be an easy task, susceptible of accomplishment in two or three days at +the utmost, for the names of the friends whom the young leader of the +Radical party would bring to power with him had been freely mentioned for +months past. But all sorts of difficulties had suddenly arisen. For ten +days or so Vignon had struggled on amidst inextricable obstacles. Then, +disheartened and disgusted, fearing, too, that he might use himself up +and shut off the future if he persisted in his endeavours, he had been +obliged to tell the President that he renounced the task. Forthwith the +President had summoned other deputies, and questioned them until he had +found one brave enough to make an attempt on his own account; whereupon +incidents similar to those which had marked Vignon’s endeavours had once +more occurred. At the outset a list was drawn up with every prospect of +being ratified within a few hours, but all at once hesitation arose, some +pulled one way, some another; every effort was slowly paralysed till +absolute failure resulted. It seemed as though the mysterious manœuvres +which had hampered Vignon had begun again; it was as if some band of +invisible plotters was, for some unknown purpose, doing its utmost to +wreck every combination. A thousand hindrances arose with increasing +force from every side--jealousy, dislike, and even betrayal were secretly +prompted by expert agents, who employed every form of pressure, whether +threats or promises, besides fanning and casting rival passions and +interests into collision. Thus the President, greatly embarrassed by this +posture of affairs, had again found it necessary to summon Vignon, who, +after reflection and negotiation, now had an almost complete list in his +pocket, and seemed likely to perfect a new administration within the next +forty-eight hours. + +“Still it isn’t settled,” resumed Bache. “Well-informed people assert +that Vignon will fail again as he did the first time. For my part I can’t +get rid of the idea that Duvillard’s gang is pulling the strings, though +for whose benefit is a mystery. You may be quite sure, however, that its +chief purpose is to stifle the African Railways affair. If Monferrand +were not so badly compromised I should almost suspect some trick on his +part. Have you noticed that the ‘Globe,’ after throwing Barroux overboard +in all haste, now refers to Monferrand every day with the most respectful +sympathy? That’s a grave sign; for it isn’t Fonsègue’s habit to show any +solicitude for the vanquished. But what can one expect from that wretched +Chamber! The only point certain is that something dirty is being plotted +there.” + +“And that big dunderhead Mège who works for every party except his own!” + exclaimed Morin; “what a dupe he is with that idea that he need merely +overthrow first one cabinet and then another, in order to become the +leader of one himself!” + +The mention of Mège brought them all to agreement, for they unanimously +hated him. Bache, although his views coincided on many points with those +of the apostle of State Collectivism, judged each of his speeches, each +of his actions, with pitiless severity. Janzen, for his part, treated the +Collectivist leader as a mere reactionary _bourgeois_, who ought to be +swept away one of the first. This hatred of Mège was indeed the common +passion of Guillaume’s friends. They could occasionally show some justice +for men who in no wise shared their ideas; but in their estimation it was +an unpardonable crime for anybody to hold much the same views as +themselves, without being absolutely in agreement with them on every +possible point. + +Their discussion continued, their various theories mingling or clashing +till they passed from politics to the press, and grew excited over the +denunciations which poured each morning from Sagnier’s newspaper, like +filth from the mouth of a sewer. Thereupon Guillaume, who had become +absorbed in reverie while pacing to and fro according to his habit, +suddenly exclaimed: “Ah! what dirty work it is that Sagnier does! Before +long there won’t be a single person, a single thing left on which he +hasn’t vomited! You think he’s on your side, and suddenly he splashes you +with mire!... By the way, he related yesterday that skeleton keys and +stolen purses were found on Salvat when he was arrested in the Bois de +Boulogne! It’s always Salvat! He’s the inexhaustible subject for +articles. The mere mention of him suffices to send up a paper’s sales! +The bribe-takers of the African Railways shout ‘Salvat!’ to create a +diversion. And the battles which wreck ministers are waged round his +name. 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 the +night. Pierre, who sat near the open window, overlooking the sparkling +immensity of Paris, had listened to the others without speaking a word. +He had once more been mastered by his doubts, the terrible struggle of +his heart and mind; and no solution, no appeasement had come to him from +all the contradictory views he had heard--the views of men who only +united in predicting the disappearance of the old world, and could make +no 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 great +enigma. It was like chaos, like a dim expanse of ashes dotted with sparks +whence the coming aurora would arise. What future was being forged there, +he wondered, what decisive word of salvation and happiness would come +with the dawn, and wing its flight to every point of the horizon? + +When Pierre, in his turn, was about to retire, Guillaume laid his hands +upon his shoulders, and with much emotion gave him a long look. “Ah! my +poor fellow,” said he, “you’ve been suffering too for some days past, I +have noticed it. But you are the master of your sufferings, for the +struggle you have to overcome is simply in yourself, and you can subdue +it; whereas one cannot subdue the world, when it is the world, its +cruelty and injustice that make one suffer! Good night, be brave, act as +your reason tells you, even if it makes you weep, and you will find peace +surely enough.” + +Later on, when Pierre again found himself alone in his little house at +Neuilly, where none now visited him save the shades of his father and +mother, he was long kept awake by a supreme internal combat. He had never +before felt so disgusted with the falsehood of his life, that cassock +which 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, the +want and wretchedness of some, the wild, futile agitation of others, the +need of improvement among mankind which remained paramount amidst every +contradiction and form of weakness, that had made him more deeply +conscious of the necessity of living in loyal and normal fashion in the +broad daylight. He could no longer think of his former dream of leading +the 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 quite +decided, he would lie no longer, not even from feelings of compassion in +order that others might retain their religious illusions. And yet how +painful it was to have to divest himself of that gown which seemed to +cling to his skin, and how heartrending the thought that if he did remove +it he would be skinless, lacerated, infirm, unable, do what he might, to +become like other men! + +It was this recurring thought which again tortured him throughout that +terrible night. Would life yet allow him to enter its fold? Had he not +been branded with a mark which for ever condemned him to dwell apart? He +thought he could feel his priestly vows burning his very flesh like +red-hot iron. What use would it be for him to dress as men dress, if in +reality he was never to be a man? He had hitherto lived in such a +quivering state, in a sphere of renunciation and dreams! To know manhood +never, to be too late for it, that thought filled him with terror. And +when at last he made up his mind to fling aside his cassock, he did so +from a simple sense of rectitude, for all his anguish remained. + +When he returned to Montmartre on the following day, he wore a jacket and +trousers of a dark colour. Neither an exclamation nor a glance that might +have embarrassed him came from Mère-Grand or the three young men. Was not +the change a natural one? They greeted him therefore in the quiet way +that was usual with them; perhaps, with some increase of affection, as if +to set him the more at his ease. Guillaume, however, ventured to smile +good-naturedly. In that change he detected his own work. Curé was coming, +as he had hoped it would come, by him and in his own home, amid the full +sunlight, the life which ever streamed in through yonder window. + +Marie, who on her side raised her eyes and looked at Pierre, knew nothing +of the sufferings which he had endured through her simple and logical +inquiry: “Why not take your cassock off?” She merely felt that by +removing it he would be more at ease for his work. + +“Oh, Pierre, just come and look!” she suddenly exclaimed. “I have been +amusing myself with watching all the smoke which the wind is laying +yonder over Paris. One might take it to be a huge fleet of ships shining +in 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 accustomed +to his new attire, and no longer gave it a thought, it so happened that +on reaching Montmartre he encountered Abbé Rose outside the basilica of +the Sacred Heart. The old priest, who at first was quite thunderstruck +and scarcely able to recognise him, ended by taking hold of his hands and +giving 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 never +mentioned it, but I felt that God had withdrawn from you. Ah! nothing +could wound my heart so cruelly as this.” + +Then, still trembling, he began to lead Pierre away as if to hide such a +scandal from the few people who passed by; and at last, his strength +failing him, he sank upon a heap of bricks lying on the grass of one of +the adjoining work-yards. + +The sincere grief which his old and affectionate friend displayed upset +Pierre far more than any angry reproaches or curses would have done. +Tears had come to his own eyes, so acute was the suffering he experienced +at this meeting, which he ought, however, to have foreseen. There was yet +another wrenching, and one which made the best of their blood flow, in +that rupture between Pierre and the saintly man whose charitable dreams +and hopes of salvation he had so long shared. There had been so many +divine illusions, so many struggles for the relief of the masses, so much +renunciation and forgiveness practised in common between them in their +desire to hasten the harvest of the future! And now they were parting; +he, Pierre, still young in years, was returning to life, leaving his aged +companion to his vain waiting and his dreams. + +In his turn, taking hold of Abbé Rose’s hands, he gave expression to his +sorrow. “Ah, my friend, my father,” said he, “it is you alone that I +regret losing, now that I am leaving my frightful torments behind. I +thought that I was cured of them, but it has been sufficient for me to +meet you, and my heart is rent again.... Don’t weep for me, I pray +you, don’t reproach me for what I have done. It was necessary that I +should do it. If I had consulted you, you would yourself have told me +that it was better to renounce the priesthood than to remain a priest +without faith or honour.” + +“Yes, yes,” Abbé Rose gently responded, “you no longer had any faith +left. I suspected it. And your rigidity and saintliness of life, in which +I detected such great despair, made me anxious for you. How many hours +did I not spend at times in striving to calm you! And you must listen to +me again, you must still let me save you. I am not a sufficiently learned +theologian to lead you back by discussing texts and dogmas; but in the +name of Charity, my child, yes, in the name of Charity alone, reflect and +take up your task of consolation and hope once more.” + +Pierre had sat down beside Abbé Rose, in that deserted nook, at the very +foot of the basilica. “Charity! charity!” he replied in passionate +accents; “why, it is its nothingness and bankruptcy that have killed the +priest there was in me. How can you believe that benevolence is +sufficient, when you have spent your whole life in practising it without +any other result than that of seeing want perpetuated and even increased, +and without any possibility of naming the day when such abomination shall +cease?... You think of the reward after death, do you not? The justice +that is to reign in heaven? But that is not justice, it is dupery--dupery +that 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 and +parents in their hovels; the whole of those admirable efforts which, so +far as Abbé Rose was concerned, had simply ended in blame from his +superiors, and removal from proximity to his poor, under penalty of more +severe punishment should he persist in compromising religion by the +practice of blind benevolence without reason or object. And now, was he +not, so to say, submerged beneath the ever-rising tide of want, aware +that he would never, never be able to give enough even should he dispose +of 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 was +powerless. The wound which he tried to dress and heal, immediately +reopened and spread, in such wise that all society would at last be +stricken and carried off by it. + +Quivering as he listened, and slowly shaking his white head, the old +priest ended by replying: “what does that matter, my child? what does +that matter? One must give, always give, give in spite of everything! +There is no other joy on earth.... If dogmas worry you, content +yourself with the Gospel, and even of that retain merely the promise of +salvation through charity.” + +But at this Pierre’s feelings revolted. He forgot that he was speaking to +one of simple mind, who was all love and nothing else, and could +therefore not follow him. “The trial has been made,” he answered, “human +salvation cannot be effected by charity, nothing but justice can +accomplish it. That is the gathering cry which is going up from every +nation. For nearly two thousand years now the Gospel has proved a +failure. There has been no redemption; the sufferings of mankind are +every whit as great and unjust as they were when Jesus came. And thus the +Gospel is now but an abolished code, from which society can only draw +things that are troublous and hurtful. Men must free themselves from it.” + +This was his final conviction. How strange the idea, thought he, of +choosing as the world’s social legislator one who lived, as Jesus lived, +amidst a social system absolutely different from that of nowadays. The +age was different, the very world was different. And if it were merely a +question of retaining only such of the moral teaching of Jesus as seemed +human and eternal, was there not again a danger in applying immutable +principles to the society of every age? No society could live under the +strict law of the Gospel. Was not all order, all labour, all life +destroyed 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 a +frightful 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 of +education, circumstances and environment. There could be no more +pessimist conception of man than this one which devotes him to the Devil +from the instant of his birth, and pictures him as struggling against +himself until the instant of his death. An impossible and absurd +struggle, for it is a question of changing man in his entirety, killing +the flesh, killing reason, destroying some guilty energy in each and +every passion, and of pursuing the Devil to the very depths of the +waters, mountains and forests, there to annihilate him with the very sap +of the world. If this theory is accepted the world is but sin, a mere +Hell of temptation and suffering, through which one must pass in order to +merit Heaven. Ah! what an admirable instrument for absolute despotism is +that religion of death, which the principle of charity alone has enabled +men 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 in +Paradise, but requires that each and all should be rewarded according to +their deserts upon this earth; and thus eternal life becomes the good +goddess, and desire and labour the very laws of the world, while the +fruitfulness of woman is again honoured, and the idiotic nightmare of +Hell is replaced by glorious Nature whose travail knows no end. Leaning +upon modern Science, clear Latin reason sweeps away the ancient Semitic +conception of the Gospel. + +“For eighteen hundred years,” concluded Pierre, “Christianity has been +hampering the march of mankind towards truth and justice. And mankind +will only resume its evolution on the day when it abolishes Christianity, +and places the Gospel among the works of the wise, without taking it any +longer as its absolute and final law.” + +But Abbé Rose raised his trembling hands: “Be quiet, be quiet, my child!” + he cried; “you are blaspheming! I knew that doubt distracted you; but I +thought you so patient, so able to bear suffering, that I relied on your +spirit of renunciation and resignation. What can have happened to make +you leave the Church in this abrupt and violent fashion? I no longer +recognise you. Sudden passion has sprung up in you, an invincible force +seems 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 such +as you have known me, and in all this there is but an inevitable result +and finish. Who could have influenced me, since nobody has entered my +life? What new feeling could transform me, since I find none in me? I am +the same as before, the same assuredly.” + +Still there was a touch of hesitation in his voice. Was it really true +that there had been no change within him? He again questioned himself, +and there came no clear answer; decidedly, he would find nothing. It was +all but a delightful awakening, an overpowering desire for life, a +longing to open his arms widely enough to embrace everyone and +everything indeed, a breeze of joy seemed to raise him from the ground +and carry him along. + +Although Abbé Rose was too innocent of heart to understand things +clearly, he again shook his head and thought of the snares which the +Devil is ever setting for men. He was quite overwhelmed by Pierre’s +defection. Continuing his efforts to win him back, he made the mistake of +advising him to consult Monseigneur Martha, for he hoped that a prelate +of such high authority would find the words necessary to restore him to +his faith. Pierre, however, boldly replied that if he was leaving the +Church it was partly because it comprised such a man as Martha, such an +artisan of deception and despotism, one who turned religion into corrupt +diplomacy, and dreamt of winning men back to God by dint of ruses. +Thereupon Abbé Rose, rising to his feet, could find no other argument in +his despair than that of pointing to the basilica which stood beside +them, square, huge and massive, and still waiting for its dome. + +“That is God’s abode, my child,” said he, “the edifice of expiation and +triumph, of penitence and forgiveness. You have said mass in it, and now +you are leaving it sacrilegiously and forswearing yourself!” + +But Pierre also had risen; and buoyed up by a sudden rush of health and +strength he answered: “No, no! I am leaving it willingly, as one leaves a +dark vault, to return into the open air and the broad sunlight. God does +not 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 be +found, like a citadel of error that dominates, insults and threatens +Paris!” + +Then seeing that the old priest’s eyes were again filling with tears, and +feeling on his own side so pained by their rupture that he began to sob, +Pierre wished to go away. “Farewell! farewell!” he stammered. + +But Abbé Rose caught him in his arms and kissed him, as if he were a +rebellious son who yet had remained the dearest. “No, not farewell, not +farewell, my child,” he answered; “say rather till we meet again. Promise +me that we shall see each other again, at least among those who starve +and weep. It is all very well for you to think that charity has become +bankrupt, 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 few +lessons learnt from them how to ride a bicycle, in order that he might +occasionally accompany them on their morning excursions. He went twice +with them and Marie along the somewhat roughly paved roads in the +direction of the Lake of Enghien. Then one morning when the young woman +had promised to take him and Antoine as far as the forest of +Saint-Germain, it was found at the last moment that Antoine could not +come. Marie was already dressed in a chemisette of fawn-coloured silk, +and a little jacket and “rationals” of black serge, and it was such a +warm, 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 you +with me, there will only be the pair of us. I really want you to see how +delightful it is to bowl over a good road between the beautiful trees.” + +However, as Pierre was not yet a very expert rider, they decided that +they would take the train as far as Maisons-Laffitte, whence they would +proceed on their bicycles to the forest, cross it in the direction of +Saint-Germain, and afterwards return to Paris by train. + +“You will be here for _déjeuner_, won’t you?” asked Guillaume, whom this +freak amused, and who looked with a smile at his brother. The latter, +like Marie, was in black: jacket, breeches and stockings all of the same +hue. + +“Oh, certainly!” replied Marie. “It’s now barely eight o’clock, so we +have plenty of time. Still you need not wait for us, you know, we shall +always find our way back.” + +It was a delightful morning. When they started, Pierre could fancy +himself with a friend of his own sex, so that this trip together through +the warm sunlight seemed quite natural. Doubtless their costumes, which +were so much alike, conduced to the gay brotherly feeling he experienced. +But beyond all this there was the healthfulness of the open air, the +delight which exercise brings, the pleasure of roaming in all freedom +through the midst of nature. + +On taking the train they found themselves alone in a compartment, and +Marie 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 Fénelon! We +used to tie up our skirts with string so as to run the better, for we +were not allowed to wear rationals like I’m wearing now. And there were +shrieks, and rushes, and pushes, till our hair waved about and we were +quite red with exercise and excitement. Still that didn’t prevent us from +working in the class-rooms. On the contrary! Directly we were at study we +fought again, each striving to learn the most and reach the top of the +class!” + +She laughed gaily as she thus recalled her school life, and Pierre +glanced at her with candid admiration, so pink and healthy did she look +under her little hat of black felt, which a long silver pin kept in +position. 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 she +seemed 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 to +wear skirts when they go out cycling!” + +Then, as he declared--just by way of speaking the truth, and without the +faintest idea of gallantry--that she looked very nice indeed in her +costume, she responded: “Oh! I don’t count. I’m not a beauty. I simply +enjoy good health.... But can you understand it? To think that women +have an unique opportunity of putting themselves at their ease, and +releasing their limbs from prison, and yet they won’t do so! If they +think that they look the prettier in short skirts like schoolgirls they +are vastly mistaken! And as for any question of modesty, well, it seems +to me that it is infinitely less objectionable for women to wear +rationals than to bare their bosoms at balls and theatres and dinners as +society ladies do.” Then, with a gesture of girlish impulsiveness, she +added: “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 the +extraordinary change which had come over him since the day when he had +first appeared to her, so sombre in his long cassock, with his face +emaciated, livid, almost distorted by anguish. It was like a +resurrection, for now his countenance was bright, his lofty brow had all +the serenity of hope, while his eyes and lips once more showed some of +the confident tenderness which sprang from his everlasting thirst for +love, self-bestowal and life. All mark of the priesthood had already left +him, save that where he had been tonsured his hair still remained rather +short. + +“Why are you looking at me?” he asked. + +“I was noticing how much good has been done you by work and the open +air,” she frankly answered; “I much prefer you as you are. You used to +look so poorly. I thought you really ill.” + +“So I was,” said he. + +The train, however, was now stopping at Maisons-Laffitte. They alighted +from it, and at once took the road to the forest. This road rises gently +till it reaches the Maisons gate, and on market days it is often crowded +with 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 a +smile to see if he were following her. And every time they overtook and +passed a cart she spoke to him of the merits of their machines, which +both came from the Grandidier works. They were “Lisettes,” examples of +those popular bicycles which Thomas had helped to perfect, and which the +Bon Marché now sold in large numbers for 250 francs apiece. Perhaps they +were rather heavy in appearance, but on the other hand their strength was +beyond question. They were just the machines for a long journey, so Marie +declared. + +“Ah! here’s the forest,” she at last exclaimed. “We have now reached the +end of the rise; and you will see what splendid avenues there are. One +can bowl along them as on a velvet carpet.” + +Pierre had already joined her, and they rode on side by side along the +broad straight avenue fringed with magnificent trees. + +“I am all right now,” said Pierre; “your pupil will end by doing you +honour, I hope.” + +“Oh! I’ve no doubt of it. You already have a very good seat, and before +long you’ll leave me behind, for a woman is never a man’s equal in a +matter like this. At the same time, however, what a capital education +cycling is for women!” + +In what way?” + +“Oh! I’ve certain ideas of my own on the subject; and if ever I have a +daughter 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 their +mothers’ apron strings. Their parents frighten them with everything, they +are allowed no initiative, no exercise of judgment or decision, so that +at times they hardly know how to cross a street, to such a degree does +the traffic alarm them. Well, I say that a girl ought to be set on a +bicycle in her childhood, and allowed to follow the roads. She will then +learn to open her eyes, to look out for stones and avoid them, and to +turn in the right direction at every bend or crossway. If a vehicle comes +up at a gallop or any other danger presents itself, she’ll have to make +up her mind on the instant, and steer her course firmly and properly if +she does not wish to lose a limb. Briefly, doesn’t all this supply proper +apprenticeship for one’s will, and teach one how to conduct and defend +oneself?” + +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 to +convey is that those who learn to avoid stones and to turn properly along +the highways will know how to overcome difficulties, and take the best +decisions in after life. The whole of education lies in knowledge and +energy.” + +“So women are to be emancipated by cycling?” + +“Well, why not? It may seem a droll idea; but see what progress has been +made already. By wearing rationals women free their limbs from prison; +then the facilities which cycling affords people for going out together +tend to greater intercourse and equality between the sexes; the wife and +the children can follow the husband everywhere, and friends like +ourselves are at liberty to roam hither and thither without astonishing +anybody. In this lies the greatest advantage of all: one takes a bath of +air and sunshine, one goes back to nature, to the earth, our common +mother, from whom one derives fresh strength and gaiety of heart! Just +look how delightful this forest is. And how healthful the breeze that +inflates our lungs! Yes, it all purifies, calms and encourages one.” + +The forest, which was quite deserted on week days, stretched out in +quietude on either hand, with sunlight filtering between its deep bands +of 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 the +waving of grass and foliage, whose powerful scent swept against one’s +face. Pierre and Marie scarcely touched the soil: it was as if wings had +come to them, and were carrying them on with a regular flight, through +alternate patches of shade and sunshine, and all the scattered vitality +of the far-reaching, quivering forest, with its mosses, its sources, its +animal and its insect life. + +Marie would not stop when they reached the crossway of the Croix de +Noailles, a spot where people congregate on Sundays, for she was +acquainted with secluded nooks which were far more charming +resting-places. When they reached the slope going down towards Poissy, +she roused Pierre, and they let their machines rush on. Then came all the +joyous intoxication of speed, the rapturous feeling of darting along +breathlessly while the grey road flees beneath one, and the trees on +either hand turn like the opening folds of a fan. The breeze blows +tempestuously, and one fancies that one is journeying yonder towards the +horizon, the infinite, which ever and ever recedes. It is like boundless +hope, delivery from every shackle, absolute freedom of motion through +space. And nothing can inspirit one more gloriously--one’s heart leaps as +if one were in the very heavens. + +“We are not going to Poissy, you know!” Marie suddenly cried; “we have to +turn to the left.” + +They took the road from Acheres to the Loges, which ascends and +contracts, thus bringing one closer together in the shade. Gradually +slowing down, they began to exert themselves in order to make their way +up the incline. This road was not so good as the others, it had been +gullied by the recent heavy rains, and sand and gravel lay about. But +then is there not even a pleasure in effort? + +“You will get used to it,” said Marie to Pierre; “it’s amusing to +overcome obstacles. For my part I don’t like roads which are invariably +smooth. A little ascent which does not try one’s limbs too much rouses +and inspirits one. And it is so agreeable to find oneself strong, and +able 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 a +nice fresh, quiet spot.” + +She nimbly sprang off her machine and, bidding him follow her, turned +into a path, along which she went some fifty paces. They placed their +bicycles against some trees, and then found themselves in a little +clearing, the most exquisite, leafy nest that one could dream of. The +forest here assumed an aspect of secluded sovereign beauty. The +springtide had endowed it with youth, the foliage was light and virginal, +like delicate green lace flecked with gold by the sun-rays. And from the +herbage and the surrounding thickets arose a breath of life, laden with +all the powerful aroma of the earth. + +“It’s not too warm as yet, fortunately,” exclaimed Marie, as she seated +herself at the foot of a young oak-tree, against which she leant. “In +July ladies get rather red by the time they reach this spot, and all the +powder 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 feet +wiping his forehead. + +She laughed, and answered that she had never before seen him with such a +colour. Then they began to talk like children, like two young friends, +finding a source of gaiety in the most puerile things. She was somewhat +anxious about his health, however, and would not allow him to remain in +the cool shade, as he felt so very warm. In order to tranquillise her, he +had to change his place and seat himself with his back to the sun. Then a +little later he saved her from a large black spider, which had caught +itself in the wavy hair on the nape of her neck. At this all her womanly +nature reappeared, and she shrieked with terror. “How stupid it was to be +afraid of a spider!” she exclaimed a moment afterwards; yet, in spite of +her efforts to master herself, she remained pale and trembling. + +Silence at last fell between them, and they looked at one another with a +smile. In the midst of that delicate greenery they felt drawn together by +frank affection--the affection of brother and sister, so it seemed to +them. It made Marie very happy to think that she had taken an interest in +Pierre, and that his return to health was largely her own work. However, +their eyes never fell, their hands never met, even as they sat there +toying 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 us +back to lunch,” she exclaimed. “We ought to be off.” + +Thereupon they rose, wheeled their bicycles back to the highway, and +starting off again at a good pace passed the Loges and reached +Saint-Germain by the fine avenue which conducts to the château. It +charmed them to take their course again side by side, like birds of equal +flight. Their little bells jingled, their chains rustled lightly, and a +fresh breeze swept past them as they resumed their talk, quite at ease, +and so linked together by friendship that they seemed far removed from +all the rest of the world. + +They took the train from Saint-Germain to Paris, and on the journey +Pierre suddenly noticed that Marie’s cheeks were purpling. There were two +ladies 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 brightly +as 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 it +is to blush like this without any reason for it!” + +He understood her. This was one of those involuntary blushing fits which +so distressed her, and which, as Mère-Grand had remarked, brought her +heart 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 heart +had begun to beat, despite herself. + +Meantime, over yonder at Montmartre, Guillaume had spent his morning in +preparing some of that mysterious powder, the cartridges of which he +concealed upstairs in Mère-Grand’s bedroom. Great danger attended this +manufacture. The slightest forgetfulness while he was manipulating the +ingredients, any delay, too, in turning off a tap, might lead to a +terrible explosion, which would annihilate the building and all who might +be in it. For this reason he preferred to work when he was alone, so that +on the one hand there might be no danger for others, and on the other +less likelihood of his own attention being diverted from his task. That +morning, as it happened, his three sons were working in the room, and +Mère-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 well +acquainted with the various phases of Guillaume’s delicate operations, +and their terrible possibilities, that she would occasionally give him a +helping hand. + +That morning, as she sat there mending some house linen,--her eyesight +still being so keen that in spite of her seventy years she wore no +spectacles,--she now and again glanced at Guillaume as if to make sure +that he forgot nothing. Then feeling satisfied, she would once more bend +over her work. She remained very strong and active. Her hair was only +just turning white, and she had kept all her teeth, while her face still +looked refined, though it was slowly withering with age and had acquired +an 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 her +lips it was usually to give advice, to counsel reason, energy and +courage. For some time past she had been growing more taciturn than ever, +as if all her attention were claimed by the household matters which were +in her sole charge; still, her fine eyes would rest thoughtfully on those +about 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 looked +at them in that pensive way, was it that she foresaw certain changes, and +noticed certain incidents of which the others remained unconscious? +Perhaps so. At all events she became even graver, and more attentive than +in the past. It was as if she were waiting for some hour to strike when +all her wisdom and authority would be required. + +“Be careful, Guillaume,” she at last remarked, as she once more looked up +from her sewing. “You seem absent-minded this morning. Is anything +worrying 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 the +forest in this bright sunshine.” + +Antoine, who heard the remark, raised his head, while his brothers +remained absorbed in their work. “What a pity it is that I had this block +to finish,” said he; “I would willingly have gone with her.” + +“Oh, no matter,” his father quietly rejoined. “Pierre is with her, and he +is very cautious.” + +For another moment Mère-Grand continued scrutinising Guillaume; then she +once more reverted to her sewing. + +If she exercised such sway over the home and all its inmates, it was by +reason of her long devotion, her intelligence, and the kindliness with +which she ruled. Uninfluenced by any religious faith, and disregarding +all social conventionalities, her guiding principle in everything was the +theory of human justice which she had arrived at after suffering so +grievously from the injustice that had killed her husband. She put her +views into practice with wonderful courage, knowing nothing of any +prejudices, but accomplishing her duty, such as she understood it, to the +very end. And in the same way as she had first devoted herself to her +husband, and next to her daughter Marguerite, so at present she devoted +herself to Guillaume and his sons. Pierre, whom she had first studied +with some anxiety, had now, too, become a member of her family, a dweller +in the little realm of happiness which she ruled. She had doubtless found +him worthy of admission into it, though she did not reveal the reason +why. After days and days of silence she had simply said, one evening, to +Guillaume, that he had done well in bringing his brother to live among +them. + +Time flew by as she sat sewing and thinking. Towards noon Guillaume, who +was still at work, suddenly remarked to her: “As Marie and Pierre haven’t +come back, we had better let the lunch wait a little while. Besides, I +should like to finish what I’m about.” + +Another quarter of an hour then elapsed. Finally, the three young men +rose from their work, and went to wash their hands at a tap in the +garden. + +“Marie is very late,” now remarked Mère-Grand. “We must hope that nothing +has happened to her.” + +“Oh! she rides so well,” replied Guillaume. “I’m more anxious on account +of Pierre.” + +At this the old lady again fixed her eyes on him, and said: “But Marie +will 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, he +called out: “There they are!” And forgetting everything else in his +satisfaction, he quitted his furnace and hastened into the garden in +order to meet them. + +Mère-Grand, left to herself, quietly continued sewing, without a thought +that the manufacture of Guillaume’s powder was drawing to an end in an +apparatus near her. A couple of minutes later, however, when Guillaume +came back, saying that he had made a mistake, his eyes suddenly rested on +his furnace, and he turned quite livid. Brief as had been his absence the +exact moment when it was necessary to turn off a tap in order that no +danger might attend the preparation of his powder had already gone by; +and now, unless someone should dare to approach that terrible tap, and +boldly turn it, a fearful explosion might take place. Doubtless it was +too late already, and whoever might have the bravery to attempt the feat +would be blown to pieces. + +Guillaume himself had often run a similar risk of death with perfect +composure. But on this occasion he remained as if rooted to the floor, +unable to take a step, paralysed by the dread of annihilation. He +shuddered and stammered in momentary expectation of a catastrophe which +would hurl the work-shop to the heavens. + +“Mère-Grand, Mère-Grand,” he stammered. “The apparatus, the tap... it +is 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 how +distorted were his features, how he recoiled as if mad with terror, she +glanced at the furnace and realised the danger. “Well, but it’s simple +enough,” said she; “it’s only necessary to turn off the tap, eh?” + +Thereupon, without any semblance of haste, in the most easy and natural +manner possible, she deposited her needlework on a little table, rose +from 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, my +friend?” + +He had watched her in bewilderment, chilled to the bones, as if touched +by the hand of death. And when some colour at last returned to his +cheeks, and he found himself still alive in front of the apparatus whence +no harm could now come, he heaved a deep sigh and again shuddered. “Why +did 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 chatter +and laughter, delighted with their excursion, and bringing with them the +bright joyousness of the sunlight. The three brothers, Thomas, Francis +and Antoine, were jesting with them, and trying to make them confess that +Pierre had at least fought a battle with a cow on the high road, and +ridden 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 quietly +Mère-Grand had saved them all from certain death. She waved her hand, +however, as if to say that there was nothing particularly heroic in +turning 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 instinct +with all the gratitude and worship they felt for her. She had been +devoting herself to them ever since their infancy, she had now just given +them a new lease of life. Marie also threw herself into her arms, kissing +her with gratitude and emotion. Mère-Grand herself was the only one who +did not shed tears. She strove to calm them, begging them to exaggerate +nothing 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 least +owe you that. And Pierre, too, shall kiss you, for you are now as good +for him as you have always been for us.” + +At table, when it was at last possible for them to lunch, he reverted to +that attack of fear which had left him both surprised and ashamed. He who +for years had never once thought of death had for some time past found +ideas of caution in his mind. On two occasions recently he had shuddered +at the possibility of a catastrophe. How was it that a longing for life +had come to him in his decline? Why was it that he now wished to live? At +last with a touch of tender affection in his gaiety, he remarked: “Do you +know, Marie, I think it is my thoughts of you that make me a coward. If +I’ve lost my bravery it’s because I risk something precious when any +danger arises. Happiness has been entrusted to my charge. Just now when I +fancied that we were all going to die, I thought I could see you, and my +fear of losing you froze and paralysed me.” + +Marie indulged in a pretty laugh. Allusions to her coming marriage were +seldom made; however, she invariably greeted them with an air of happy +affection. + +“Another six weeks!” she simply said. + +Thereupon Mère-Grand, who had been looking at them, turned her eyes +towards 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 very +joyous fashion. + +During the afternoon, however, Pierre’s heart gradually grew heavy. +Marie’s words constantly returned to him: “Another six weeks!” Yes, it +was indeed true, she would then be married. But it seemed to him that he +had never previously known it, never for a moment thought of it. And +later on, in the evening, when he was alone in his room at Neuilly, his +heart-pain became intolerable. Those words tortured him. Why was it that +they had not caused him any suffering when they were spoken, why had he +greeted them with a smile? And why had such cruel anguish slowly +followed? All at once an idea sprang up in his mind, and became an +overwhelming certainty. He loved Marie, he loved her as a lover, with a +love so intense that he might die from it. + +With this sudden consciousness of his passion everything became clear and +plain. He had been going perforce towards that love ever since he had +first met Marie. The emotion into which the young woman had originally +thrown him had seemed to him a feeling of repulsion, but afterwards he +had been slowly conquered, all his torments and struggles ending in this +love for her. It was indeed through her that he had at last found +quietude. And the delightful morning which he had spent with her that +day, appeared to him like a betrothal morning, in the depths of the happy +forest. Nature had resumed her sway over him, delivered him from his +sufferings, made him strong and healthy once more, and given him to the +woman he adored. The quiver he had experienced, the happiness he had +felt, his communion with the trees, the heavens, and every living +creature--all those things which he had been unable to explain, now +acquired a clear meaning which transported him. In Marie alone lay his +cure, his hope, his conviction that he would be born anew and at last +find happiness. In her company he had already forgotten all those +distressing 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 been +the companion of his every hour. All the conflict of faith and doubt, the +distress roused by the idea of nihility, the anger he had felt at the +unjust sufferings of mankind, had been swept away by her fresh cool +hands. She was so healthy herself, so glad to live, that she had imparted +a taste for life even to him. Yes, it was simply that: she was making him +a man, a worker, a lover once more. + +Then he suddenly remembered Abbé Rose and his painful conversation with +that saintly man. The old priest, whose heart was so ingenuous, and who +knew nothing of love and passion, was nevertheless the only one who had +understood the truth. He had told Pierre that he was changed, that there +was another man in him. And he, Pierre, had foolishly and stubbornly +declared that he was the same as he had always been; whereas Marie had +already transformed him, bringing all nature back to his breast--all +nature, with its sunlit countrysides, its fructifying breezes, and its +vast heavens, whose glow ripens its crops. That indeed was why he had +felt so exasperated with Catholicism, that religion of death; that was +why he had shouted that the Gospel was useless, and that the world +awaited another law--a law of terrestrial happiness, human justice and +living love and fruitfulness! + +Ah, but Guillaume? Then a vision of his brother rose before Pierre, that +brother who loved him so fondly, and who had carried him to his home of +toil, quietude and affection, in order to cure him of his sufferings. If +he knew Marie it was simply because Guillaume had chosen that he should +know her. And again Marie’s words recurred to him: “Another six weeks!” + Yes, in six weeks his brother would marry the young woman. This thought +was like a stab in Pierre’s heart. Still, he did not for one moment +hesitate: if he must die of his love, he would die of it, but none should +ever know it, he would conquer himself, he would flee to the ends of the +earth should he ever feel the faintest cowardice. Rather than bring a +moment’s pain to that brother who had striven to resuscitate him, who was +the artisan of the passion now consuming him, who had given him his whole +heart and all he had--he would condemn himself to perpetual torture. And +indeed, torture was coming back; for in losing Marie he could but sink +into the distress born of the consciousness of his nothingness. As he lay +in bed, unable to sleep, he already experienced a return of his +abominable torments--the negation of everything, the feeling that +everything was useless, that the world had no significance, and that life +was only worthy of being cursed and denied. And then the shudder born of +the thought of death returned to him. Ah! to die, to die without even +having 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 it +once more. One could not escape from so fast a prison. That black gown +still 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 course +would be to bury himself in it for ever. By donning it again he would at +least wear mourning for his manhood. + +All at once, however, a fresh thought upset him. Why should he struggle +in that fashion? Marie did not love him. There had been nothing between +them to indicate that she cared for him otherwise than as a charming, +tender-hearted sister. It was Guillaume that she loved, no doubt. Then he +pressed his face to his pillow to stifle his sobs, and once more swore +that he would conquer himself and turn a smiling face upon their +happiness. + + + + +IV. TRIAL AND SENTENCE + +HAVING returned to Montmartre on the morrow Pierre suffered so grievously +that he did not show himself there on the two following days. He +preferred to remain at home where there was nobody to notice his +feverishness. On the third morning, however, whilst he was still in bed, +strengthless and full of despair, he was both surprised and embarrassed +by a visit from Guillaume. + +“I must needs come to you,” said the latter, “since you forsake us. I’ve +come to fetch you to attend Salvat’s trial, which takes place to-day. I +had no end of trouble to secure two places. Come, get up, we’ll have +_déjeuner_ in town, so as to reach the court early.” + +Then, while Pierre was hastily dressing, Guillaume, who on his side +seemed thoughtful and worried that morning, began to question him: “Have +you 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 seeing +you every day, but all at once you disappear.” + +Pierre vainly sought a falsehood, and all his composure fled. “I had some +work to do here,” said he, “and then, too, my gloomy ideas cane back to +me, and I didn’t want to go and sadden you all.” + +At this Guillaume hastily waved his hand. “If you fancy that your absence +enlivens us you’re mistaken,” he replied. “Marie, who is usually so well +and happy, had such a bad headache on the day before yesterday that she +was obliged to keep her room. And she was ill at ease and nervous and +silent again yesterday. We spent a very unpleasant day.” + +As he spoke Guillaume looked Pierre well in the face, his frank loyal +eyes clearly revealing the suspicions which had come to him, but which he +would not express in words. + +Pierre, quite dismayed by the news of Marie’s indisposition, and +frightened by the idea of betraying his secret, thereupon managed to tell +a lie. “Yes, she wasn’t very well on the day when we went cycling,” he +quietly 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 as +usual.” + +Guillaume kept his eyes on him for a moment longer. Then, either +believing him or deciding to postpone his search for the truth to some +future time, he began speaking affectionately on other subjects. With his +keen brotherly love, however, there was blended such a quiver of +impending distress, of unconfessed sorrow, which possibly he did not yet +realise, that Pierre in his turn began to question him. “And you,” said +he, “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’s +affair distresses me exceedingly, as you must know. They will all end by +driving me mad with the monstrous injustice they show towards that +unhappy fellow.” + +Thenceforward Guillaume went on talking of Salvat in a stubborn +passionate way, as if he wished to find an explanation of all his pain +and unrest in that affair. While he and Pierre were partaking of +_déjeuner_ at a little restaurant on the Boulevard du Palais he related +how deeply touched he was by the silence which Salvat had preserved with +regard both to the nature of the explosive employed in the bomb and the +few days’ work which he had once done at his house. It was, thanks to +this silence, that he, Guillaume, had not been worried or even summoned +as a witness. Then, in his emotion, he reverted to his invention, that +formidable engine which would ensure omnipotence to France, as the great +initiatory and liberative power of the world. The results of the +researches which had occupied him for ten years past were now out of +danger and in all readiness, so that if occasion required they might at +once be delivered to the French government. And, apart from certain +scruples which came to him at the thought of the unworthiness of French +financial and political society; he was simply delaying any further steps +in the matter until his marriage with Marie, in order that he might +associate her with the gift of universal peace which he imagined he was +about to bestow upon the world. + +It was through Bertheroy and with great difficulty that Guillaume had +managed to secure two seats in court for Salvat’s trial. When he and +Pierre presented themselves for admission at eleven o’clock, they fancied +that they would never be able to enter. The large gates of the Palace of +Justice were kept closed, several passages were fenced off, and terror +seemed to reign in the deserted building, as if indeed the judges feared +some sudden invasion of bomb-laden Anarchists. Each door and barrier, +too, was guarded by soldiers, with whom the brothers had to parley. When +they at last entered the Assize Court they found it already crowded with +people, who were apparently quite willing to suffocate there for an hour +before the arrival of the judges, and to remain motionless for some seven +or eight hours afterwards, since it was reported that the authorities +wished to get the case over in a single sitting. In the small space +allotted to the standing public there was a serried mass of sightseers +who had come up from the streets, a few companions and friends of Salvat +having managed to slip in among them. In the other compartment, where +witnesses are generally huddled together on oak benches, were those +spectators who had been allowed admittance by favour, and these were so +numerous and so closely packed that here and there they almost sat upon +one 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, and +occupied by privileged members of society, politicians, leading +journalists, and ladies. And meantime a number of gowned advocates sought +refuge wherever chance offered, crowding into every vacant spot, every +available corner. + +Pierre had never before visited the Assize Court, and its appearance +surprised him. He had expected much pomp and majesty, whereas this temple +of human justice seemed to him small and dismal and of doubtful +cleanliness. The bench was so low that he could scarcely see the +armchairs of the presiding judge and his two assessors. Then he was +struck by the profusion of old oak panels, balustrades and benches, which +helped 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 white +curtains there fell a pale light which sharply divided the court. On one +hand one saw the dock and the defending counsel’s seat steeped in frigid +light, while, on the other, was the little, isolated jury box in the +shade. This contrast seemed symbolical of justice, impersonal and +uncertain, 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 mist +above the bench, in the depths of the stern and gloomy scene, one could +vaguely distinguish the heavy painting of “Christ Crucified.” A white +bust of the Republic alone showed forth clearly against the dark wall +above the dock where Salvat would presently appear. The only remaining +seats that Guillaume and Pierre could find were on the last bench of the +witnesses’ compartment, against the partition which separated the latter +from the space allotted to the standing public. Just as Guillaume was +seating himself, he saw among the latter little Victor Mathis, who stood +there with his elbows leaning on the partition, while his chin rested on +his crossed hands. The young man’s eyes were glowing in his pale face +with thin, compressed lips. Although they recognised one another, Victor +did not move, and Guillaume on his side understood that it was not safe +to exchange greetings in such a place. From that moment, however, he +remained conscious that Victor was there, just above him, never stirring, +but waiting silently, fiercely and with flaming eyes, for what was going +to happen. + +Pierre, meantime, had recognised that most amiable deputy Duthil, and +little Princess Rosemonde, seated just in front of him. Amidst the hubbub +of the throng which chatted and laughed to while away the time, their +voices were the gayest to be heard, and plainly showed how delighted they +were to find themselves at a spectacle to which so many desired +admittance. Duthil was explaining all the arrangements to Rosemonde, +telling her to whom or to what purpose each bench and wooden box was +allotted: there was the jury-box, the prisoner’s dock, the seats assigned +to counsel for the defence, the public prosecutor, and the clerk of the +court, without forgetting the table on which material evidence was +deposited and the bar to which witnesses were summoned. There was nobody +as yet in any of these places; one merely saw an attendant giving a last +look round, and advocates passing rapidly. One might indeed have thought +oneself in a theatre, the stage of which remained deserted, while the +spectators crowded the auditorium waiting for the play to begin. To fill +up the interval the little Princess ended by looking about her for +persons of her acquaintance among the close-pressed crowd of sight-seers +whose eager faces were already reddening. + +“Oh! isn’t that Monsieur Fonsègue over there behind the bench, near that +stout lady in yellow?” she exclaimed. “Our friend General de Bozonnet is +on the other side, I see. But isn’t Baron Duvillard here?” + +“Oh! no,” replied Duthil; “he could hardly come; it would look as if he +were here to ask for vengeance.” Then, in his turn questioning Rosemonde, +the deputy went on: “Do you happen to have quarrelled with your handsome +friend Hyacinthe? Is that the reason why you’ve given me the pleasure of +acting as your escort to-day?” + +With a slight shrug of her shoulders, the Princess replied that poets +were beginning to bore her. A fresh caprice, indeed, was drawing her into +politics. For a week past she had found amusement in the surroundings of +the ministerial crisis, into which the young deputy for Angoulême had +initiated her. “They are all a little bit crazy at the Duvillards’, my +dear fellow,” said she. “It’s decided, you know, that Gérard is to marry +Camille. The Baroness has resigned herself to it, and I’ve heard from a +most reliable quarter that Madame de Quinsac, the young man’s mother, has +given her consent.” + +At this Duthil became quite merry. He also seemed to be well informed on +the subject. “Yes, yes, I know,” said he. “The wedding is to take place +shortly, at the Madeleine. It will be a magnificent affair, no doubt. And +after all, what would you have? There couldn’t be a better finish to the +affair. The Baroness is really kindness personified, and I said all along +that she would sacrifice herself in order to ensure the happiness of her +daughter and Gérard. In point of fact that marriage will settle +everything, 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. “You +read no doubt this morning that Dauvergne is given the department of +Public Instruction in the new Ministry. This means that Silviane’s +engagement at the Comédie is a certainty. Dauvergne was chosen simply on +that account.” + +At this moment the conversation was interrupted by little Massot, who, +after a dispute with one of the ushers some distance away, had perceived +a vacant place by the side of the Princess. He thereupon made her a +questioning sign, and she beckoned to him to approach. + +“Ah!” said he, as he installed himself beside her, “I have not got here +without trouble. One’s crushed to death on the press bench, and I’ve an +article to write. You are the kindest of women, Princess, to make a +little room for your faithful admirer, myself.” Then, after shaking hands +with Duthil, he continued without any transition: “And so there’s a new +ministry at last, Monsieur le Député. You have all taken your time about +it, but it’s really a very fine ministry, which everybody regards with +surprise and admiration.” + +The decrees appointing the new ministers had appeared in the “Journal +Officiel” that very morning. After a long deadlock, after Vignon had for +the second time seen his plans fail through ever-recurring obstacles, +Monferrand, as a last resource, had suddenly been summoned to the Elysée, +and in four-and-twenty hours he had found the colleagues he wanted and +secured the acceptance of his list, in such wise that he now triumphantly +re-ascended to power after falling from it with Barroux in such wretched +fashion. He had also chosen a new post for himself, relinquishing the +department of the Interior for that of Finances, with the Presidency of +the Council, which had long been his secret ambition. His stealthy +labour, the masterly fashion in which he had saved himself while others +sank, now appeared in its full beauty. First had come Salvat’s arrest, +and the use he had made of it, then the wonderful subterranean campaign +which he had carried on against Vignon, the thousand obstacles which he +had twice set across his path, and finally the sudden _dénouement_ with +that list he held in readiness, that formation of a ministry in a single +day as soon as his services were solicited. + +“It is fine work, I must compliment you on it,” added little Massot by +way 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 says +so.” + +The deputy felt flattered and smiled, while the other rattled on with his +insinuations, which were put in such a humorous way that nothing he said +could be resented. He talked of Monferrand’s followers who had so +powerfully helped him on to victory. How heartily had Fonsègue finished +off his old friend Barroux in the “Globe”! Every morning for a month past +the paper had published an article belabouring Barroux, annihilating +Vignon, and preparing the public for the return of a saviour of society +who was not named. Then, too, Duvillard’s millions had waged a secret +warfare, all the Baron’s numerous creatures had fought like an army for +the good cause. Duthil himself had played the pipe and beaten the drum, +while Chaigneux resigned himself to the baser duties which others would +not undertake. And so the triumphant Monferrand would certainly begin by +stifling 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, certain +strong-handed men, real men of government, become absolutely necessary. +Monferrand had no need of our friendship, his presence in office was +imperiously required by the situation. His hand is the only one that can +save us!” + +“I know,” replied Massot scoffingly. “I’ve even been told that if +everything was settled straight off so that the decrees might be +published this morning, it was in order to instil confidence into the +judges and jurymen here, in such wise that knowing Monferrand’s fist to +be behind them they would have the courage to pronounce sentence of death +this evening.” + +“Well, public safety requires a sentence of death, and those who have to +ensure that safety must not be left ignorant of the fact that the +government 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 the +conversation. “Oh! just look over there!” said she; “isn’t that Silviane +who has just sat down beside Monsieur Fonsègue?” + +“The Silviane ministry!” muttered Massot in a jesting way. “Well, there +will be no boredom at Dauvergne’s if he ingratiates himself with +actresses.” + +Guillaume and Pierre heard this chatter, however little they cared to +listen to it. Such a deluge of society tittle-tattle and political +indiscretion brought the former a keen heart-pang. So Salvat was +sentenced to death even before he had appeared in court. He was to pay +for the transgressions of one and all, his crime was simply a favourable +opportunity for the triumph of a band of ambitious people bent on power +and enjoyment! Ah! what terrible social rottenness there was in it all; +money corrupting one and another, families sinking to filth, politics +turned into a mere treacherous struggle between individuals, and power +becoming the prey of the crafty and the impudent! Must not everything +surely crumble? Was not this solemn assize of human justice a derisive +parody, since all that one found there was an assembly of happy and +privileged people defending the shaky edifice which sheltered them, and +making use of all the forces they yet retained, to crush a fly--that +unhappy devil of uncertain sanity who had been led to that court by his +violent and cloudy dream of another, superior and avenging justice? + +Such were Guillaume’s thoughts, when all at once everybody around him +started. Noon was now striking, and the jurymen trooped into court in +straggling fashion and took their seats in their box. Among them one saw +fat fellows clad in their Sunday best and with the faces of simpletons, +and thin fellows who had bright eyes and sly expressions. Some of them +were bearded and some were bald. However, they all remained rather +indistinct, as their side of the court was steeped in shade. After them +came the judges, headed by M. de Larombière, one of the Vice-Presidents +of the Appeal Court, who in assuming the perilous honour of conducting +the trial had sought to increase the majesty of his long, slender, white +face, which looked the more austere as both his assessors, one dark and +the other fair, had highly coloured countenances. The public prosecutor’s +seat was already occupied by one of the most skilful of the +advocates-general, M. Lehmann, a broad-shouldered Alsatian Israelite, +with cunning eyes, whose presence showed that the case was deemed +exceptionally important. At last, amidst the heavy tread of gendarmes, +Salvat was brought in, at once rousing such ardent curiosity that all the +spectators rose to look at him. He still wore the cap and loose overcoat +procured for him by Victor Mathis, and everybody was surprised to see his +emaciated, sorrowful, gentle face, crowned by scanty reddish hair, which +was turning grey. His soft, glowing, dreamy blue eyes glanced around, and +he smiled at someone whom he recognised, probably Victor, but perhaps +Guillaume. After that he remained quite motionless. + +The presiding judge waited for silence to fall, and then came the +formalities which attend the opening of a court of law, followed by the +perusal of the lengthy indictment, which a subordinate official read in a +shrill voice. The scene had now changed, and the spectators listened +wearily and somewhat impatiently, as, for weeks past, the newspapers had +related all that the indictment set forth. At present not a corner of the +court remained unoccupied, there was scarcely space enough for the +witnesses to stand in front of the bench. The closely packed throng was +one of divers hues, the light gowns of ladies alternating with the black +gowns of advocates, while the red robes of the judges disappeared from +view, the bench being so low that the presiding judge’s long face +scarcely rose above the sea of heads. Many of those present became +interested in the jurors, and strove to scrutinise their shadowy +countenances. Others, who did not take their eyes off the prisoner, +marvelled at his apparent weariness and indifference, which were so great +that he scarcely answered the whispered questions of his counsel, a young +advocate with a wide-awake look, who was nervously awaiting the +opportunity to achieve fame. Most curiosity, however, centred in the +table set apart for the material evidence. Here were to be seen all sorts +of fragments, some of the woodwork torn away from the carriage-door of +the Duvillard mansion, some plaster that had fallen from the ceiling, a +paving-stone which the violence of the explosion had split in halves, and +other blackened remnants. The more moving sights, however, were the +milliner’s bonnet-box, which had remained uninjured, and a glass jar in +which something white and vague was preserved in spirits of wine. This +was one of the poor errand girl’s little hands, which had been severed at +the wrist. The authorities had been unable to place her poor ripped body +on 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: in +the shrouding shade upon one hand were the jurors, their minds already +made up beneath the pressure of public terror, while in the full, vivid +light on the other side was the prisoner, alone and woeful, charged with +all the crimes of his race. Four gendarmes watched over him. He was +addressed by M. de Larombière in a tone of contempt and disgust. The +judge was not deficient in rectitude; he was indeed one of the last +representatives of the old, scrupulous, upright French magistracy; but he +understood nothing of the new times, and he treated prisoners with the +severity of a Biblical Jehovah. Moreover, the infirmity which was the +worry of his life, the childish lisp which, in his opinion, had alone +prevented him from shining as a public prosecutor, made him ferociously +ill-tempered, incapable of any intelligent indulgence. There were smiles, +which he divined, as soon as he raised his sharp, shrill little voice, to +ask his first questions. That droll voice of his took away whatever +majesty might have remained attached to these proceedings, in which a +man’s life was being fought for in a hall full of inquisitive, stifling +and perspiring folks, who fanned themselves and jested. Salvat answered +the judge’s earlier questions with his wonted weariness and politeness. +While the judge did everything to vilify him, harshly reproaching him +with his wretched childhood and youth, magnifying every stain and every +transgression in his career, referring to the promiscuity of his life +between Madame Théodore and little Céline as something bestial, he, the +prisoner, quietly said yes or no, like a man who has nothing to hide and +accepts the full responsibility of his actions. He had already made a +complete confession of his crime, and he calmly repeated it without +changing a word. He explained that if he had deposited his bomb at the +entrance of the Duvillard mansion it was to give his deed its true +significance, that of summoning the wealthy, the money-mongers who had so +scandalously enriched themselves by dint of theft and falsehood, to +restore that part of the common wealth which they had appropriated, to +the poor, the working classes, their children and their wives, who +perished 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 ideas +of absolute justice and universal happiness had gathered confusedly. And +from that moment he appeared such as he really was, a sentimentalist, a +dreamer transported by suffering, proud and stubborn, and bent on +changing the world in accordance with his sectarian logic. + +“But you fled!” cried the judge in a voice such as would have befitted a +grasshopper. “You must not say that you gave your life to your cause and +were ready for martyrdom!” + +Salvat’s most poignant regret was that he had yielded in the Bois de +Boulogne to the dismay and rage which come upon a tracked and hunted man +and impel him to do all he can to escape capture. And on being thus +taunted by the judge he became quite angry. “I don’t fear death, you’ll +see that,” he replied. “If all had the same courage as I have, your +rotten society would be swept away to-morrow, and happiness would at last +dawn.” + +Then the interrogatory dealt at great length with the composition and +manufacture of the bomb. The judge, rightly enough, pointed out that this +was the only obscure point of the affair. “And so,” he remarked, “you +persist in saying that dynamite was the explosive you employed? Well, you +will presently hear the experts, who, it is true, differ on certain +points, but are all of opinion that you employed some other explosive, +though they cannot say precisely what it was. Why not speak out on the +point, as you glory in saying everything?” + +Salvat, however, had suddenly calmed down, giving only cautious +monosyllabic replies. “Well, seek for whatever you like if you don’t +believe me,” he now answered. “I made my bomb by myself, and under +circumstances which I’ve already related a score of times. You surely +don’t expect me to reveal names and compromise comrades?” + +From this declaration he would not depart. It was only towards the end of +the interrogatory that irresistible emotion overcame him on the judge +again referring to the unhappy victim of his crime, the little errand +girl, so pretty and fair and gentle, whom ferocious destiny had brought +to the spot to meet such an awful death. “It was one of your own class +whom you struck,” said M. de Larombière; “your victim was a work girl, a +poor child who, with the few pence she earned, helped to support her aged +grandmother.” + +Salvat’s voice became very husky as he answered: “That’s really the only +thing I regret.... My bomb certainly wasn’t meant for her; and may all +the workers, all the starvelings, remember that she gave her blood as I’m +going to give mine!” + +In this wise the interrogatory ended amidst profound agitation. Pierre +had felt Guillaume shuddering beside him, whilst the prisoner quietly and +obstinately refused to say a word respecting the explosive that had been +employed, preferring as he did to assume full responsibility for the deed +which was about to cost him his life. Moreover, Guillaume, on turning +round, in compliance with an irresistible impulse, had perceived Victor +Mathis still motionless behind him: his elbows ever leaning on the rail +of the partition, and his chin still resting on his hands, whilst he +listened with silent, concentrated passion. His face had become yet paler +than before, and his eyes glowed as with an avenging fire, whose flames +would never more be extinguished. + +The interrogatory of the prisoner was followed by a brief commotion in +court. + +“That Salvat looks quite nice, he has such soft eyes,” declared the +Princess, whom the proceedings greatly amused. “Oh! don’t speak ill of +him, my dear deputy. You know that I have Anarchist ideas myself.” + +“I speak no ill of him,” gaily replied Duthil. “Nor has our friend +Amadieu any right to speak ill of him. For you know that this affair has +set Amadieu on a pinnacle. He was never before talked about to such an +extent as he is now; and he delights in being talked about, you know! He +has become quite a social celebrity, the most illustrious of our +investigating magistrates, and will soon be able to do or become whatever +he pleases.” + +Then Massot, with his sarcastic impudence, summed up the situation. “When +Anarchism flourishes, everything flourishes, eh? That bomb has helped on +the affairs of a good many fine fellows that I know. Do you think that my +governor Fonsègue, who’s so attentive to Silviane yonder, complains of +it? And doesn’t Sagnier, who’s spreading himself out behind the presiding +judge, and whose proper place would be between the four +gendarmes--doesn’t he owe a debt to Salvat for all the abominable +advertisements he has been able to give his paper by using the wretched +fellow’s back as a big drum? And I need not mention the politicians or +the financiers or all those who fish in troubled waters.” + +“But I say,” interrupted Duthil, “it seems to me that you yourself made +good use of the affair. Your interview with the little girl Céline +brought you in a pot of money.” + +Massot, as it happened, had been struck with the idea of ferreting out +Madame Théodore and the child, and of relating his visit to them in the +“Globe,” with an abundance of curious and touching particulars. The +article had met with prodigious success, Céline’s pretty answers +respecting her imprisoned father having such an effect on ladies with +sensitive hearts that they had driven to Montmartre in their carriages in +order to see the two poor creatures. Thus alms had come to them from all +sides; and strangely enough the very people who demanded the father’s +head were the most eager to sympathise with the child. + +“Well, I don’t complain of my little profits,” said the journalist in +answer to Duthil. “We all earn what we can, you know.” + +At this moment Rosemonde, while glancing round her, recognised Guillaume +and Pierre, but she was so amazed to see the latter in ordinary civilian +garb that she did not dare to speak to him. Leaning forward she +acquainted Duthil and Massot with her surprise, and they both turned +round to look. From motives of discretion, however, they pretended that +they did not recognise the Froments. + +The heat in court was now becoming quite unbearable, and one lady had +already fainted. At last the presiding judge again raised his lisping +voice, and managed to restore silence. Salvat, who had remained standing, +now held a few sheets of paper, and with some difficulty he made the +judge understand that he desired to complete his interrogatory by reading +a declaration, which he had drawn up in prison, and in which he explained +his reasons for his crime. For a moment M. de Larombière hesitated, all +surprise and indignation at such a request; but he was aware that he +could not legally impose silence on the prisoner, and so he signified his +consent with a gesture of mingled irritation and disdain. Thereupon +Salvat began his perusal much after the fashion of a schoolboy, hemming +and hawing here and there, occasionally becoming confused, and then +bringing out certain words with wonderful emphasis, which evidently +pleased him. This declaration of his was the usual cry of suffering and +revolt already raised by so many disinherited ones. It referred to all +the frightful want of the lower spheres; the toiler unable to find a +livelihood in his toil; a whole class, the most numerous and worthy of +the classes, dying of starvation; whilst, on the other hand, were the +privileged ones, gorged with wealth, and wallowing in satiety, yet +refusing to part with even the crumbs from their tables, determined as +they were to restore nothing whatever of the wealth which they had +stolen. And so it became necessary to take everything away from them, to +rouse them from their egotism by terrible warnings, and to proclaim to +them even with the crash of bombs that the day of justice had come. The +unhappy man spoke that word “justice” in a ringing voice which seemed to +fill the whole court. But the emotion of those who heard him reached its +highest pitch when, after declaring that he laid down his life for the +cause, and expected nothing but a verdict of death from the jury, he +added, as if prophetically, that his blood would assuredly give birth to +other martyrs. They might send him to the scaffold, said he, but he knew +that his example would bear fruit. After him would come another avenger, +and yet another, and others still, until the old and rotten social system +should have crumbled away so as to make room for the society of justice +and happiness of which he was one of the apostles. + +The presiding judge, in his impatience and agitation, twice endeavoured +to interrupt Salvat. But the other read on and on with the imperturbable +conscientiousness of one who fears that he may not give proper utterance +to his most important words. He must have been thinking of that perusal +ever 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 of +dying in the cause of mankind. And when he had finished he sat down +between the gendarmes with glowing eyes and flushed cheeks, as if he +inwardly experienced some deep joy. + +To destroy the effect which the declaration had produced--a commingling +of fear and compassion--the judge at once wished to proceed with the +hearing of the witnesses. Of these there was an interminable procession; +though little interest attached to their evidence, for none of them had +any revelations to make. Most attention perhaps was paid to the measured +statements of Grandidier, who had been obliged to dismiss Salvat from his +employ on account of the Anarchist propaganda he had carried on. Then the +prisoner’s brother-in-law, Toussaint, the mechanician, also seemed a very +worthy fellow if one might judge him by the manner in which he strove to +put things favourably for Salvat, without in any way departing from the +truth. After Toussaint’s evidence considerable time was taken up by the +discussions between the experts, who disagreed in public as much as they +had disagreed in their reports. Although they were all of opinion that +dynamite could not have been the explosive employed in the bomb, they +indulged in the most extraordinary and contradictory suppositions as to +this explosive’s real nature. Eventually a written opinion given by the +illustrious _savant_ Bertheroy was read; and this, after clearly setting +forth the known facts, concluded that one found oneself in presence of a +new explosive of prodigious power, the formula of which he himself was +unable to specify. + +Then detective Mondésir and commissary Dupot came in turn to relate the +various phases of the man hunt in the Bois de Boulogne. In Mondésir +centred all the gaiety of the proceedings, thanks to the guardroom +sallies with which he enlivened his narrative. And in like way the +greatest grief, a perfect shudder of revolt and compassion, was roused by +the errand girl’s grandmother, a poor, bent, withered old woman, whom the +prosecution had cruelly constrained to attend the court, and who wept and +looked quite dismayed, unable as she was to understand what was wanted of +her. When she had withdrawn, the only remaining witnesses were those for +the defence, a procession of foremen and comrades, who all declared that +they had known Salvat as a very worthy fellow, an intelligent and zealous +workman, who did not drink, but was extremely fond of his daughter, and +incapable of an act of dishonesty or cruelty. + +It was already four o’clock when the evidence of the witnesses came to an +end. The atmosphere in court was now quite stifling, feverish fatigue +flushed every face, and a kind of ruddy dust obscured the waning light +which fell from the windows. Women were fanning themselves and men were +mopping their foreheads. However, the passion roused by the scene still +brought 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 cup +of tea at a friend’s at five o’clock. I shall die of thirst and +starvation here.” + +“We shall certainly be kept till seven,” replied Massot. “I can’t offer +to go and fetch you a roll, for I shouldn’t be readmitted.” + +Then Duthil, who had not ceased shrugging his shoulders while Salvat read +his declaration, exclaimed: “What childish things he said, didn’t he? And +to 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 certain +that when a man is poor his one great desire is to become rich. If that +fellow is in the dock to-day it’s simply because he failed to make +money.” + +While the others were thus conversing, Pierre for his part was feeling +extremely anxious about his brother, who sat beside him in silence, pale +and utterly upset. Pierre sought his hand and covertly pressed it. Then +in a low voice he inquired: “Do you feel ill? Shall we go away?” + +Guillaume answered him by discreetly and affectionately returning his +handshake. He was all right, he would remain till the end, however much +he might be stirred by exasperation. + +It was now Monsieur Lehmann, the public prosecutor, who rose to address +the court. He had a large, stern mouth, and was squarely built, with a +stubborn Jewish face. Nevertheless he was known to be a man of dexterous, +supple nature, one who had a foot in every political camp, and invariably +contrived to be on good terms with the powers that were. This explained +his rapid rise in life, and the constant favour he enjoyed. In the very +first words he spoke he alluded to the new ministry gazetted that +morning, referring pointedly to the strong-handed man who had undertaken +the 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 bandit +expressly born for the perpetration of crime, a monster who was bound to +end by committing some abominable and cowardly outrage. Next he +flagellated Anarchism and its partisans. The Anarchists were a mere herd +of vagabonds and thieves, said he. That had been shown by the recent +robbery at the Princess de Harn’s house. The ignoble gang that had been +arrested for that affair had given the apostles of the Anarchist doctrine +as their references! And that was what the application of Anarchist +theories resulted in--burglary and filth, pending a favourable hour for +wholesale pillage and murder! For nearly a couple of hours the public +prosecutor continued in this fashion, throwing truth and logic to the +winds, and exclusively striving to alarm his hearers. He made all +possible use of the terror which had reigned in Paris, and figuratively +brandished 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 horror +which sent a shudder through his audience. And he ended, as he had begun, +by inspiriting the jurors, and telling them that they might fearlessly do +their duty now that those at the head of the State were firmly resolved +to give no heed to threats. + +Then the young advocate entrusted with the defence in his turn spoke. And +he really said what there was to say with great clearness and precision. +He was of a different school from that of the public prosecutor: his +eloquence was very simple and smooth, his only passion seemed to be zeal +for truth. Moreover, it was sufficient for him to show Salvat’s career in +its proper light, to depict him pursued by social fatalities since his +childhood, and to explain the final action of his career by all that he +had suffered and all that had sprung up in his dreamy brain. Was not his +crime the crime of one and all? Who was there that did not feel, if only +in a small degree, responsible for that bomb which a penniless, starving +workman had deposited on the threshold of a wealthy man’s abode--a +wealthy man whose name bespoke the injustice of the social system: so +much enjoyment on the one hand and so much privation on the other! If one +of us happened to lose his head, and felt impelled to hasten the advent +of happiness by violence in such troublous times, when so many burning +problems claimed solution, ought he to be deprived of his life in the +name of justice, when none could swear that they had not in some measure +contributed to his madness? Following up this question, Salvat’s counsel +dwelt at length on the period that witnessed the crime, a period of so +many scandals and collapses, when the old world was giving birth to a new +one amidst the most terrible struggles and pangs. And he concluded by +begging the jury to show themselves humane, to resist all passion and +terror, and to pacify the rival classes by a wise verdict, instead of +prolonging social warfare by giving the starvelings yet another martyr to +avenge. + +It was past six o’clock when M. de Larombière began to sum up in a +partial and flowery fashion, in which one detected how grieved and angry +he was at having such a shrill little voice. Then the judges and the +jurors withdrew, and the prisoner was led away, leaving the spectators +waiting amidst an uproar of feverish impatience. Some more ladies had +fainted, and it had even been necessary to carry out a gentleman who had +been overcome by the cruel heat. However, the others stubbornly remained +there, not one of them quitting his place. + +“Ah! it won’t take long now,” said Massot. “The jurors brought their +verdict all ready in their pockets. I was looking at them while that +little advocate was telling them such sensible things. They all looked as +if 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 I +get home. You will have to take me to eat a biscuit somewhere.... All +the same, however, it’s very exciting to see a man’s life staked on a yes +or a no.” + +Meantime Pierre, finding Guillaume still more feverish and grieved, had +once again taken hold of his hand. Neither of them spoke, so great was +the distress that they experienced for many reasons which they themselves +could not have precisely defined. It seemed to them, however, that all +human misery--inclusive of their own, the affections, the hopes, the +griefs which brought them suffering--was sobbing and quivering in that +buzzing hall. Twilight had gradually fallen there, but as the end was now +so near it had doubtless been thought unnecessary to light the +chandeliers. And thus large vague shadows, dimming and shrouding the +serried throng, now hovered about in the last gleams of the day. The +ladies in light gowns yonder, behind the bench, looked like pale phantoms +with all-devouring eyes, whilst the numerous groups of black-robed +advocates formed large sombre patches which gradually spread everywhere. +The greyish painting of the Christ had already vanished, and on the walls +one only saw the glaring white bust of the Republic, which resembled some +frigid 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’s +absence. Then the judges likewise came back and took their seats. +Increased emotion stirred the throng, a great gust seemed to sweep +through the court, a gust of anxiety, which made every head sway. Some +people had risen to their feet, and others gave vent to involuntary +exclamations. 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 somewhat +sputtering voice he declared: “On my honour and my conscience, before God +and 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 brought +in. 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 judges +themselves almost disappeared from view, their red robes seemed to have +turned black. And how phantom-like looked the prisoner’s emaciated face +as he stood there listening, with dreamy eyes, while the clerk of the +court 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 childish +expression, suddenly brightened. “That means death. Thank you, +gentlemen,” he said. + +Then he turned towards the public, and amidst the growing darkness +searched for the friendly faces which he knew were there; and this time +Guillaume became fully conscious that he had recognised him, and was +again expressing affectionate and grateful thanks for the crust he had +received from him on a day of want. He must have also bidden farewell to +Victor Mathis, for as Guillaume glanced at the young man, who had not +moved, he saw that his eyes were staring wildly, and that a terrible +expression rested on his lips. + +As for the rest of the proceedings, the last questions addressed to the +jury and the counsel, the deliberations of the judges and the delivery of +sentence--these were all lost amidst the buzzing and surging of the +crowd. A little compassion was unconsciously manifested; and some stupor +was mingled with the satisfaction that greeted the sentence of death. + +No sooner had Salvat been condemned, however, than he drew himself up to +his full height, and as the guards led him away he shouted in a +stentorian voice: “Long live Anarchy!” + +Nobody seemed angered by the cry. The crowd went off quietly, as if +weariness had lulled all its passions. The proceedings had really lasted +too long and fatigued one too much. It was quite pleasant to inhale the +fresh air on emerging from such a nightmare. + +In the large waiting hall, Pierre and Guillaume passed Duthil and the +Princess, whom General de Bozonnet had stopped while chatting with +Fonsègue. All four of them were talking in very loud voices, complaining +of the heat and their hunger, and agreeing that the affair had not been a +particularly interesting one. Yet, all was well that ended well. As +Fonsègue remarked, the condemnation of Salvat to death was a political +and social necessity. + +When Pierre and Guillaume reached the Pont Neuf, the latter for a moment +rested his elbows on the parapet of the bridge. His brother, standing +beside him, also gazed at the grey waters of the Seine, which here and +there were fired by the reflections of the gas lamps. A fresh breeze +ascended from the river; it was the delightful hour when night steals +gently over resting Paris. Then, as the brothers stood there breathing +that atmosphere which usually brings relief and comfort, Pierre on his +side again became conscious of his heart-wound, and remembered his +promise to return to Montmartre, a promise that he must keep in spite of +the torture there awaiting him; whilst Guillaume on the other hand +experienced a revival of the suspicion and disquietude that had come to +him 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 one +another so dearly? At all events their hearts bled once more with all the +sorrow into which they had been cast by the scene they had just +witnessed: that assize of justice at which a wretched man had been +condemned to pay with his head for the crimes of one and all. + +Then, as they turned along the quay, Guillaume recognised young Victor +going off alone in the gloom, just in front of them. The chemist stopped +him and spoke to him of his mother. But the young man did not hear; his +thin lips parted, and in a voice as trenchant as a knife-thrust he +exclaimed: “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 in +Guillaume’s workroom, which was usually so bright and gay. Sadness and +silence filled the place. The three young men were no longer there. +Thomas betook himself to the Grandidier works early every morning in +order to perfect his little motor; François was so busy preparing for his +examination that he scarcely left the École Normale; while Antoine was +doing some work at Jahan’s, where he delighted to linger and watch his +little friend Lise awakening to life. Thus Guillaume’s sole companion was +Mère-Grand, who sat near the window busy with her needlework; for Marie +was ever going about the house, and only stayed in the workroom for any +length of time when Pierre happened to be there. + +Guillaume’s gloom was generally attributed to the feelings of anger and +revolt into which the condemnation of Salvat had thrown him. He had flown +into a passion on his return from the Palace of Justice, declaring that +the execution of the unhappy man would simply be social murder, +deliberate provocation of class warfare. And the others had bowed on +hearing that pain-fraught violent cry, without attempting to discuss the +point. Guillaume’s sons respectfully left him to the thoughts which kept +him silent for hours, with his face pale and a dreamy expression in his +eyes. His chemical furnace remained unlighted, and his only occupation +from morn till night was to examine the plans and documents connected +with his invention, that new explosive and that terrible engine of war, +which he had so long dreamt of presenting to France in order that she +might impose the reign of truth and justice upon all the nations. +However, during the long hours which he spent before the papers scattered +over his table, often without seeing them, for his eyes wandered far +away, a multitude of vague thoughts came to him--doubts respecting the +wisdom of his project, and fears lest his desire to pacify the nations +should simply throw them into an endless war of extermination. Although +he really believed that great city of Paris to be the world’s brain, +entrusted with the task of preparing the future, he could not disguise +from himself that with all its folly and shame and injustice it still +presented a shocking spectacle. Was it really ripe enough for the work of +human salvation which he thought of entrusting to it? Then, on trying to +re-peruse his notes and verify his formulas, he only recovered his former +energetic determination on thinking of his marriage, whereupon the idea +came to him that it was now too late for him to upset his life by +changing such long-settled plans. + +His marriage! Was it not the thought of this which haunted Guillaume and +disturbed him far more powerfully than his scientific work or his +humanitarian passion? Beneath all the worries that he acknowledged, there +was another which he did not confess even to himself, and which filled +him with anguish. He repeated day by day that he would reveal his +invention to the Minister of War as soon as he should be married to +Marie, whom he wished to associate with his glory. Married to Marie! Each +time he thought of it, burning fever and secret disquietude came over +him. If he now remained so silent and had lost his quiet cheerfulness, it +was because he had felt new life, as it were, emanating from her. She was +certainly no longer the same woman as formerly; she was becoming more and +more changed and distant. He had watched her and Pierre when the latter +happened to be there, which was now but seldom. He, too, appeared +embarrassed, and different from what he had been. On the days when he +came, however, Marie seemed transformed; it was as if new life animated +the house. Certainly the intercourse between her and Pierre was quite +innocent, sisterly on the one hand, brotherly on the other. They simply +seemed 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 a +perfume. After the lapse of a few days Guillaume found himself unable to +doubt the truth any longer. And his heart bled, he was utterly upset by +it. He had not found them in fault in any way, but he was convinced that +these two children, as he so paternally called them, really adored one +another. + +One lovely morning when he happened to be alone with Mère-Grand, face to +face with sunlit Paris, he fell into a yet more dolorous reverie than +usual. He seemed to be gazing fixedly at the old lady, as, seated in her +usual place, she continued sewing with an air of queenly serenity. +Perhaps, however, he did not see her. For her part she occasionally +raised her eyes and glanced at him, as if expecting a confession which +did not come. At last, finding such silence unbearable, she made up her +mind to address him: “What has been the matter with you, Guillaume, for +some 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 of +it, 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 in +the matter, even Mère-Grand knew all about it. To talk of it, however, +was to give shape to his suspicions, to transform what, hitherto, might +merely have been a fancy on his part into something real and definite. + +“It was inevitable, my dear son,” said Mère-Grand. “I foresaw it from the +outset. And if I did not warn you of it, it was because I believed in +some 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 her +quivering and distracted, she continued: “Yes, I fancied that you might +have wished it, that in bringing your brother here you wished to know if +Marie loved you otherwise than as a father. There was good reason for +testing her--for instance, the great difference between your ages, for +your life is drawing to a close, whilst hers is only beginning. And I +need not mention the question of your work, the mission which I have +always dreamt of for you.” + +Thereupon, with his hands raised in prayerful fashion, Guillaume drew +near to the old lady and exclaimed: “Oh! speak out clearly, tell me what +you think. I don’t understand, my poor heart is so lacerated; and yet I +should so much like to know everything, so as to be able to act and take +a decision. To think that you whom I love, you whom I venerate as much as +if you were my real mother, you whose profound good sense I know so well +that I have always followed your advice--to think that you should have +foreseen this frightful thing and have allowed it to happen at the risk +of its killing me!... Why have you done so, tell me, why?” + +Mère-Grand was not fond of talking. Absolute mistress of the house as she +was, managing everything, accountable to nobody for her actions, she +never 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 her +somewhat enigmatical ways even helped to raise her in their estimation. + +“What is the use of words, when things themselves speak?” she now gently +answered, while still plying her needle. “It is quite true that I +approved of the plan of a marriage between you and Marie, for I saw that +it was necessary that she should be married if she was to stay here. And +then, too, there were many other reasons which I needn’t speak of. +However, Pierre’s arrival here has changed everything, and placed things +in their natural order. Is not that preferable?” + +He still lacked the courage to understand her. “Preferable! When I’m in +agony? When my life is wrecked?” + +Thereupon she rose and came to him, tall and rigid in her thin black +gown, 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 be +very noble and lofty. Only the other morning, you had an attack of +fright, the house narrowly escaped being blown up. Then, for some days +now you have been sitting over those documents and plans in an +absent-minded, distracted state, like a man who feels weak, and doubts, +and no longer knows his way. Believe me, you are following a dangerous +path; it is better that Pierre should marry Marie, both for their sakes +and 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 duties +before you. You are on the eve of making your invention known. It seems +to me that something has bedimmed your sight, and that you will perhaps +act wrongly in this respect, through failing to take due account of the +problem before you. Perhaps there is something better to be done.... +At all events, suffer if it be necessary, but remain faithful to your +ideal.” + +Then, quitting him with a maternal smile, she sought to soften her +somewhat stern words by adding: “You have compelled me to speak +unnecessarily, for I am quite at ease; with your superior mind, whatever +be in question, you can but do the one right thing that none other would +do.” + +On finding himself alone Guillaume fell into feverish uncertainty. What +was the meaning of Mère-Grand’s enigmatical words? He knew that she was +on the side of whatever might be good, natural, and necessary. But she +seemed to be urging him to some lofty heroism; and indeed what she had +said threw a ray of light upon the unrest which had come to him in +connection with his old plan of going to confide his secret to some +Minister of War or other, whatever one might happen to be in office at +the time. Growing hesitation and repugnance stirred him as he fancied he +could again hear her saying that perhaps there might be some better +course, that would require search and reflection. But all at once a +vision of Marie rose before him, and his heart was rent by the thought +that 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 frightful +courage that was needed to pass by the last promised raptures of love +with disdain! + +For a couple of days Guillaume struggled on. He seemed to be again living +the six years which the young woman had already spent beside him in that +happy 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 had +viewed it with quiet delight in the hope that it would ensure the +happiness of all around him. If he had previously abstained from marrying +again 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 longer +leading a solitary life, it was because he had found at his very hearth +one of such sensible views, who, in the flower of youth, was willing to +become his wife despite the difference in their ages. Then months had +gone by, and serious occurrences had compelled them to postpone the +wedding, though without undue suffering on his part. Indeed, the +certainty that she was waiting for him had sufficed him, for his life of +hard work had rendered him patient. Now, however, all at once, at the +threat of losing her, his hitherto tranquil heart ached and bled. He +would never have thought the tie so close a one. But he was now almost +fifty, 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 more +desirable, as she was the incarnation of youth from which he must ever be +severed, should he indeed lose her. Passionate desire, mingled with rage, +flared up within him at the thought that someone should have come to take +her from him. + +One night, alone in his room, he suffered perfect martyrdom. In order +that he might not rouse the house he buried his face in his pillow so as +to stifle his sobs. After all, it was a simple matter; Marie had given +him 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, the +long-forgotten one, whom, from feelings of affection, he had compelled to +join his family. But his sufferings were now so acute that he would have +driven that brother away had he been before him. He was enraged, +maddened, by the thought of him. His brother--his little brother! So all +their love was over; hatred and violence were about to poison their +lives. For hours Guillaume continued complaining deliriously, and seeking +how he might so rid himself of Pierre that what had happened should be +blotted out. Now and again, when he recovered self-control, he marvelled +at the tempest within him; for was he not a _savant_ guided by lofty +reason, a toiler to whom long experience had brought serenity? But the +truth was that this tempest had not sprung up in his mind, it was raging +in the child-like soul that he had retained, the nook of affection and +dreaminess which remained within him side by side with his principles of +pitiless logic and his belief in proven phenomena only. His very genius +came from the duality of his nature: behind the chemist was a social +dreamer, hungering for justice and capable of the greatest love. And now +passion was transporting him, and he was weeping for the loss of Marie as +he would have wept over the downfall of that dream of his, the +destruction of war _by_ war, that scheme for the salvation of mankind at +which he had been working for ten years past. + +At last, amidst his weariness, a sudden resolution calmed him. He began +to feel ashamed of despairing in this wise when he had no certain grounds +to go upon. He must know everything, he would question the young woman; +she was loyal enough to answer him frankly. Was not this a solution +worthy of them both? An explanation in all sincerity, after which they +would be able to take a decision. Then he fell asleep; and, tired though +he felt when he rose in the morning, he was calmer. It was as if some +secret work had gone on in his heart during his few hours of repose after +that terrible storm. + +As it happened Marie was very gay that morning. On the previous day she +had gone with Pierre and Antoine on a cycling excursion over frightful +roads in the direction of Montmorency, whence they had returned in a +state of mingled anger and delight. When Guillaume stopped her in the +little garden, he found her humming a song while returning bare-armed +from 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 serious +matters.” + +She at once understood that their marriage was in question, and became +grave. She had formerly consented to that marriage because she regarded +it as the only sensible course she could take, and this with full +knowledge of the duties which she would assume. No doubt her husband +would be some twenty years older than herself, but this circumstance was +one of somewhat frequent occurrence, and as a rule such marriages turned +out well, rather than otherwise. Moreover, she was in love with nobody, +and was free to consent. And she had consented with an impulse of +gratitude and affection which seemed so sweet that she thought it the +sweetness of love itself. Everybody around her, too, appeared so pleased +at the prospect of this marriage, which would draw the family yet more +closely together. And, on her side, she had been as it were intoxicated +by the idea of making others happy. + +“What is the matter?” she now asked Guillaume in a somewhat anxious +voice. “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 the +garden. An old worm-eaten bench still stood there against the +lilac-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 beat +violently at seeing her beside him, so young and adorable with her bare +arms. + +“Our wedding-day is drawing near,” he ended by saying. And then as she +turned somewhat pale, perhaps unconsciously, he himself suddenly felt +cold. Had not her lips twitched as if with pain? Had not a shadow passed +over 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 is +necessary to attend to the formalities. And it is as well, perhaps, that +I should speak of those worries to-day, so that I may not have to bother +you 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 of +emotion as the thought of her promise’s early fulfilment might bring to +her face. She sat there in silence, with her hands on her lap, and her +features quite still, thus giving no certain sign of any regret or +trouble. Still she seemed rather dejected, compliant, as it were, but in +no wise joyous. + +“You say nothing, my dear Marie,” Guillaume at last exclaimed. “Does +anything of all this displease you?” + +“Displease me? Oh, no!” + +“You must speak out frankly, if it does, you know. We will wait a little +longer if you have any personal reasons for wishing to postpone the date +again.” + +“But I’ve no reasons, my friend. What reasons could I have? I leave you +quite 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 not +account, seemed to rise and darken her face, usually as bright and gay as +spring water. In former times would she not have laughed and sung at the +mere announcement of that coming wedding? + +Then Guillaume, with an effort which made his voice tremble, dared to +speak 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 certain +that you love me?” + +At this she looked at him in genuine stupefaction, utterly failing to +understand what he could be aiming at. And--as she seemed to be deferring +her reply, he added: “Consult your heart. Is it really your old friend or +is it another that you love?” + +“I? I, Guillaume? Why do you say that to me? What can I have done to give +you 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 life +and our joys! I’m happy when he’s here, certainly; and I should like him +to be always here. I’m always pleased to see him and hear him and go out +with him. I was very much grieved recently when he seemed to be relapsing +into his gloomy ideas. But all that is natural, is it not? And I think +that I have only done what you desired I should do, and I cannot +understand how my affection for Pierre can in any way exercise an +influence respecting our marriage.” + +These words, in her estimation, ought to have convinced Guillaume that +she was not in love with his brother; but in lieu thereof they brought +him painful enlightenment by the very ardour with which she denied the +love imputed to her. + +“But you unfortunate girl!” he cried. “You are betraying yourself without +knowing it.... It is quite certain you do not love me, you love my +brother!” + +He had caught hold of her wrists and was pressing them with despairing +affection as if to compel her to read her heart. And she continued +struggling. A most loving and tragic contest went on between them, he +seeking to convince her by the evidence of facts, and she resisting him, +stubbornly refusing to open her eyes. In vain did he recount what had +happened since the first day, explaining the feelings which had followed +one upon another in her heart and mind: first covert hostility, next +curiosity regarding that extraordinary young priest, and then sympathy +and affection when she had found him so wretched and had gradually cured +him of his sufferings. They were both young and mother Nature had done +the rest. However, at each fresh proof and certainty which he put before +her, Marie only experienced growing emotion, trembling at last from head +to foot, but still unwilling to question herself. + +“No, no,” said she, “I do not love him. If I loved him I should know it +and would acknowledge it to you; for you are well aware that I cannot +tell an untruth.” + +Guillaume, however, had the cruelty to insist on the point, like some +heroic surgeon cutting into his own flesh even more than into that of +others, 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 is +respect and gratitude and daughterly affection. Remember what your +feelings were at the time when our marriage was decided upon. You were +then in love with nobody, and you accepted the offer like a sensible +girl, feeling certain that I should render you happy, and that the union +was a right and satisfactory one.... But since then my brother has +come here; love has sprung up in your heart in quite a natural way; and +it is Pierre, Pierre alone, whom you love as a lover and a husband should +be loved.” + +Exhausted though she was, utterly distracted, too, by the light which, +despite herself, was dawning within her, Marie still stubbornly and +desperately protested. + +“But why do you struggle like this against the truth, my child?” said +Guillaume; “I do not reproach you. It was I who chose that this should +happen, like the old madman I am. What was bound to come has come, and +doubtless it is for the best. I only wanted to learn the truth from you +in order that I might take a decision and act uprightly.” + +These words vanquished her, and her tears gushed forth. It seemed as +though something had been rent asunder within her; and she felt quite +overcome, as if by the weight of a new truth of which she had hitherto +been ignorant. “Ah! it was cruel of you,” she said, “to do me such +violence so as to make me read my heart. I swear to you again that I did +not 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 do +love Pierre, I love him now as you have said. And so here we are, all +three of us supremely wretched through your doing!” + +She sobbed, and with a sudden feeling of modesty freed her wrists from +his grasp. He noticed, however, that no blush rose to her face. Truth to +tell, her virginal loyalty was not in question; she had no cause to +reproach herself with any betrayal; it was he alone, perforce, who had +awakened her to love. For a moment they looked at one another through +their tears: she so strong and healthy, her bosom heaving at each +heart-beat, and her white arms--arms that could both charm and +sustain--bare almost to her shoulders; and he still vigorous, with his +thick fleece of white hair and his black moustaches, which gave his +countenance 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 your +promise.” + +But with equal nobility she refused to take it back. “Never will I do +so,” she replied. “I gave it to you frankly, freely and joyfully, and my +affection and admiration for you have never changed.” + +Nevertheless, with more firmness in his hitherto broken voice, Guillaume +retorted: “You love Pierre, and it is Pierre whom you ought to marry.” + +“No,” she again insisted, “I belong to you. A tie which years have +tightened cannot be undone in an hour. Once again, if I love Pierre I +swear to you that I was ignorant of it this morning. And let us leave the +matter as it is; do not torture me any more, it would be too cruel of +you.” + +Then, quivering like a woman who suddenly perceives that she is bare, in +a stranger’s presence, she hastily pulled down her sleeves, and even drew +them over her hands as if to leave naught of her person visible. And +afterwards she rose and walked away without adding a single word. + +Guillaume remained alone on the bench in that leafy corner, in front of +Paris, to which the light morning sunshine lent the aspect of some +quivering, soaring city of dreamland. A great weight oppressed him, and +it seemed to him as if he would never be able to rise from the seat. That +which brought him most suffering was Marie’s assurance that she had till +that 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 it +to her knowledge, compelled her to confess it! He had now firmly planted +it in her heart, and perhaps increased it by revealing it to her. Ah! how +cruel the thought--to be the artisan of one’s own torment! Of one thing +he was now quite certain: there would be no more love in his life. At the +idea of this, his poor, loving heart sank and bled. And yet amidst the +disaster, amidst his grief at realising that he was an old man, and that +renunciation was imperative, he experienced a bitter joy at having +brought the truth to light. This was very harsh consolation, fit only for +one of heroic soul, yet he found lofty satisfaction in it, and from that +moment the thought of sacrifice imposed itself upon him with +extraordinary force. He must marry his children; there lay the path of +duty, the only wise and just course, the only certain means of ensuring +the happiness of the household. And when his revolting heart yet leapt +and shrieked with anguish, he carried his vigorous hands to his chest in +order 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 here +again 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 had +arranged things so that he might be alone with his brother; and no sooner +had the latter entered than he attacked him, going straight to the point +without 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 you +confide in me?” + +The other immediately understood him, and began to tremble, unable to +find a word, but confessing everything by the distracted, entreating +expression of his face. + +“You love Marie,” continued Guillaume, “why did you not loyally come and +tell 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, that +you yourself would notice it at last. But there was no occasion for me to +tell you of it, for I was sure of myself, and would have fled rather than +have allowed a single word to cross my lips. I suffered in silence and +alone, and you cannot know how great my torture was! It is even cruel on +your part to speak to me of it; for now I am absolutely compelled to +leave you.... I have already, on several occasions, thought of doing +so. If I have come back here, it was doubtless through weakness, but also +on account of my affection for you all. And what mattered my presence +here? Marie ran no risk. She does not love me.” + +“She does love you!” Guillaume answered. “I questioned her yesterday, and +she had to confess that she loved you.” + +At this Pierre, utterly distracted, caught Guillaume by the shoulders and +gazed into his eyes. “Oh! brother, brother! what is this you say? Why say +a thing which would mean terrible misfortune for us all? Even if it were +true, 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 be +only my madness to part you, it will pass by, I shall know how to conquer +it.” + +“Marie loves you,” repeated Guillaume in his gentle, obstinate way. “I +don’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 to +open her eyes.... What would you have? I simply state a fact: she +loves you.” + +This time Pierre, still quivering, made a gesture of mingled rapture and +terror, as if some divine and long-desired blessing were falling upon him +from heaven and crushing him beneath its weight. + +“Well, then,” he said, after a brief pause, “it is all over.... Let us +kiss one another for the last time, and then I’ll go.” + +“Go? Why? You must stay with us. Nothing could be more simple: you love +Marie and she loves you. I give her to you.” + +A loud cry came from Pierre, who wildly raised his hands again with a +gesture of fright and rapture. “You give me Marie?” he replied. “You, who +adore her, who have been waiting for her for months? No, no, it would +overcome me, it would terrify me, as if you gave me your very heart after +tearing 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,” said +Guillaume, “as it is you whom she really loves, am I to take a mean +advantage of the engagements which she entered into unconsciously, and +force 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 has +already given herself, and I do not consider that I have any right to +prevent 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 down +by his side on an old sofa near the window. And he began to scold him +almost angrily while still retaining a smile, in which suffering and +kindliness were blended. “Come,” said he, “we are surely not going to +fight over it. You won’t force me to tie you up so as to keep you here? I +know what I’m about. I thought it all over before I spoke to you. No +doubt, I can’t tell you that it gladdens me. I thought at first that I +was going to die; I should have liked to hide myself in the very depths +of the earth. And then, well, it was necessary to be reasonable, and I +understood that things had arranged themselves for the best, in their +natural order.” + +Pierre, unable to resist any further, had begun to weep with both hands +raised 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 after +we had found one another again? All our old affection revived within us, +and we remained for hours, hand in hand, recalling the past and loving +one another. And what a terrible confession you made to me one night, the +confession of your loss of faith, your torture, the void in which you +were rolling! When I heard of it my one great wish was to cure you. I +advised you to work, love, and believe in life, convinced as I was that +life alone could restore you to peace and health.... And for that +reason I afterwards brought you here. You fought against it, and it was I +who forced you to come. I was so happy when I found that you again took +an interest in life, and had once more become a man and a worker! I would +have 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 has +become necessary to you, and she alone can save you.” + +Then as Pierre again attempted to protest, he resumed: “Don’t deny it. It +is 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 misery +and negation, into all the torments of a spoilt life. She is necessary to +you, I say. And do you think that I no longer know how to love you? Would +you have me refuse you the very breath of life that will truly make you a +man, after all my fervent wishes for your return to life? I have enough +affection for you both to consent to your loving one another.... +Besides, I repeat it, nature knows what she does. Instinct is a sure +guide, it always tends to what is useful and trite. I should have been a +sorry 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 fruitful +and happy life.” + +Pierre shuddered as he heard this, for his old fears returned to him. Had +not the priesthood for ever cut him off from life, had not his long years +of 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 that +I do not perhaps deserve the gift you so lovingly offer me! You are worth +more 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.... There +is still time, brother, keep her, if with you she is likely to be happier +and more truly and completely loved. For my part I am full of doubts. Her +happiness is the only thing of consequence. Let her belong to the one who +will love her best!” + +Indescribable emotion had now come over both men. As Guillaume heard his +brother’s broken words, the cry of a love that trembled at the thought of +possible weakness, he did for a moment waver. With a dreadful heart-pang +he stammered despairingly: “Ah! Marie, whom I love so much! Marie, whom I +would have rendered so happy!” + +At this Pierre could not restrain himself; he rose and cried: “Ah! you +see 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 with +an intensity of brotherly love which was increased by the renunciation he +was resolved upon: “Stay!” said he. “It wasn’t I that spoke, it was the +other man that was in me, he who is about to die, who is already dead! By +the memory of our mother and our father I swear to you that the sacrifice +is consummated, and that if you two refuse to accept happiness from me +you will but make me suffer.” + +For a moment the weeping men remained in one another’s arms. They had +often embraced before, but never had their hearts met and mingled as they +did now. It was a delightful moment, which seemed an eternity. All the +grief and misery of the world had disappeared from before them; there +remained naught save their glowing love, whence sprang an eternity of +love even as light comes from the sun. And that moment was compensation +for all their past and future tears, whilst yonder, on the horizon before +them, 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 and +compelled him and Marie to take each other by the hand. At first she made +yet another gesture of refusal in her stubborn resolve that she would not +take her promise back. But what could she say face to face with those two +tearful men, whom she had found in one another’s arms, mingling together +in such close brotherliness? Did not those tears and that embrace sweep +away all ordinary reasons, all such arguments as she held in reserve? +Even the embarrassment of the situation disappeared, it seemed as if she +had already had a long explanation with Pierre, and that he and she were +of one mind to accept that gift of love which Guillaume offered them with +so much heroism. A gust of the sublime passed through the room, and +nothing could have appeared more natural to them than this extraordinary +scene. Nevertheless, Marie remained silent, she dared not give her +answer, but looked at them both with her big soft eyes, which, like their +own, were full of tears. + +And it was Guillaume who, with sudden inspiration, ran to the little +staircase conducting to the rooms overhead, and called: “Mère-Grand! +Mère-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 one +another. Tell them that we have talked it over, you and I, and that it is +your desire, your will that they should do so.” + +She quietly nodded her assent, and then said: “That is true, it will be +by far the most sensible course.” + +Thereupon Marie flung herself into her arms, consenting, yielding to the +superior forces, the powers of life, that had thus changed the course of +her existence. Guillaume immediately desired that the date of the wedding +should be fixed, and accommodation provided for the young couple in the +rooms overhead. And as Pierre glanced at him with some remaining anxiety +and 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 both +here. Don’t worry about me. I have so much work to do, I shall work.” + +In the evening when Thomas and François came home and learnt the news, +they did not seem particularly surprised by it. They had doubtless felt +that things would end like this. And they bowed to the _dénouement_, not +venturing to say a word, since it was their father himself who announced +the decision which had been taken, with his usual air of composure. As +for Antoine, who on his own side quivered with love for Lise, he gazed +with doubting, anxious eyes at his father, who had thus had the courage +to pluck out his heart. Could he really survive such a sacrifice, must it +not kill him? Then Antoine kissed his father passionately, and the elder +brothers in their turn embraced him with all their hearts. Guillaume +smiled and his eyes became moist. After his victory over his horrible +torments nothing could have been sweeter to him than the embraces of his +three big sons. + +There was, however, further emotion in store for him that evening. Just +as the daylight was departing, and he was sitting at his large table near +the window, again checking and classifying the documents and plans +connected with his invention, he was surprised to see his old master and +friend Bertheroy enter the workroom. The illustrious chemist called on +him in this fashion at long intervals, and Guillaume felt the honour thus +conferred on him by this old man to whom eminence and fame had brought so +many titles, offices and decorations. Moreover, Bertheroy, with his +position as an official _savant_ and member of the Institute, showed some +courage in thus venturing to call on one whom so-called respectable folks +regarded with contumely. And on this occasion, Guillaume at once +understood that it was some feeling of curiosity that had brought him. +And so he was greatly embarrassed, for he hardly dared to remove the +papers and plans which were lying on the table. + +“Oh, don’t be frightened,” gaily exclaimed Bertheroy, who, despite his +careless and abrupt ways, was really very shrewd. “I haven’t come to pry +into your secrets.... Leave your papers there, I promise you that I +won’t read anything.” + +Then, in all frankness, he turned the conversation on the subject of +explosives, which he was still studying, he said, with passionate +interest. He had made some new discoveries which he did not conceal. +Incidentally, too, he spoke of the opinion he had given in Salvat’s +affair. His dream was to discover some explosive of great power, which +one might attempt to domesticate and reduce to complete obedience. And +with a smile he pointedly concluded: “I don’t know where that madman +found the formula of his powder. But if you should ever discover it, +remember that the future perhaps lies in the employment of explosives as +motive power.” + +Then, all at once, he added: “By the way, that fellow Salvat will be +executed on the day after to-morrow. A friend of mine at the Ministry of +Justice has just told me so.” + +Guillaume had hitherto listened to him with an air of mingled distrust +and amusement. But this announcement of Salvat’s execution stirred him to +anger and revolt, though for some days past he had known it to be +inevitable, in spite of the sympathy which the condemned man was now +rousing in many quarters. + +“It will be a murder!” he cried vehemently. + +Bertheroy waved his hand: “What would you have?” he answered: “there’s a +social system and it defends itself when it is attacked. Besides, those +Anarchists are really too foolish in imagining that they will transform +the world with their squibs and crackers! In my opinion, you know, +science is the only revolutionist. Science will not only bring us truth +but justice also, if indeed justice ever be possible on this earth. And +that is why I lead so calm a life and am so tolerant.” + +Once again Bertheroy appeared to Guillaume as a revolutionist, one who +was convinced that he helped on the ruin of the ancient abominable +society of today, with its dogmas and laws, even whilst he was working in +the depths of his laboratory. He was, however, too desirous of repose, +and had too great a contempt for futilities to mingle with the events of +the day, and he preferred to live in quietude, liberally paid and +rewarded, and at peace with the government whatever it might be, whilst +at the same time foreseeing and preparing for the formidable parturition +of 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 the +stokers, we who are ever flinging fresh fuel under the boiler. Science +does not pause in her work for a single hour, and she is the artisan of +Paris, which--let us hope it--will be the artisan of the future. All the +rest is of no account.” + +But Guillaume was no longer listening to him. He was thinking of Salvat +and the terrible engine of war he had invented, that engine which before +long would shatter cities. And a new idea was dawning and growing in his +mind. He had just freed himself of his last tie, he had created all the +happiness he could create around him. Ah! to recover his courage, to be +master of himself once more, and, at any rate, derive from the sacrifice +of his heart the lofty delight of being free, of being able to lay down +even 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 the +execution of Salvat. Pierre tried to dissuade him from doing so; and +finding his efforts vain, became somewhat anxious. He accordingly +resolved to spend the night at Montmartre, accompany his brother and +watch over him. In former times, when engaged with Abbé Rose in +charitable work in the Charonne district, he had learnt that the +guillotine could be seen from the house where Mège, the Socialist deputy, +resided at the corner of the Rue Merlin. He therefore offered himself as +a guide. As the execution was to take place as soon as it should legally +be daybreak, that is, about half-past four o’clock, the brothers did not +go to bed but sat up in the workroom, feeling somewhat drowsy, and +exchanging few words. Then as soon as two o’clock struck, they started +off. + +The night was beautifully serene and clear. The full moon, shining like a +silver lamp in the cloudless, far-stretching heavens, threw a calm, +dreamy light over the vague immensity of Paris, which was like some +spell-bound city of sleep, so overcome by fatigue that not a murmur arose +from it. It was as if beneath the soft radiance which spread over its +roofs, its panting labour and its cries of suffering were lulled to +repose until the dawn. Yet, in a far, out of the way district, dark work +was even now progressing, a knife was being raised on high in order that +a man might be killed. + +Pierre and Guillaume paused in the Rue St. Eleuthère, and gazed at the +vaporous, tremulous city spread out below then. And as they turned they +perceived the basilica of the Sacred Heart, still domeless but already +looking huge indeed in the moonbeams, whose clear white light accentuated +its outlines and brought them into sharp relief against a mass of +shadows. Under the pale nocturnal sky, the edifice showed like a colossal +monster, symbolical of provocation and sovereign dominion. Never before +had Guillaume found it so huge, never had it appeared to him to dominate +Paris, even in the latter’s hours of slumber, with such stubborn and +overwhelming might. + +This wounded him so keenly in the state of mind in which he found +himself, that he could not help exclaiming: “Ah! they chose a good site +for it, and how stupid it was to let them do so! I know of nothing more +nonsensical; Paris crowned and dominated by that temple of idolatry! How +impudent it is, what a buffet for the cause of reason after so many +centuries of science, labour, and battle! And to think of it being reared +over Paris, the one city in the world which ought never to have been +soiled in this fashion! One can understand it at Lourdes and Rome; but +not in Paris, in the very field of intelligence which has been so deeply +ploughed, 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 whom +religions are simply social phenomena. He even willingly admitted the +grandeur or grace of certain Catholic legends. But Marie Alacoque’s +famous vision, which has given rise to the cult of the Sacred Heart, +filled him with irritation and something like physical disgust. He +suffered at the mere idea of Christ’s open, bleeding breast, and the +gigantic heart which the saint asserted she had seen beating in the +depths of the wound--the huge heart in which Jesus placed the woman’s +little heart to restore it to her inflated and glowing with love. What +base and loathsome materialism there was in all this! What a display of +viscera, muscles and blood suggestive of a butcher’s shop! And Guillaume +was particularly disgusted with the engraving which depicted this horror, +and which he found everywhere, crudely coloured with red and yellow and +blue, like some badly executed anatomical plate. + +Pierre on his side was also looking at the basilica as, white with +moonlight, it rose out of the darkness like a gigantic fortress raised to +crush and conquer the city slumbering beneath it. It had already brought +him suffering during the last days when he had said mass in it and was +struggling with his torments. “They call it the national votive +offering,” he now exclaimed. “But the nation’s longing is for health and +strength and restoration to its old position by work. That is a thing the +Church does not understand. It argues that if France was stricken with +defeat, it was because she deserved punishment. She was guilty, and so +to-day she ought to repent. Repent of what? Of the Revolution, of a +century of free examination and science, of the emancipation of her mind, +of her initiatory and liberative labour in all parts of the world? That +indeed is her real transgression; and it is as a punishment for all our +labour, search for truth, increase of knowledge and march towards justice +that they have reared that huge pile which Paris will see from all her +streets, and will never be able to see without feeling derided and +insulted in her labour and glory.” + +With a wave of his hand he pointed to the city, slumbering in the +moonlight as beneath a sheet of silver, and then set off again with his +brother, 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 with +scarcely a pause. No sooner are the wine shops, music and dancing halls +closed, than vice and want, cast into the street, there resume their +nocturnal existence. Thus the brothers came upon all the homeless ones: +low prostitutes seeking a pallet, vagabonds stretched on the benches +under the trees, rogues who prowled hither and thither on the lookout for +a good stroke. Encouraged by their accomplice--night, all the mire and +woe of Paris had returned to the surface. The empty roadway now belonged +to the breadless, homeless starvelings, those for whom there was no place +in the sunlight, the vague, swarming, despairing herd which is only +espied at night-time. Ah! what spectres of destitution, what apparitions +of grief and fright there were! What a sob of agony passed by in Paris +that morning, when as soon as the dawn should rise, a man--a pauper, a +sufferer like the others--was to be guillotined! + +As Guillaume and Pierre were about to descend the Rue des Martyrs, the +former perceived an old man lying on a bench with his bare feet +protruding from his gaping, filthy shoes. Guillaume pointed to him in +silence. Then, a few steps farther on, Pierre in his turn pointed to a +ragged girl, crouching, asleep with open mouth, in the corner of a +doorway. There was no need for the brothers to express in words all the +compassion and anger which stirred their hearts. At long intervals +policemen, walking slowly two by two, shook the poor wretches and +compelled them to rise and walk on and on. Occasionally, if they found +them suspicious or refractory, they marched them off to the +police-station. And then rancour and the contagion of imprisonment often +transformed a mere vagabond into a thief or a murderer. + +In the Rue des Martyrs and the Rue du Faubourg-Montmartre, the brothers +found night-birds of another kind, women who slunk past them, close to +the house-fronts, and men and hussies who belaboured one another with +blows. Then, upon the grand boulevards, on the thresholds of lofty black +houses, only one row of whose windows flared in the night, pale-faced +individuals, who had just come down from their clubs, stood lighting +cigars before going home. A lady with a ball wrap over her evening gown +went by accompanied by a servant. A few cabs, moreover, still jogged up +and down the roadway, while others, which had been waiting for hours, +stood on their ranks in rows, with drivers and horses alike asleep. And +as one boulevard after another was reached, the Boulevard Poissonniere, +the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle, the Boulevard St. Denis, and so forth, as +far as the Place de la Republique, there came fresh want and misery, more +forsaken and hungry ones, more and more of the human “waste” that is cast +into the streets and the darkness. And on the other hand, an army of +street-sweepers was now appearing to remove all the filth of the past +four and twenty hours, in order that Paris, spruce already at sunrise, +might not blush for having thrown up such a mass of dirt and +loathsomeness in the course of a single day. + +It was, however, more particularly after following the Boulevard +Voltaire, and drawing near to the districts of La Roquette and Charonne, +that the brothers felt they were returning to a sphere of labour where +there was often lack of food, and where life was but so much pain. Pierre +found himself at home here. In former days, accompanied by good Abbé +Rose, visiting despairing ones, distributing alms, picking up children +who had sunk to the gutter, he had a hundred times perambulated every one +of those long, densely populated streets. And thus a frightful vision +arose before his mind’s eye; he recalled all the tragedies he had +witnessed, all the shrieks he had heard, all the tears and bloodshed he +had seen, all the fathers, mothers and children huddled together and +dying of want, dirt and abandonment: that social hell in which he had +ended by losing his last hopes, fleeing from it with a sob in the +conviction that charity was a mere amusement for the rich, and absolutely +futile as a remedy. It was this conviction which now returned to him as +he again cast eyes upon that want and grief stricken district which +seemed fated to everlasting destitution. That poor old man whom Abbé Rose +had revived one night in yonder hovel, had he not since died of +starvation? That little girl whom he had one morning brought in his arms +to the refuge after her parents’ death, was it not she whom he had just +met, grown but fallen to the streets, and shrieking beneath the fist of a +bully? Ah! how great was the number of the wretched! Their name was +legion! There were those whom one could not save, those who were hourly +born to a life of woe and want, even as one may be born infirm, and +those, too, who from every side sank in the sea of human injustice, that +ocean which has ever been the same for centuries past, and which though +one may strive to drain it, still and for ever spreads. How heavy was the +silence, how dense the darkness in those working-class streets where +sleep seems to be the comrade of death! Yet hunger prowls, and misfortune +sobs; vague spectral forms slink by, and then are lost to view in the +depths of the night. + +As Pierre and Guillaume went along they became mixed with dark groups of +people, a whole flock of inquisitive folk, a promiscuous, passionate +tramp, tramp towards the guillotine. It came from all Paris, urged on by +brutish fever, a hankering for death and blood. In spite, however, of the +dull noise which came from this dim crowd, the mean streets that were +passed remained quite dark, not a light appeared at any of their windows; +nor could one hear the breathing of the weary toilers stretched on their +wretched pallets from which they would not rise before the morning +twilight. + +On seeing the jostling crowd which was already assembled on the Place +Voltaire, Pierre understood that it would be impossible for him and his +brother to ascend the Rue de la Roquette. Barriers, moreover, must +certainly have been thrown across that street. In order therefore to +reach the corner of the Rue Merlin, it occurred to him to take the Rue de +la Folie Regnault, which winds round in the rear of the prison, farther +on. + +Here indeed they found solitude and darkness again. + +The huge, massive prison with its great bare walls on which a moonray +fell, looked like some pile of cold stones, dead for centuries past. At +the end of the street they once more fell in with the crowd, a dim +restless mass of beings, whose pale faces alone could be distinguished. +The brothers had great difficulty in reaching the house in which Mège +resided at the corner of the Rue Merlin. All the shutters of the +fourth-floor flat occupied by the Socialist deputy were closed, though +every other window was wide open and crowded with surging sightseers. +Moreover, the wine shop down below and the first-floor room connected +with 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 Mège’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 something +from the balcony.” + +The first-floor room was provided with a very large balcony, which women +and gentlemen were already filling. The brothers nevertheless managed to +reach it, and for a few minutes remained there, peering into the darkness +before them. The sloping street grew broader between the two prisons, the +“great” and the “little” Roquette, in such wise as to form a sort of +square, which was shaded by four clumps of plane-trees, rising from the +footways. The low buildings and scrubby trees, all poor and ugly of +aspect, seemed almost to lie on a level with the ground, under a vast sky +in which stars were appearing, as the moon gradually declined. And the +square was quite empty save that on one spot yonder there seemed to be +some 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. Maur +intersects the Rue de la Roquette; while, on the other, they stood at the +corners of the Rue Merlin and the Rue de la Folie Regnault, so that it +was almost impossible to distinguish anything of the execution even from +the best placed windows. As for the inquisitive folk on the pavement they +only saw the backs of the guards. Still this did not prevent a crush. The +human 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 were +at last able to perceive something. It was now half-past three, and the +guillotine was nearly ready. The little stir which one vaguely espied +yonder under the trees, was that of the headsman’s assistants fixing the +knife in position. A lantern slowly came and went, and five or six +shadows danced over the ground. But nothing else could be distinguished, +the square was like a large black pit, around which ever broke the waves +of the noisy crowd which one could not see. And beyond the square one +could only identify the flaring wine shops, which showed forth like +lighthouses in the night. All the surrounding district of poverty and +toil 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 elegantly +attired gentleman leaning over the balcony near him was none other than +the amiable deputy Duthil. He had at first fancied that a woman muffled +in wraps who stood close beside the deputy was the little Princess de +Harn, whom he had very likely brought to see the execution since he had +taken her to see the trial. On closer inspection, however, he had found +that this woman was Silviane, the perverse creature with the virginal +face. Truth to tell, she made no concealment of her presence, but talked +on in an extremely loud voice, as if intoxicated; and the brothers soon +learnt how it was that she happened to be there. Duvillard, Duthil, and +other 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 of +seeing the execution had suddenly come upon her. Duvillard, after vainly +entreating her to do nothing of the kind, had gone off in a fury, for he +felt that it would be most unseemly on his part to attend the execution +of a man who had endeavoured to blow up his house. And thereupon Silviane +had turned to Duthil, whom her caprice greatly worried, for he held all +such loathsome spectacles in horror, and had already refused to act as +escort to the Princess. However, he was so infatuated with Silviane’s +beauty, and she made him so many promises, that he had at last consented +to take her. + +“He can’t understand people caring for amusement,” she said, speaking of +the 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 and +ratified now that you have secured your engagement at the Comédie.” + +“Peace? No!” she protested. “No, no. There will be no peace between us +until I have made my _début_. After that, we’ll see.” + +They both laughed; and then Duthil, by way of paying his court, told her +how good-naturedly Dauvergne, the new Minister of Public Instruction and +Fine Arts, had adjusted the difficulties which had hitherto kept the +doors of the Comédie closed upon her. A really charming man was +Dauvergne, the embodiment of graciousness, the very flower of the +Monferrand ministry. His was the velvet hand in that administration whose +leader had a hand of iron. + +“He told me, my beauty,” said Duthil, “that a pretty girl was in place +everywhere.” And then as Silviane, as if flattered, pressed closely +beside 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 the +day after to-morrow. We shall all go to applaud you, remember.” + +“Yes, on the evening of the day after to-morrow,” said Silviane, “the +very 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 our +friend Gérard with Mademoiselle Camille to begin with. We shall have a +crush at the Madeleine in the morning and another at the Comédie in the +evening. You are quite right, too; there will be several hearts throbbing +in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy.” + +Thereupon they again became merry, and jested about the Duvillard +family--father, mother, lover and daughter--with the greatest possible +ferocity and crudity of language. Then, all at once Silviane exclaimed: +“Do you know, I’m feeling awfully bored here, my little Duthil. I can’t +distinguish anything, and I should like to be quite near so as to see it +all plainly. You must take me over yonder, close to that machine of +theirs.” + +This request threw Duthil into consternation, particularly as at that +same moment Silviane perceived Massot outside the wine shop, and began +calling and beckoning to him imperiously. A brief conversation then +ensued between the young woman and the journalist: “I say, Massot!” she +called, “hasn’t a deputy the right to pass the guards and take a lady +wherever he likes?” + +“Not at all!” exclaimed Duthil. “Massot knows very well that a deputy +ought to be the very first to bow to the laws.” + +This exclamation warned Massot that Duthil did not wish to leave the +balcony. “You ought to have secured a card of invitation, madame,” said +he, in reply to Silviane. “They would then have found you room at one of +the 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 now +I came upon her carriage in the Rue du Chemin Vert. The police would not +allow it to come any nearer.” + +This news made Silviane merry again, whilst Duthil shuddered at the idea +of the danger he incurred, for Rosemonde would assuredly treat him to a +terrible scene should she see him with another woman. Then, an idea +occurring to him, he ordered a bottle of champagne and some little cakes +for his “beautiful friend,” as he called Silviane. She had been +complaining of thirst, and was delighted with the opportunity of +perfecting her intoxication. When a waiter had managed to place a little +table near her, on the balcony itself, she found things very pleasant, +and indeed considered it quite brave to tipple and sup afresh, while +waiting 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. The +boredom of waiting had turned all the inquisitive folks of the balcony +and the adjoining room into customers. The waiter could hardly manage to +serve the many glasses of beer, bottles of expensive wine, biscuits, and +plates of cold meat which were ordered of him. And yet the spectators +here were all _bourgeois_, rich gentlemen, people of society! On the +other hand, time has to be killed somehow when it hangs heavily on one’s +hands; and thus there were bursts of laughter and paltry and horrible +jests, quite a feverish uproar arising amidst the clouds of smoke from +the men’s cigars. When Pierre and Guillaume passed through the wine shop +on the ground-floor they there found a similar crush and similar tumult, +aggravated by the disorderly behaviour of the big fellows in blouses who +were drinking draught wine at the pewter bar which shone like silver. +There were people, too, at all the little tables, besides an incessant +coming and going of folks who entered the place for a “wet,” by way of +calming their impatience. And what folks they were! All the scum, all the +vagabonds who had been dragging themselves about since daybreak on the +lookout for whatever chance might offer them, provided it were not work! + +On the pavement outside, Pierre and Guillaume felt yet a greater +heart-pang. In the throng which the guards kept back, one simply found so +much mire stirred up from the very depths of Paris life: prostitutes and +criminals, the murderers of to-morrow, who came to see how a man ought to +die. Loathsome, bareheaded harlots mingled with bands of prowlers or ran +through the crowd, howling obscene refrains. Bandits stood in groups +chatting and quarrelling about the more or less glorious manner in which +certain famous _guillotines_ had died. Among these was one with respect +to whom they all agreed, and of whom they spoke as of a great captain, a +hero whose marvellous courage was deserving of immortality. Then, as one +passed along, one caught snatches of horrible phrases, particulars about +the instrument of death, ignoble boasts, and filthy jests reeking with +blood. And over and above all else there was bestial fever, a lust for +death which made this multitude delirious, an eagerness to see life flow +forth fresh and ruddy beneath the knife, so that as it coursed over the +soil they might dip their feet in it. As this execution was not an +ordinary one, however, there were yet spectators of another kind; silent +men with glowing eyes who came and went all alone, and who were plainly +thrilled by their faith, intoxicated with the contagious madness which +incites one to vengeance or martyrdom. + +Guillaume was just thinking of Victor Mathis, when he fancied that he saw +him standing in the front row of sightseers whom the guards held in +check. 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 see +anything. Near him was a big, red-haired girl who gesticulated; but for +his part he never stirred or spoke. He was waiting motionless, gazing +yonder with the round, ardent, fixed eyes of a night-bird, seeking to +penetrate the darkness. At last a guard pushed him back in a somewhat +brutal way; but he soon returned to his previous position, ever patient +though full of hatred against the executioners, wishing indeed to see all +he could in order to increase his hate. + +Then Massot approached the brothers. This time, on seeing Pierre without +his cassock, he did not even make a sign of astonishment, but gaily +remarked: “So you felt curious to see this affair, Monsieur Froment?” + +“Yes, I came with my brother,” Pierre replied. “But I very much fear that +we shan’t see much.” + +“You certainly won’t if you stay here,” rejoined Massot. And thereupon in +his usual good-natured way--glad, moreover, to show what power a +well-known journalist could wield--he inquired: “Would you like me to +pass you through? The inspector here happens to be a friend of mine.” + +Then, without waiting for an answer, he stopped the inspector and hastily +whispered to him that he had brought a couple of colleagues, who wanted +to report the proceedings. At first the inspector hesitated, and seemed +inclined to refuse Massot’s request; but after a moment, influenced by +the covert fear which the police always has of the press, he made a weary +gesture of consent. + +“Come, quick, then,” said Massot, turning to the brothers, and taking +them along with him. + +A moment later, to the intense surprise of Pierre and Guillaume, the +guards opened their ranks to let them pass. They then found themselves in +the large open space which was kept clear. And on thus emerging from the +tumultuous throng they were quite impressed by the death-like silence and +solitude which reigned under the little plane-trees. The night was now +paling. A faint gleam of dawn was already falling from the sky. + +After leading his companions slantwise across the square, Massot stopped +them near the prison and resumed: “I’m going inside; I want to see the +prisoner roused and got ready. In the meantime, walk about here; nobody +will say anything to you. Besides, I’ll come back to you in a moment.” + +A hundred people or so, journalists and other privileged spectators, were +scattered about the dark square. Movable wooden barriers--such as are set +up at the doors of theatres when there is a press of people waiting for +admission--had been placed on either side of the pavement running from +the prison gate to the guillotine; and some sightseers were already +leaning over these barriers, in order to secure a close view of the +condemned man as he passed by. Others were walking slowly to and fro, and +conversing in undertones. The brothers, for their part, approached the +guillotine. + +It stood there under the branches of the trees, amidst the delicate +greenery of the fresh leaves of spring. A neighbouring gas-lamp, whose +light 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 been +finished; and the headsman’s “valets” or assistants, in frock-coats and +tall silk hats, were waiting and strolling about in a patient way. But +the instrument itself, how base and shameful it looked, squatting on the +ground like some filthy beast, disgusted with the work it had to +accomplish! What! those few beams lying on the ground, and those others +barely nine feet high which rose from it, keeping the knife in position, +constituted the machine which avenged Society, the instrument which gave +a warning to evil-doers! Where was the big scaffold painted a bright red +and reached by a stairway of ten steps, the scaffold which raised high +bloody arms over the eager multitude, so that everybody might behold the +punishment of the law in all its horror! The beast had now been felled to +the ground, where it simply looked ignoble, crafty and cowardly. If on +the one hand there was no majesty in the manner in which human justice +condemned a man to death at its assizes: on the other, there was merely +horrid butchery with the help of the most barbarous and repulsive of +mechanical contrivances, on the terrible day when that man was executed. + +As Pierre and Guillaume gazed at the guillotine, a feeling of nausea came +over them. Daylight was now slowly breaking, and the surroundings were +appearing to view: first the square itself with its two low, grey +prisons, facing one another; then the distant houses, the taverns, the +marble workers’ establishments, and the shops selling flowers and +wreaths, which are numerous hereabouts, as the cemetery of Père-Lachaise +is so near. Before long one could plainly distinguish the black lines of +the spectators standing around in a circle, the heads leaning forward +from windows and balconies, and the people who had climbed to the very +house roofs. The prison of La Petite Roquette over the way had been +turned into a kind of tribune for guests; and mounted Gardes de Paris +went slowly to and fro across the intervening expanse. Then, as the sky +brightened, labour awoke throughout the district beyond the crowd, a +district of broad, endless streets lined with factories, work-shops and +work-yards. Engines began to snort, machinery and appliances were got +ready to start once more on their usual tasks, and smoke already curled +away from the forest of lofty brick chimneys which, on all sides, sprang +out of the gloom. + +It then seemed to Guillaume that the guillotine was really in its right +place in that district of want and toil. It stood in its own realm, like +a _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 it +not charged to overawe the disinherited ones, the starvelings, who, +exasperated by everlasting injustice, were always ready for revolt? It +was not seen in the districts where wealth and enjoyment reigned. It +would there have seemed purposeless, degrading and truly monstrous. And +it was a tragical and terrible coincidence that the bomb-thrower, driven +mad by want, should be guillotined there, in the very centre of want’s +dominion. + +But daylight had come at last, for it was nearly half-past four. The +distant 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 and +Guillaume. “Ah! that Salvat is a brave fellow after all.” + +Then he related how the prisoner had been awakened; how the governor of +the prison, magistrate Amadieu, the chaplain, and a few other persons had +entered the cell where Salvat lay fast asleep; and then how the condemned +man had understood the truth immediately upon opening his eyes. He had +risen, looking pale but quite composed. And he had dressed himself +without assistance, and had declined the nip of brandy and the cigarette +proffered by the good-hearted chaplain, in the same way as with a gentle +but stubborn gesture he had brushed the crucifix aside. Then had come the +“toilette” for death. With all rapidity and without a word being +exchanged, Salvat’s hands had been tied behind his back, his legs had +been loosely secured with a cord, and the neckband of his shirt had been +cut away. He had smiled when the others exhorted him to be brave. He only +feared 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 which +he 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 the +barriers if you wish a good view.... I turned paler, you know, and +trembled 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.... You +can’t imagine how many attempts were made to save Salvat’s life. Even +some of the papers asked that he might be reprieved. But nothing +succeeded, the execution was regarded as inevitable, it seems, even by +those who consider it a blunder. Still, they had such a touching +opportunity to reprieve him, when his daughter, little Céline, wrote that +fine letter to the President of the Republic, which I was the first to +publish in the ‘Globe.’ Ah! that letter, it cost me a lot of running +about!” + +Pierre, who was already quite upset by this long wait for the horrible +scene, felt moved to tears by Massot’s reference to Céline. He could +again see the child standing beside Madame Théodore in that bare, cold +room whither her father would never more return. It was thence that he +had set out on a day of desperation with his stomach empty and his brain +on fire, and it was here that he would end, between yonder beams, beneath +yonder knife. + +Massot, however, was still giving particulars. The doctors, said he, were +furious because they feared that the body would not be delivered to them +immediately after the execution. To this Guillaume did not listen. He +stood there with his elbows resting on the wooden barrier and his eyes +fixed on the prison gate, which still remained shut. His hands were +quivering, and there was an expression of anguish on his face as if it +were he himself who was about to be executed. The headsman had again just +left the prison. He was a little, insignificant-looking man, and seemed +annoyed, anxious to have done with it all. Then, among a group of +frock-coated gentlemen, some of the spectators pointed out Gascogne, the +Chief of the Detective Police, who wore a cold, official air, and +Amadieu, 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 was +about to fall on a wonderful tragedy of which he considered himself the +author. Guillaume glanced at him, and then as a growing uproar rose from +the distant crowd, he looked up for an instant, and again beheld the two +grey prisons, the plane-trees with their fresh young leaves, and the +houses swarming with people beneath the pale blue sky, in which the +triumphant sun was about to appear. + +“Look out, here he comes!” + +Who had spoken? A slight noise, that of the opening gate, made every +heart throb. Necks were outstretched, eyes gazed fixedly, there was +laboured breathing on all sides. Salvat stood on the threshold of the +prison. The chaplain, stepping backwards, had come out in advance of him, +in order to conceal the guillotine from his sight, but he had stopped +short, for he wished to see that instrument of death, make acquaintance +with 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 their +mark, seemed transformed by the wondrous brilliancy of his flaring, +dreamy eyes. Enthusiasm bore him up--he was going to his death in all the +splendour of his dream. When the executioner’s assistants drew near to +support him he once more refused their help, and again set himself in +motion, advancing with short steps, but as quickly and as straightly as +the 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 recognised +his friend; and as he passed by, at a distance of no more than six or +seven feet, he smiled faintly and darted such a deep penetrating glance +at Guillaume, that ever afterwards the latter felt its smart. But what +last thought, what supreme legacy had Salvat left him to meditate upon, +perhaps to put into execution? It was all so poignant that Pierre feared +some involuntary call on his brother’s part; and so he laid his hand upon +his 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 turned +very pale; the distant crowd seemed bereft of life. The horse of one of +the Gardes de Paris was alone heard snorting in the centre of the space +which had been kept clear. + +Then came a loathsome scramble, a scene of nameless brutality and +ignominy. The headsman’s helps rushed upon Salvat as he came up slowly +with brow erect. Two of them seized him by the head, but finding little +hair there, could only lower it by tugging at his neck. Next two others +grasped him by the legs and flung him violently upon a plank which tilted +over and rolled forward. Then, by dint of pushing and tugging, the head +was got into the “lunette,” the upper part of which fell in such wise +that the neck was fixed as in a ship’s port-hole--and all this was +accomplished amidst such confusion and with such savagery that one might +have thought that head some cumbrous thing which it was necessary to get +rid of with the greatest speed. But the knife fell with a dull, heavy, +forcible thud, and two long jets of blood spurted from the severed +arteries, while the dead man’s feet moved convulsively. Nothing else +could be seen. The executioner rubbed his hands in a mechanical way, and +an assistant took the severed blood-streaming head from the little basket +into which it had fallen and placed it in the large basket into which the +body had already been turned. + +Ah! that dull, that heavy thud of the knife! It seemed to Guillaume that +he 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 moment +rising to perform their day’s hard task! And there the echo of that thud +acquired formidable significance; it spoke of man’s exasperation with +injustice, of zeal for martyrdom, and of the dolorous hope that the blood +then spilt might hasten the victory of the disinherited. + +Pierre, for his part, at the sight of that loathsome butchery, the abject +cutthroat work of that killing machine, had suddenly felt his chilling +shudder become more violent; for before him arose a vision of another +corpse, that of the fair, pretty child ripped open by a bomb and +stretched yonder, at the entrance of the Duvillard mansion. Blood +streamed from her delicate flesh, just as it had streamed from that +decapitated neck. It was blood paying for blood; it was like payment for +mankind’s debt of wretchedness, for which payment is everlastingly being +made, without man ever being able to free himself from suffering. + +Above the square and the crowd all was still silent in the clear sky. How +long had the abomination lasted? An eternity, perhaps, compressed into +two or three minutes. And now came an awakening: the spectators emerged +from their nightmare with quivering hands, livid faces, and eyes +expressive of compassion, disgust and fear. + +“That makes another one. I’ve now seen four executions,” said Massot, who +felt 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, and +again reached the corner of the Rue Merlin. And here they saw little +Victor Mathis, with flaming eyes and white face, still standing in +silence on the spot where they had left him. He could have seen nothing +distinctly; but the thud of the knife was still echoing in his brain. A +policeman at last gave him a push, and told him to move on. At this he +looked the policeman in the face, stirred by sudden rage and ready to +strangle him. Then, however, he quietly walked away, ascending the Rue de +la Roquette, atop of which the lofty foliage of Père-Lachaise could be +seen, beneath the rising sun. + +The brothers meantime fell upon a scene of explanations, which they heard +without wishing to do so. Now that the sight was over, the Princess de +Harn arrived, and she was the more furious as at the door of the wine +shop she could see her new friend Duthil accompanying a woman. + +“I say!” she exclaimed, “you are nice, you are, to have left me in the +lurch like this! It was impossible for my carriage to get near, so I’ve +had to come on foot through all those horrid people who have been +jostling 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’s +escort. And then Rosemonde, who greatly wished to know Silviane, calmed +down as if by enchantment, and put on her most engaging ways. “It would +have delighted me, madame,” said she, “to have seen this sight in the +company of an _artiste_ of your merit, one whom I admire so much, though +I have never before had an opportunity of telling her so.” + +“Well, dear me, madame,” replied Silviane, “you haven’t lost much by +arriving late. We were on that balcony there, and all that I could see +were a few men pushing another one about.... It really isn’t worth the +trouble of coming.” + +“Well, now that we have become acquainted, madame,” said the Princess, “I +really hope that you will allow me to be your friend.” + +“Certainly, madame, my friend; and I shall be flattered and delighted to +be yours.” + +Standing there, hand in hand, they smiled at one another. Silviane was +very drunk, but her virginal expression had returned to her face; whilst +Rosemonde seemed feverish with vicious curiosity. Duthil, whom the scene +amused, now had but one thought, that of seeing Silviane home; so calling +to Massot, who was approaching, he asked him where he should find a +cab-rank. Rosemonde, however, at once offered her carriage, which was +waiting in an adjacent street. + +She would set the actress down at her door, said she, and the deputy at +his; and such was her persistence in the matter that Duthil, greatly +vexed, was obliged to accept her offer. + +“Well, then, till to-morrow at the Madeleine,” said Massot, again quite +sprightly, as he shook hands with the Princess. + +“Yes, till to-morrow, at the Madeleine and the Comédie.” + +“Ah! yes, of course!” he repeated, taking Silviane’s hand, which he +kissed. “The Madeleine in the morning and the Comédie 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 and +ill at ease. A few enthusiasts alone lingered in order to witness the +departure 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 before +returning to their dens. The headsman’s assistants were hastily taking +down the guillotine, and the square would soon be quite clear. + +Pierre for his part wished to lead his brother away. Since the fall of +the knife, Guillaume had remained as if stunned, without once opening his +lips. In vain had Pierre tried to rouse him by pointing to the shutters +of Mège’s flat, which still remained closed, whereas every other window +of the lofty house was wide open. Although the Socialist deputy hated the +Anarchists, those shutters were doubtless closed as a protest against +capital punishment. Whilst the multitude had been rushing to that +frightful spectacle, Mège, still in bed, with his face turned to the +wall, had probably been dreaming of how he would some day compel mankind +to be happy beneath the rigid laws of Collectivism. Affectionate father +as he was, the recent death of one of his children had quite upset his +private life. His cough, too, had become a very bad one; but he ardently +wished to live, for as soon as that new Monferrand ministry should have +fallen beneath the interpellation which he already contemplated, his own +turn would surely come: he would take the reins of power in hand, abolish +the guillotine and decree justice and perfect felicity. + +“Do you see, Guillaume?” Pierre gently repeated. “Mège hasn’t opened his +windows. He’s a good fellow, after all; although our friends Bache and +Morin 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 outer +Boulevards by way of the Rue du Chemin Vert. All the toilers of the +district were now at work. In the long streets edged with low buildings, +work-shops and factories, one heard engines snorting and machinery +rumbling, while up above, the smoke from the lofty chimneys was assuming +a rosy hue in the sunrise. Afterwards, when the brothers reached the +Boulevard de Menilmontant and the Boulevard de Belleville, which they +followed in turn at a leisurely pace, they witnessed the great rush of +the working classes into central Paris. The stream poured forth from +every side; from all the wretched streets of the faubourgs there was an +endless exodus of toilers, who, having risen at dawn, were now hurrying, +in the sharp morning air, to their daily labour. Some wore short jackets +and others blouses; some were in velveteen trousers, others in linen +overalls. Their thick shoes made their tramp a heavy one; their hanging +hands were often deformed by work. And they seemed half asleep, not a +smile was to be seen on any of those wan, weary faces turned yonder +towards 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 for +ever and ever. There was no end to that drove of toilers, that army of +various callings, that human flesh fated to manual labour, upon which +Paris preys in order that she may live in luxury and enjoyment. + +Then the procession continued across the Boulevard de la Villette, the +Boulevard de la Chapelle, and the Boulevard de Rochechouart, where one +reached the height of Montmartre. More and more workmen were ever coming +down from their bare cold rooms and plunging into the huge city, whence, +tired out, they would that evening merely bring back the bread of +rancour. And now, too, came a stream of work-girls, some of them in +bright skirts, some glancing at the passers-by; girls whose wages were so +paltry, so insufficient, that now and again pretty ones among them never +more turned their faces homewards, whilst the ugly ones wasted away, +condemned to mere bread and water. A little later, moreover, came the +_employés_, the clerks, the counter-jumpers, the whole world of +frock-coated penury--“gentlemen” who devoured a roll as they hastened +onward, 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 end +of the month should come.* And now the sun was fast ascending on the +horizon, the whole army of ants was out and about, and the toilsome day +had 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 a +necessity, that it healed and saved. On the occasion of his visit to the +Grandidier works, and later still, when he himself had felt the need of +occupation, there had come to him the thought that work was really the +world’s law. And after that hateful night, after that spilling of blood, +after the slaughter of that toiler maddened by his dreams, there was +consolation and hope in seeing the sun rise once more, and everlasting +labour take up its wonted task. However hard it might prove, however +unjustly it might be lotted out, was it not work which would some day +bring both justice and happiness to the world? + +All at once, as the brothers were climbing the steep hillside towards +Guillaume’s house, they perceived before and above them the basilica of +the Sacred Heart rising majestically and triumphantly to the sky. This +was no sublunar apparition, no dreamy vision of Domination standing face +to face with nocturnal Paris. The sun now clothed the edifice with +splendour, it looked golden and proud and victorious, flaring with +immortal glory. + +Then Guillaume, still silent, still feeling Salvat’s last glance upon +him, seemed to come to some sudden and final decision. He looked at the +basilica 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 already +guests had been pouring into the magnificently decorated church, which +was leafy with evergreens and balmy with the scent of flowers. The high +altar in the rear glowed with countless candles, and through the great +doorway, which was wide open, one could see the peristyle decked with +shrubs, the steps covered with a broad carpet, and the inquisitive crowd +assembled on the square and even along the Rue Royale, under the bright +sun. + +After finding three more chairs for some ladies who had arrived rather +late, Duthil remarked to Massot, who was jotting down names in his +note-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 financiers +and politicians, are here! It’s something more even than a swell Parisian +wedding.” + +As a matter of fact all the spheres of “society” were gathered together +there, and some at first seemed rather embarrassed at finding themselves +beside others. Whilst Duvillard’s name attracted all the princes of +finance and politicians in power, Madame de Quinsac and her son were +supported by the highest of the French aristocracy. The mere names of the +witnesses sufficed to indicate what an extraordinary medley there was. On +Gérard’s side these witnesses were his uncle, General de Bozonnet, and +the Marquis de Morigny; whilst on Camille’s they were the great banker +Louvard, and Monferrand, the President of the Council and Minister of +Finances. The quiet bravado which the latter displayed in thus supporting +the bride after being compromised in her father’s financial intrigues +imparted a piquant touch of impudence to his triumph. And public +curiosity was further stimulated by the circumstance that the nuptial +blessing was to be given by Monseigneur Martha, Bishop of Persepolis, the +Pope’s political agent in France, and the apostle of the endeavours to +win 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 really +Parisian wedding, did I not? But in point of fact this wedding is a +symbol. It’s the apotheosis of the _bourgeoisie_, my dear fellow--the old +nobility sacrificing one of its sons on the altar of the golden calf in +order that the Divinity and the gendarmes, being the masters of France +once more, may rid us of those scoundrelly Socialists!” + +Then, again correcting himself, he added: “But I was forgetting. There +are 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 of +difficulty.... 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 a +despairing struggle that Baroness Duvillard had consented to let her +lover marry her daughter. And in doing so she had yielded to the sole +desire of seeing Gérard rich and happy. She still regarded Camille with +all the hatred of a defeated rival. Then, an equally painful contest had +taken place at Madame de Quinsac’s. The Countess had only overcome her +revolt and consented to the marriage in order to save her son from the +dangers which had threatened him since childhood; and the Marquis de +Morigny had been so affected by her maternal abnegation, that in spite of +all his anger he had resignedly agreed to be a witness, thus making a +supreme sacrifice, that of his conscience, to the woman whom he had ever +loved. And it was this frightful story that Sagnier--using transparent +nicknames--had related in the “Voix du Peuple” that morning. He had even +contrived to make it more horrid than it really was; for, as usual, he +was badly informed, and he was naturally inclined to falsehood and +invention, as by sending an ever thicker and more poisonous torrent from +his sewer, he might, day by day, increase his paper’s sales. Since +Monferrand’s victory had compelled him to leave the African Railways +scandal 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 his +shabby 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, it +had occurred to Duvillard to make use of him to ensure Silviane’s success +at the Comédie. He had handed this sorry deputy over to the young woman, +who entrusted him with all manner of dirty work, and sent him scouring +Paris in search of applauders and advertisements. His eldest daughter was +not yet married, and never had his four women folk weighed more heavily +on his hands. His life had become a perfect hell; they had ended by +beating him, if he did not bring a thousand-franc note home on the first +day of every month. + +“My article!” Massot replied; “no, it surely won’t go in, my dear deputy. +Fonsègue 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 in +advance, from the society point of view, on the success which Silviane +would achieve in “Polyeucte,” that evening, at the Comédie. The +journalist, in the hope of pleasing her, had even shown her his “copy”; +and she, quite delighted, now relied upon finding the article in print in +the 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’s +standing yonder between Vignon and Dauvergne, the Minister of Public +Instruction.” + +“Yes, I certainly will speak to him--but not here. By-and-by in the +sacristy, during the procession. And I must also try to speak to +Dauvergne, for our Silviane particularly wants him to be in the +ministerial box this evening. Monferrand will be there; he promised +Duvillard so.” + +Massot began to laugh, repeating the expression which had circulated +through Paris directly after the actress’s engagement: “The Silviane +ministry.... Well, Dauvergne certainly owes that much to his +godmother!” 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 chair +in the church. “You mustn’t count on me,” he answered. “I’ve just had no +end of trouble in stowing the Duchess de Boisemont away with her two +daughters.” + +“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, I +know 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 have +just been offered three hundred francs for a stall.” + +“That’s true, there has been a fight even for the bracket seats, however +badly they might be placed,” Duthil resumed. “I am very sorry, but you +must not count on me.... Duvillard is the only person who might take +you in his box. He told me that he would reserve me a seat there. And so +far, I think, there are only three of us, including his son.... Ask +Hyacinthe by-and-by to procure you an invitation.” + +Rosemonde, whom Hyacinthe had so greatly bored that she had given him his +dismissal, felt the irony of Duthil’s suggestion. Nevertheless, she +exclaimed with an air of delight: “Ah, yes! Hyacinthe can’t refuse me +that. Thanks for your information, my dear Duthil. You are very nice, you +are; for you settle things gaily even when they are rather sad.... And +don’t forget, mind, that you have promised to teach me politics. Ah! +politics, my dear fellow, I feel that nothing will ever impassion me as +politics do!” + +Then she left them, hustled several people, and in spite of the crush +ended 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 the +most obsequious way if he had received his ticket, the journalist said to +Duthil in a whisper: “By the way, my dear friend, is it true that +Duvillard is going to launch his famous scheme for a Trans-Saharan +railway? It would be a gigantic enterprise, a question of hundreds and +hundreds of millions this time.... At the ‘Globe’ office yesterday +evening, Fonsègue shrugged his shoulders and said it was madness, and +would never come off!” + +Duthil winked, and in a jesting way replied: “It’s as good as done, my +dear boy. Fonsègue will be kissing the governor’s feet before another +forty-eight hours are over.” + +Then he gaily gave the other to understand that golden manna would +presently be raining down on the press and all faithful friends and +willing helpers. Birds shake their feathers when the storm is over, and +he, Duthil, was as spruce and lively, as joyous at the prospect of the +presents he now expected, as if there had never been any African Railways +scandal to upset him and make him turn pale with fright. + +“The deuce!” muttered Massot, who had become serious. “So this affair +here 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 of +greeting. The marriage procession was entering the church. A loud clamour +had gone up from the crowd, which spread over the roadway of the Rue +Royale and impeded the traffic there, while the _cortège_ pompously +ascended the steps in the bright sunshine. And it was now entering the +edifice and advancing beneath the lofty, re-echoing vaults towards the +high altar which flared with candles, whilst on either hand crowded the +congregation, the men on the right and the women on the left. They had +all risen and stood there smiling, with necks outstretched and eyes +glowing with curiosity. + +First, in the rear of the magnificent beadle, came Camille, leaning on +the arm of her father, Baron Duvillard, who wore a proud expression +befitting a day of victory. Veiled with superb _point d’Alençon_ falling +from her diadem of orange blossom, gowned in pleated silk muslin over an +underskirt of white satin, the bride looked so extremely happy, so +radiant at having conquered, that she seemed almost pretty. Moreover, she +held herself so upright that one could scarcely detect that her left +shoulder was higher than her right. + +Next came Gérard, giving his arm to his mother, the Countess de +Quinsac,--he looking very handsome and courtly, as was proper, and she +displaying impassive dignity in her gown of peacock-blue silk embroidered +with gold and steel beads. But it was particularly Eve whom people wished +to see, and every neck was craned forward when she appeared on the arm of +General Bozonnet, the bridegroom’s first witness and nearest male +relative. She was gowned in “old rose” taffetas trimmed with Valenciennes +of priceless value, and never had she looked younger, more deliciously +fair. Yet her eyes betrayed her emotion, though she strove to smile; and +her languid grace bespoke her widowhood, her compassionate surrender of +the man she loved. Monferrand, the Marquis de Morigny, and banker +Louvard, the three other witnesses, followed the Baroness and General +Bozonnet, each giving his arm to some lady of the family. A considerable +sensation was caused by the appearance of Monferrand, who seemed on +first-rate terms with himself, and jested familiarly with the lady he +accompanied, a little brunette with a giddy air. Another who was noticed +in the solemn, interminable procession was the bride’s eccentric brother +Hyacinthe, whose dress coat was of a cut never previously seen, with its +tails broadly and symmetrically pleated. + +When the affianced pair had taken their places before the prayer-stools +awaiting them, and the members of both families and the witnesses had +installed themselves in the rear in large armchairs, all gilding and red +velvet, the ceremony was performed with extraordinary pomp. The curé of +the Madeleine officiated in person; and vocalists from the Grand Opera +reinforced the choir, which chanted the high mass to the accompaniment of +the organs, whence came a continuous hymn of glory. All possible luxury +and magnificence were displayed, as if to turn this wedding into some +public festivity, a great victory, an event marking the apogee of a +class. Even the impudent bravado attaching to the loathsome private drama +which lay behind it all, and which was known to everybody, added a touch +of abominable grandeur to the ceremony. But the truculent spirit of +superiority and domination which characterised the proceedings became +most manifest when Monseigneur Martha appeared in surplice and stole to +pronounce the blessing. Tall of stature, fresh of face, and faintly +smiling, he had his wonted air of amiable sovereignty, and it was with +august unction that he pronounced the sacramental words, like some +pontiff well pleased at reconciling the two great empires whose heirs he +united. His address to the newly married couple was awaited with +curiosity. It proved really marvellous, he himself triumphed in it. Was +it not in that same church that he had baptised the bride’s mother, that +blond Eve, who was still so beautiful, that Jewess whom he himself had +converted to the Catholic faith amidst the tears of emotion shed by all +Paris society? Was it not there also that he had delivered his three +famous addresses on the New Spirit, whence dated, to his thinking, the +rout of science, the awakening of Christian spirituality, and that policy +of rallying to the Republic which was to lead to its conquest? + +So it was assuredly allowable for him to indulge in some delicate +allusions, by way of congratulating himself on his work, now that he was +marrying a poor scion of the old aristocracy to the five millions of that +_bourgeoise_ heiress, in whose person triumphed the class which had won +the 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 by +uniting the affianced pair before him in the bonds of wedlock, +Monseigneur Martha sealed the new alliance, gave effect to the Pope’s own +policy, that stealthy effort of Jesuitical Opportunism which would take +democracy, power and wealth to wife, in order to subdue and control them. +When the prelate reached his peroration he turned towards Monferrand, who +sat there smiling; and it was he, the Minister, whom he seemed to be +addressing while he expressed the hope that the newly married pair would +ever lead a truly Christian life of humility and obedience in all fear of +God, of whose iron hand he spoke as if it were that of some gendarme +charged with maintaining the peace of the world. Everybody was aware that +there was some diplomatic understanding between the Bishop and the +Minister, some secret pact or other whereby both satisfied their passion +for authority, their craving to insinuate themselves into everything and +reign supreme; and thus when the spectators saw Monferrand smiling in his +somewhat sly, jovial way, they also exchanged smiles. + +“Ah!” muttered Massot, who had remained near Duthil, “how amused old +Justus Steinberger would be, if he were here to see his granddaughter +marrying the last of the Quinsacs!” + +“But these marriages are quite the thing, quite the fashion, my dear +fellow,” 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, for +otherwise we should be swept away by the masses.” + +None the less Massot continued sneering at the idea of what a grimace +Justus Steinberger would have made if he had heard Monseigneur Martha. It +was rumoured in Paris that although the old Jew banker had ceased all +intercourse with his daughter Eve since her conversion, he took a keen +interest in everything she was reported to do or say, as if he were more +than ever convinced that she would prove an avenging and dissolving agent +among those Christians, whose destruction was asserted to be the dream of +his race. If he had failed in his hope of overcoming Duvillard by giving +her to him as a wife, he doubtless now consoled himself with thinking of +the extraordinary fortune to which his blood had attained, by mingling +with that of the harsh, old-time masters of his race, to whose corruption +it gave a finishing touch. Therein perhaps lay that final Jewish conquest +of 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 congratulatory +procession commenced. + +The bride and bridegroom at last stood side by side in the lofty but +rather dim room, panelled with oak. How radiant with delight was Camille +at the thought that it was all over, that she had triumphed and married +that handsome man of high lineage, after wresting him with so much +difficulty from one and all, her mother especially! She seemed to have +grown taller. Deformed, swarthy, and ugly though she was, she drew +herself up exultingly, whilst scores and scores of women, friends or +acquaintances, scrambled and rushed upon her, pressing her hands or +kissing her, and addressing her in words of ecstasy. Gérard, who rose +both head and shoulders above his bride, and looked all the nobler and +stronger beside one of such puny figure, shook hands and smiled like some +Prince Charming, who good-naturedly allowed himself to be loved. +Meanwhile, the relatives of the newly wedded pair, though they were drawn +up in one line, formed two distinct groups past which the crowd pushed +and surged with arms outstretched. Duvillard received the congratulations +offered him as if he were some king well pleased with his people; whilst +Eve, with a supreme effort, put on an enchanting mien, and answered one +and 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 stood +between General de Bozonnet and the Marquis de Morigny. Very dignified, +in fact almost haughty, she acknowledged most of the salutations +addressed to her with a mere nod, giving her little withered hand only to +those people with whom she was well acquainted. A sea of strange +countenances encompassed her, and now and again when some particularly +murky wave rolled by, a wave of men whose faces bespoke all the crimes of +money-mongering, she and the Marquis exchanged glances of deep sadness. +This tide continued sweeping by for nearly half an hour; and such was the +number of those who wanted to shake hands with the bridal pair and their +relatives, 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. Massot +pointed out to Duthil how eagerly Public Prosecutor Lehmann rushed upon +the Minister to pay him court. They were immediately joined by +investigating magistrate Amadieu. And even M. de Larombière, the judge, +approached Monferrand, although he hated the Republic, and was an +intimate friend of the Quinsacs. But then obedience and obsequiousness +were necessary on the part of the magistracy, for it was dependent on +those in power, who alone could give advancement, and appoint even as +they dismissed. As for Lehmann, it was alleged that he had rendered +assistance to Monferrand by spiriting away certain documents connected +with the African Railways affair, whilst with regard to the smiling and +extremely Parisian Amadieu, was it not to him that the government was +indebted for Salvat’s head? + +“You know,” muttered Massot, “they’ve all come to be thanked for +guillotining that man yesterday. Monferrand owes that wretched fellow a +fine taper; for in the first place his bomb prolonged the life of the +Barroux ministry, and later on it made Monferrand prime minister, as a +strong-handed man was particularly needed to strangle Anarchism. What a +contest, eh? Monferrand on one side and Salvat on the other. It was all +bound to end in a head being cut off; one was wanted.... Ah! just +listen, they are talking of it.” + +This was true. As the three functionaries of the law drew near to pay +their respects to the all-powerful Minister, they were questioned by lady +friends whose curiosity had been roused by what they had read in the +newspapers. Thereupon Amadieu, whom duty had taken to the execution, and +who was proud of his own importance, and determined to destroy what he +called “the legend of Salvat’s heroic death,” declared that the scoundrel +had shown no true courage at all. His pride alone had kept him on his +feet. Fright had so shaken and choked him that he had virtually been dead +before 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 an +assertion, although as a rule he cared a rap for nothing. “You couldn’t +see anything, my dear fellow,” said he; “Salvat died very bravely. It’s +really stupid to continue throwing mud at that poor devil even when he’s +dead.” + +However, the idea that Salvat had died like a coward was too pleasing a +one to be rejected. It was, so to say, a last sacrifice deposited at +Monferrand’s feet with the object of propitiating him. He still smiled in +his peaceful way, like a good-natured man who is stern only when +necessity requires it. And he showed great amiability towards the three +judicial functionaries, and thanked them for the bravery with which they +had accomplished their painful duty to the very end. On the previous day, +after the execution, he had obtained a formidable majority in the Chamber +on a somewhat delicate matter of policy. Order reigned, said he, and all +was for the very best in France. Then, on seeing Vignon--who like a cool +gamester had made a point of attending the wedding in order to show +people that he was superior to fortune--the Minister detained him, and +made much of him, partly as a matter of tactics, for in spite of +everything he could not help fearing that the future might belong to that +young fellow, who showed himself so intelligent and cautious. When a +mutual friend informed them that Barroux’ health was now so bad that the +doctors had given him up as lost, they both began to express their +compassion. Poor Barroux! He had never recovered from that vote of the +Chamber which had overthrown him. He had been sinking from day to day, +stricken to the heart by his country’s ingratitude, dying of that +abominable charge of money-mongering and thieving; he who was so upright +and so loyal, who had devoted his whole life to the Republic! But then, +as Monferrand repeated, one should never confess. The public can’t +understand such a thing. + +At this moment Duvillard, in some degree relinquishing his paternal +duties, came to join the others, and the Minister then had to share the +honours of triumph with him. For was not this banker the master? Was he +not money personified--money, which is the only stable, everlasting +force, far above all ephemeral tenure of power, such as attaches to those +ministerial portfolios which pass so rapidly from hand to hand? +Monferrand reigned, but he would pass away, and a like fate would some +day fall on Vignon, who had already had a warning that one could not +govern unless the millions of the financial world were on one’s side. So +was not the only real triumpher himself, the Baron--he who laid out five +millions of francs on buying a scion of the aristocracy for his daughter, +he who was the personification of the sovereign _bourgeoisie_, who +controlled public fortune, and was determined to part with nothing, even +were he attacked with bombs? All these festivities really centred in +himself, he alone sat down to the banquet, leaving merely the crumbs from +his table to the lowly, those wretched toilers who had been so cleverly +duped 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 been +compromised in it, the Duthils, the Chaigneux, the Fonsègues and others, +could now laugh merrily. They had been delivered from their nightmare by +Monferrand’s strong fist, and raised by Duvillard’s triumph. Even +Sagnier’s ignoble article and miry revelations in the “Voix du Peuple” + were of no real account, and could be treated with a shrug of the +shoulders, for the public had been so saturated with denunciation and +slander that it was now utterly weary of all noisy scandal. The only +thing which aroused interest was the rumour that Duvillard’s big affair +of the Trans-Saharan Railway was soon to be launched, that millions of +money would be handled, and that some of them would rain down upon +faithful friends. + +Whilst Duvillard was conversing in a friendly way with Monferrand and +Dauvergne, the Minister of Public Instruction, who had joined them, +Massot encountered Fonsègue, his editor, and said to him in an undertone: +“Duthil has just assured me that the Trans-Saharan business is ready, and +that they mean to chance it with the Chamber. They declare that they are +certain of success.” + +Fonsègue, however, was sceptical on the point. “It’s impossible,” said +he; “they won’t dare to begin again so soon.” + +Although he spoke in this fashion, the news had made him grave. He had +lately had such a terrible fright through his imprudence in the African +Railways affair, that he had vowed he would take every precaution in +future. Still, this did not mean that he would refuse to participate in +matters of business. The best course was to wait and study them, and then +secure a share in all that seemed profitable. In the present instance he +felt somewhat worried. However, whilst he stood there watching the group +around Duvillard and the two ministers, he suddenly perceived Chaigneux, +who, flitting hither and thither, was still beating up applauders for +that evening’s performance. He sang Silviane’s praises in every key, +predicted a most tremendous success, and did his very best to stimulate +curiosity. At last he approached Dauvergne, and with his long figure bent +double exclaimed: “My dear Minister, I have a particular request to make +to you on the part of a very charming person, whose victory will not be +complete this evening if you do not condescend to favour her with your +vote.” + +Dauvergne, a tall, fair, good-looking man, whose blue eyes smiled behind +his glasses, listened to Chaigneux with an affable air. He was proving a +great success at the Ministry of Public Instruction, although he knew +nothing of University matters. However, like a real Parisian of Dijon, as +people called him, he was possessed of some tact and skill, gave +entertainments 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 Comédie, which so far was his most notable +achievement, and which would have shaken the position of any other +minister, had by a curious chance rendered him popular. It was regarded +as something original and amusing. + +On understanding that Chaigneux simply wished to make sure of his +presence at the Comédie that evening, he became yet more affable. “Why, +certainly, I shall be there, my dear deputy,” he replied. “When one has +such a charming god-daughter one mustn’t forsake her in a moment of +danger.” + +At this Monferrand, who had been lending ear, turned round. “And tell +her,” said he, “that I shall be there, too. She may therefore rely on +having two more friends in the house.” + +Thereupon Duvillard, quite enraptured, his eyes glistening with emotion +and gratitude, bowed to the two ministers as if they had granted him some +never-to-be-forgotten favour. + +When Chaigneux, on his side also, had returned thanks with a low bow, he +happened to perceive Fonsègue, and forthwith he darted towards him and +led him aside. “Ah! my dear colleague,” he declared, “it is absolutely +necessary that this matter should be settled. I regard it as of supreme +importance.” + +“What are you speaking of?” inquired Fonsègue, much surprised. + +“Why, of Massot’s article, which you won’t insert.” + +Thereupon, the director of the “Globe” plumply declared that he could not +insert the article. He talked of his paper’s dignity and gravity; and +declared that the lavishing of such fulsome praise upon a hussy--yes, a +mere hussy, in a journal whose exemplary morality and austerity had cost +him so much labour, would seem monstrous and degrading. Personally, he +did not care a fig about it if Silviane chose to make an exhibition of +herself, well, he would be there to see; but the “Globe” was sacred. + +Disconcerted and almost tearful, Chaigneux nevertheless renewed his +attempt. “Come, my dear colleague,” said he, “pray make a little effort +for my sake. If the article isn’t inserted, Duvillard will think that it +is my fault. And you know that I really need his help. My eldest +daughter’s marriage has again been postponed, and I hardly know where to +turn.” Then perceiving that his own misfortunes in no wise touched +Fonsègue, he added: “And do it for your own sake, my dear colleague, your +own 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 to +see it in the ‘Globe.’ Think it over; if the article isn’t published, he +will certainly turn his back on you.” + +For a moment Fonsègue remained silent. Was he thinking of the colossal +Trans-Saharan enterprise? Was he reflecting that it would be hard to +quarrel at such a moment and miss his own share in the coming +distribution of millions among faithful friends? Perhaps so; however, the +idea that it would be more prudent to await developments gained the day +with 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 newly +wedded couple. It seemed as if all Paris were passing through the +sacristy; there were ever the same smiles and the same hand shakes. +Gérard, Camille and their relatives, however weary they might feel, were +forced to retain an air of delight while they stood there against the +wall, pent up by the crowd. The heat was now becoming unbearable, and a +cloud of dust arose as when some big flock goes by. + +All at once little Princess de Harn, who had hitherto lingered nobody +knew where, sprang out of the throng, flung her arms around Camille, +kissed even Eve, and then kept Gérard’s hand in her own while paying him +extraordinary compliments. Then, on perceiving Hyacinthe, she took +possession of him and carried him off into a corner. “I say,” she +exclaimed, “I have a favour to ask you.” + +The young man was wonderfully silent that day. His sister’s wedding +seemed to him a contemptible ceremony, the most vulgar that one could +imagine. So here, thought he, was another pair accepting the horrid +sexual law by which the absurdity of the world was perpetuated! For his +part, he had decided that he would witness the proceedings in rigid +silence, with a haughty air of disapproval. When Rosemonde spoke to him, +he looked at her rather nervously, for he was glad that she had forsaken +him 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 a +friend, you know, I will grant you whatever favour you like.” + +Forthwith the Princess explained that she would surely die if she did not +witness the _début_ of her dear friend Silviane, of whom she had become +such a passionate admirer. So she begged the young man to prevail on his +father to give her a seat in his box, as she knew that one was left +there. + +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 vestry +began to empty, the bridal pair and their relatives were able to go off +through the chattering throng, which still lingered about to bow to them +and scrutinise them once more. + +Gérard and Camille were to leave for an estate which Duvillard possessed +in Normandy, directly after lunch. This repast, served at the princely +mansion of the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy, provided an opportunity for fresh +display. The dining-room on the first floor had been transformed into a +buffet, where reigned the greatest abundance and the most wonderful +sumptuousness. Quite a reception too was held in the drawing-rooms, the +large red _salon_, the little blue and silver _salon_ and all the others, +whose doors stood wide open. Although it had been arranged that only +family friends should be invited, there were quite three hundred people +present. The ministers had excused themselves, alleging that the weighty +cares of public business required their presence elsewhere. But the +magistrates, the deputies and the leading journalists who had attended +the wedding were again assembled together. And in that throng of hungry +folks, longing for some of the spoils of Duvillard’s new venture, the +people who felt most out of their element were Madame de Quinsac’s few +guests, whom General de Bozonnet and the Marquis de Morigny had seated on +a sofa in the large red _salon_, which they did not quit. + +Eve, who for her part felt quite overcome, both her moral and physical +strength being exhausted, had seated herself in the little blue and +silver drawing-room, which, with her passion for flowers, she had +transformed into an arbour of roses. She would have fallen had she +remained standing, the very floor had seemed to sink beneath her feet. +Nevertheless, whenever a guest approached her she managed to force a +smile, and appear beautiful and charming. Unlooked-for help at last came +to her in the person of Monseigneur Martha, who had graciously honoured +the lunch with his presence. He took an armchair near her, and began to +talk to her in his amiable, caressing way. He was doubtless well aware of +the frightful anguish which wrung the poor woman’s heart, for he showed +himself quite fatherly, eager to comfort her. She, however, talked on +like some inconsolable widow bent on renouncing the world for God, who +alone could bring her peace. Then, as the conversation turned on the +Asylum for the Invalids of Labour, she declared that she was resolved to +take her presidency very seriously, and, in fact, would exclusively +devote herself to it, in the future. + +“And as we are speaking of this, Monseigneur,” said she, “I would even +ask 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’Abbé Pierre Froment.” + +At this the Bishop became grave and embarrassed; but Princess Rosemonde, +who was passing by with Duthil, had overheard the Baroness, and drawing +near with her wonted impetuosity, she exclaimed: “Abbé Pierre Froment! +Oh! I forgot to tell you, my dear, that I met him going about in jacket +and trousers! And I’ve been told too that he cycles in the Bois with some +creature 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 the +faith and passion of an apostle!” + +Thereupon Monseigneur intervened: “Yes, yes, great sorrows occasionally +fall upon the Church. I heard of the madness of the unhappy man you speak +of. I even thought it my duty to write to him, but he left my letter +unanswered. I should so much have liked to stifle such a scandal! But +there are abominable forces which we cannot always overcome; and so a day +or 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, without +daring to ask them for particulars, but wondering what creature could +have been so audacious as to turn a priest from the path of duty. She +must assuredly be some shameless demented woman! And it seemed to Eve as +if this crime gave a finishing touch to her own misfortune. With a wave +of the arm, which took in all the luxury around her, the roses steeping +her in perfume, and the crush of guests around the buffet, she murmured: +“Ah! decidedly there’s nothing but corruption left; one can no longer +rely on anybody!” + +Whilst this was going on, Camille happened to be alone in her own room +getting ready to leave the house with Gérard. And all at once her brother +Hyacinthe joined her there. “Ah! it’s you, youngster!” she exclaimed. +“Well, make haste if you want to kiss me, for I’m off now, thank +goodness!” + +He kissed her as she suggested, and then in a doctoral way replied: “I +thought you had more self-command. The delight you have been showing all +this 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 Gérard from you again, directly +you come back to Paris.” + +At this Camille’s cheeks turned white and her eyes flared. She stepped +towards her brother with clenched fists: “She! you say that she will take +him from me!” + +The “she” they referred to was their own mother. + +“Listen, my boy! I’ll kill her first!” continued Camille. “Ah, no! she +needn’t hope for that. I shall know how to keep the man that belongs to +me.... 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 head +before him; and having always feared her, he thought it best to beat a +retreat. + +While the last guests were rushing upon the buffet and finishing the +pillage there, the bridal pair took their leave, before driving off to +the railway station. General de Bozonnet had joined a group in order to +vent his usual complaints about compulsory military service, and the +Marquis de Morigny was obliged to fetch him at the moment when the +Countess de Quinsac was kissing her son and daughter-in-law. The old lady +trembled with so much emotion that the Marquis respectfully ventured to +sustain her. Meantime, Hyacinthe had started in search of his father, and +at last found him near a window with the tottering Chaigneux, whom he was +violently upbraiding, for Fonsègue’s conscientious scruples had put him +in 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 wreak +further punishment upon him. However, upon being summoned by his son he +had to don his triumphal air once more, kiss his daughter on the +forehead, shake hands with his son-in-law, jest and wish them both a +pleasant journey. Then Eve, near whom Monseigneur Martha had remained, +smiling, in her turn had to say farewell. In this she evinced touching +bravery; her determination to remain beautiful and charming until the +very end lent her sufficient strength to show herself both gay and +motherly. + +She took hold of the slightly quivering hand which Gérard proffered with +some embarrassment, and ventured to retain it for a moment in her own, in +a good-hearted, affectionate way, instinct with all the heroism of +renunciation. “Good by, Gérard,” she said, “keep in good health, be +happy.” Then turning to Camille she kissed her on both cheeks, while +Monseigneur Martha sat looking at them with an air of indulgent sympathy. +They wished each other “Au revoir,” but their voices trembled, and their +eyes in meeting gleamed like swords; in the same way as beneath the +kisses they had exchanged they had felt each other’s teeth. Ah! how it +enraged Camille to see her mother still so beautiful and fascinating in +spite of age and grief! And for Eve how great the torture of beholding +her daughter’s youth, that youth which had overcome her, and was for ever +wresting love from within her reach! No forgiveness was possible between +them; they would still hate one another even in the family tomb, where +some day they would sleep side by side. + +All the same, that evening Baroness Duvillard excused herself from +attending the performance of “Polyeucte” at the Comédie Française. She +felt very tired and wished to go to bed early, said she. As a matter of +fact she wept on her pillow all night long. Thus the Baron’s stage-box on +the first balcony tier contained only himself, Hyacinthe, Duthil, and +little Princess de Harn. + +At nine o’clock there was a full house, one of the brilliant chattering +houses peculiar to great dramatic solemnities. All the society people who +had marched through the sacristy of the Madeleine that morning were now +assembled at the theatre, again feverish with curiosity, and on the +lookout for the unexpected. One recognised the same faces and the same +smiles; the women acknowledged one another’s presence with little signs +of intelligence, the men understood each other at a word, a gesture. One +and all had kept the appointment, the ladies with bared shoulders, the +gentlemen with flowers in their button-holes. Fonsègue occupied the +“Globe’s” box, with two friendly families. Little Massot had his +customary seat in the stalls. Amadieu, who was a faithful patron of the +Comédie, was also to be seen there, as well as General de Bozonnet and +Public Prosecutor Lehmann. The man who was most looked at, however, on +account of his scandalous article that morning, was Sagnier, the terrible +Sagnier, looking bloated and apoplectical. Then there was Chaigneux, who +had kept merely a modest bracket-seat for himself, and who scoured the +passages, and climbed to every tier, for the last time preaching +enthusiasm. Finally, the two ministers Monferrand and Dauvergne appeared +in the box facing Duvillard’s; whereupon many knowing smiles were +exchanged, for everybody was aware that these personages had come to help +on the success of the _débutante_. + +On the latter point there had still been unfavourable rumours only the +previous day. Sagnier had declared that the _début_ of such a notorious +harlot as Silviane at the Comédie Française, in such a part too as that +of “Pauline,” which was one of so much moral loftiness, could only be +regarded as an impudent insult to public decency. The whole press, +moreover, had long been up in arms against the young woman’s +extraordinary caprice. But then the affair had been talked of for six +months past, so that Paris had grown used to the idea of seeing Silviane +at the Comédie. And now it flocked thither with the one idea of being +entertained. Before the curtain rose one could tell by the very +atmosphere of the house that the audience was a jovial, good-humoured +one, bent on enjoying itself, and ready to applaud should it find itself +at all pleased. + +The performance really proved extraordinary. When Silviane, chastely +robed, made her appearance in the first act, the house was quite +astonished by her virginal face, her innocent-looking mouth, and her eyes +beaming with immaculate candour. Then, although the manner in which she +had understood her part at first amazed people, it ended by charming +them. From the moment of confiding in “Stratonice,” from the moment of +relating her dream, she turned “Pauline” into a soaring mystical +creature, some saint, as it were, such as one sees in stained-glass +windows, carried along by a Wagnerian Brunhilda riding the clouds. It was +a thoroughly ridiculous conception of the part, contrary to reason and +truth alike. Still, it only seemed to interest people the more, partly on +account of mysticism being the fashion, and partly on account of the +contrast between Silviane’s assumed candour and real depravity. Her +success increased from act to act, and some slight hissing which was +attributed to Sagnier only helped to make the victory more complete. +Monferrand and Dauvergne, as the newspapers afterwards related, gave the +signal for applause; and the whole house joined in it, partly from +amusement and partly perhaps in a spirit of irony. + +During the interval between the fourth and fifth acts there was quite a +procession of visitors to Duvillard’s box, where the greatest excitement +prevailed. Duthil, however, after absenting himself for a moment, came +back to say: “You remember our influential critic, the one whom I brought +to dinner at the Cafe Anglais? Well, he’s repeating to everybody that +‘Pauline’ is merely a little _bourgeoise_, and is not transformed by the +heavenly grace until the very finish of the piece. To turn her into a +holy virgin from the outset simply kills the part, says he.” + +“Pooh!” repeated Duvillard, “let him argue if he likes, it will be all +the more advertisement.... The important point is to get Massot’s +article 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 Fonsègue, declared that the latter still +hesitated in the matter in spite of Silviane’s success, which he declared +to be ridiculous. Thereupon, the Baron became quite angry. “Go and tell +Fonsègue,” he exclaimed, “that I insist on it, and that I shall remember +what he does.” + +Meantime Princess Rosemonde was becoming quite delirious with enthusiasm. +“My dear Hyacinthe,” she pleaded, “please take me to Silviane’s +dressing-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 that +madame begged the gentlemen to wait a moment. + +“Oh! a woman may surely go in,” replied Rosemonde, hastily slipping +through the doorway. “And you may come, Hyacinthe,” she added; “there can +be no objection to you.” + +Silviane was very hot, and a dresser was wiping her perspiring shoulders +when Rosemonde darted forward and kissed her. Then they chatted together +amidst the heat and glare from the gas and the intoxicating perfumes of +all 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 her +house. At this the young man smiled complacently, and said to the +actress: “Your carriage is waiting for you at the corner of the Rue +Montpensier, is it not? Well, I’ll take the Princess to it. That will be +the 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 pour +forth their congratulations. However, they had to regain their seats in +all haste so as to witness the fifth act. This proved quite a triumph, +the whole house bursting into applause when Silviane spoke the famous +line, “I see, I know, I believe, I am undeceived,” with the rapturous +enthusiasm of a holy martyr ascending to heaven. Nothing could have been +more soul-like, it was said. And so when the performers were called +before the curtain, Paris bestowed an ovation on that virgin of the +stage, 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 order +to fetch Silviane, while Hyacinthe escorted Rosemonde to the brougham +waiting 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 when +his father came up with Silviane, and was stopped by her, just as, in his +turn, he wished to get into the carriage. + +“There’s no room for you, my dear fellow,” said she. “I’ve a friend with +me.” + +Rosemonde’s little smiling face then peered forth from the depths of the +brougham. And the Baron remained there open-mouthed while the vehicle +swiftly carried the two women away! + +“Well, what would you have, my dear fellow?” said Hyacinthe, by way of +explanation to Duthil, who also seemed somewhat amazed by what had +happened. “Rosemonde was worrying my life out, and so I got rid of her by +packing her off with Silviane.” + +Duvillard was still standing on the pavement and still looking dazed when +Chaigneux, who was going home quite tired out, recognised him, and came +up to say that Fonsègue had thought the matter over, and that Massot’s +article would be duly inserted. In the passages, too, there had been a +deal of talk about the famous Trans-Saharan project. + +Then Hyacinthe led his father away, trying to comfort him like a sensible +friend, who regarded woman as a base and impure creature. “Let’s go home +to bed,” said he. “As that article is to appear, you can take it to her +to-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 deserted +and dismal. Meantime, above the slumbering houses of Paris the breeze +wafted 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 extremely +taciturn. He seemed worried and absent-minded. He would work for hours at +the manufacture of that dangerous powder of which he alone knew the +formula, and the preparation of which was such a delicate matter that he +would allow none to assist him. Then, at other times he would go off, and +return tired out by some long solitary ramble. He remained very gentle at +home, and strove to smile there. But whenever anybody spoke to him he +started as if suddenly called back from dreamland. + +Pierre imagined his brother had relied too much upon his powers of +renunciation, and found the loss of Marie unbearable. Was it not some +thought of her that haunted him now that the date fixed for the marriage +drew nearer and nearer? One evening, therefore, Pierre ventured to speak +out, again offering to leave the house and disappear. + +But at the first words he uttered Guillaume stopped him, and +affectionately replied: “Marie? Oh! I love her, I love her too well to +regret what I have done. No, no! you only bring me happiness, I derive +all 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 the +matter with me; my work absorbs me, perhaps, but that is all.” + +That same evening he managed to cast his gloom aside, and displayed +delightful gaiety. During dinner he inquired if the upholsterer would +soon call to arrange the two little rooms which Marie was to occupy with +her husband over the workroom. The young woman, who since her marriage +with Pierre had been decided had remained waiting with smiling patience, +thereupon told Guillaume what it was she desired--first some hangings of +red cotton stuff, then some polished pine furniture which would enable +her 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 she +spoke, and Guillaume laughed with her in a gay and fatherly way. His good +spirits brought much relief to Pierre, who concluded that he must have +been mistaken in his surmises. + +On the very morrow, however, Guillaume relapsed into a dreamy state. And +so disquietude again came upon Pierre, particularly when he noticed that +Mère-Grand also seemed to be unusually grave and silent. Not daring to +address her, he tried to extract some information from his nephews, but +neither Thomas nor François nor Antoine knew anything. Each of them +quietly devoted his time to his work, respecting and worshipping his +father, 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, that +he kept them apart from anything at all perilous, that he retained all +responsibility for himself, and that Mère-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 worried +him the more as she and Guillaume frequently had private chats in the +room she occupied upstairs. They shut themselves up there all alone, and +remained together for hours without the faintest sound coming from the +seemingly 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 Pierre +thereupon remembered both his brother’s powder, one pound weight of which +would have sufficed to destroy a cathedral, and the destructive engine +which he had purposed bestowing upon France in order that she might be +victorious over all other nations, and become the one great initiatory +and liberative power. Pierre remembered too that the only person besides +himself who knew his brother’s secret was Mère-Grand, who, at the time +when Guillaume was fearing some perquisition on the part of the police, +had long slept upon the cartridges of the terrible explosive. But now why +was Guillaume removing all the powder which he had been preparing for +some 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? If +they embarrass you, they can all be deposited at my house, nobody will +make a search there.” + +Guillaume, whom these words astonished, gazed at Pierre fixedly, and then +replied: “Yes, I have learnt that the arrests and perquisitions have +begun afresh since that poor devil was guillotined; for they are in +terror at the thought that some despairing fellow may avenge him. +Moreover, it is hardly prudent to keep destructive agents of such great +power here. I prefer to deposit them in a safe place. But not at +Neuilly--oh! no indeed! they are not a present for you, brother.” + Guillaume spoke with outward calmness; and if he had started with +surprise at the first moment, it had been scarcely perceptible. + +“So everything is ready?” Pierre resumed. “You will soon be handing your +engine of destruction over to the Minister of War, I presume?” + +A gleam of hesitation appeared in the depths of Guillaume’s eyes, and he +was 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 Pierre +did not dare to question him further, to ask him, for instance, what that +other idea might be. From that moment, however, he quivered with anxious +expectancy. From hour to hour Mère-Grand’s lofty silence and Guillaume’s +rapt, energetic face seemed to tell him that some huge and terrifying +scheme had come into being, and was growing and threatening the whole of +Paris. + +One afternoon, just as Thomas was about to repair to the Grandidier +works, some one came to Guillaume’s with the news that old Toussaint, the +workman, had been stricken with a fresh attack of paralysis. Thomas +thereupon decided that he would call upon the poor fellow on his way, for +he held him in esteem and wished to ascertain if he could render him any +help. Pierre expressed a desire to accompany his nephew, and they started +off together about four o’clock. + +On entering the one room which the Toussaints occupied, the room where +they ate and slept, the visitors found the mechanician seated on a low +chair near the table. He looked half dead, as if struck by lightning. It +was a case of hemiplegia, which had paralysed the whole of his right +side, his right leg and right arm, and had also spread to his face in +such wise that he could no longer speak. The only sound he could raise +was an incomprehensible guttural grunt. His mouth was drawn to the right, +and his once round, good-natured-looking face, with tanned skin and +bright eyes, had been twisted into a frightful mask of anguish. At fifty +years of age, the unhappy man was utterly done for. His unkempt beard was +as white as that of an octogenarian, and his knotty limbs, preyed upon by +toil, were henceforth dead. Only his eyes remained alive, and they +travelled around the room, going from one to another. By his side, eager +to do what she could for him, was his wife, who remained stout even when +she 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 who +has come to see you with Monsieur l’Abbé.” Then quietly correcting +herself she added: “With Monsieur Pierre, his uncle. You see that you are +not yet forsaken.” + +Toussaint wished to speak, but his fruitless efforts only brought two big +tears to his eyes. Then he gazed at his visitors with an expression of +indescribable woe, his jaws trembling convulsively. + +“Don’t put yourself out,” repeated his wife. “The doctor told you that it +would do you no good.” + +At the moment of entering the room, Pierre had already noticed two +persons who had risen from their chairs and drawn somewhat on one side. +And now to his great surprise he recognised that they were Madame +Théodore and Céline, who were both decently clad, and looked as if they +led a life of comfort. On hearing of Toussaint’s misfortune they had come +to see him, like good-hearted creatures, who, on their own side, had +experienced the most cruel suffering. Pierre, on noticing that they now +seemed to be beyond dire want, remembered what he had heard of the +wonderful sympathy lavished on the child after her father’s execution, +the many presents and donations offered her, and the generous proposals +that had been made to adopt her. These last had ended in her being +adopted 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, on +the other hand, Madame Théodore had been placed as a nurse in a +convalescent home. In such wise both had been saved. + +When Pierre drew near to little Céline in order to kiss her, Madame +Théodore told her to thank Monsieur l’Abbé--for so she still respectfully +called him--for all that he had previously done for her. “It was you who +brought us happiness, Monsieur l’Abbé,” said she. “And that’s a thing one +can never forget. I’m always telling Céline to remember you in her +prayers.” + +“And so, my child, you are now going to school again,” said Pierre. + +“Oh yes, Monsieur l’Abbé, and I’m well pleased at it. Besides, we no +longer 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 Théodore, meanwhile, had begun to take leave of Madame Toussaint. +“Well, good by, we must go,” said she. “What has happened to you is very +sad, and we wanted to tell you how much it grieved us. The worry is that +when misfortune falls on one, courage isn’t enough to set things right.. +.. Céline, come and kiss your uncle.... My poor brother, I hope +you’ll get back the use of your legs as soon as possible.” + +They kissed the paralysed man on the cheeks, and then went off. Toussaint +had looked at them with his keen and still intelligent eyes, as if he +longed to participate in the life and activity into which they were +returning. And a jealous thought came to his wife, who usually was so +placid and good-natured. “Ah! my poor old man!” said she, after propping +him up with a pillow, “those two are luckier than we are. Everything +succeeds 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 are +done for, you know, we’re down in the mud, with no hope of getting out of +it. 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’s +the end of him, he’s like some old animal, no longer good for anything.” + +Having made her visitors sit down she next answered their compassionate +questions. The doctor had called twice already, and had promised to +restore the unhappy man’s power of speech, and perhaps enable him to +crawl round the room with the help of a stick. But as for ever being able +to resume real work that must not be expected. And so what was the use of +living on? Toussaint’s eyes plainly declared that he would much rather +die at once. When a workman can no longer work and no longer provide for +his wife he is ripe for the grave. + +“Savings indeed!” Madame Toussaint resumed. “There are folks who ask if +we have any savings.... Well, we had nearly a thousand francs in the +Savings Bank when Toussaint had his first attack. And some people don’t +know what a lot of prudence one needs to put by such a sum; for, after +all, we’re not savages, we have to allow ourselves a little enjoyment now +and then, a good dish and a good bottle of wine.... Well, what with +five months of enforced idleness, and the medicines, and the underdone +meat that was ordered, we got to the end of our thousand francs; and now +that it’s all begun again we’re not likely to taste any more bottled wine +or roast mutton.” + +Fond of good cheer as she had always been, this cry, far more than the +tears she was forcing back, revealed how much the future terrified her. +She was there erect and brave in spite of everything; but what a downfall +if she were no longer able to keep her room tidy, stew a piece of veal on +Sundays, and gossip with the neighbours while awaiting her husband’s +return from work! Why, they might just as well be thrown into the gutter +and carried off in the scavenger’s cart. + +However, Thomas intervened: “Isn’t there an Asylum for the Invalids of +Labour, and couldn’t your husband get admitted to it?” he asked. “It +seems to me that is just the place for him.” + +“Oh dear, no,” the woman answered. “People spoke to me of that place +before, 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 are +ill.” + +With a wave of his hand Pierre confirmed her statement: it was useless to +apply in that direction. He could again see himself scouring Paris, +hurrying from the Lady President, Baroness Duvillard, to Fonsègue, the +General Manager, and only securing a bed for Laveuve when the unhappy man +was dead. + +However, at that moment an infant was heard wailing, and to the amazement +of both visitors Madame Toussaint entered the little closet where her son +Charles had so long slept, and came out of it carrying a child, who +looked scarcely twenty months old. “Well, yes,” she explained, “this is +Charles’s boy. He was sleeping there in his father’s old bed, and now you +hear him, he’s woke up.... You see, only last Wednesday, the day +before Toussaint had his stroke, I went to fetch the little one at the +nurse’s at St. Denis, because she had threatened to cast him adrift since +Charles had got into bad habits, and no longer paid her. I said to myself +at the time that work was looking up, and that my husband and I would +always be able to provide for a little mouth like that.... But just +afterwards everything collapsed! At the same time, as the child’s here +now I can’t go and leave him in the street.” + +While speaking in this fashion she walked to and fro, rocking the baby in +her arms. And naturally enough she reverted to Charles’s folly with the +girl, who had run away, leaving that infant behind her. Things might not +have been so very bad if Charles had still worked as steadily as he had +done 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 the +army 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 his +brain in a muddle. It was a real pity to see such a strong, good-hearted +young fellow turning out badly like that. But it was said in the +neighbourhood that many another was inclined the same way; that the best +and most intelligent of the younger men felt tired of want and +unremunerative labour, and would end by knocking everything to pieces +rather than go on toiling with no certainty of food in their old age. + +“Ah! yes,” continued Madame Toussaint, “the sons are not like the fathers +were. 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 see +there.... Do you know what Charles said the other evening when he +found 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 bring +him so much as a glass of water. Then, as he none the less has a good +heart, he began to cry his eyes out.” + +The baby was no longer wailing, still the good woman continued walking to +and fro, rocking it in her arms and pressing it to her affectionate +heart. Her son Charles could do no more for them, she said; perhaps he +might be able to give them a five-franc piece now and again, but even +that wasn’t certain. It was of no use for her to go back to her old +calling as a seamstress, she had lost all practice of it. And it would +even be difficult for her to earn anything as charwoman, for she had that +infant on her hands as well as her infirm husband--a big child, whom she +would have to wash and feed. And so what would become of the three of +them? She couldn’t tell; but it made her shudder, however brave and +motherly she tried to be. + +For their part, Pierre and Thomas quivered with compassion, particularly +when they saw big tears coursing down the cheeks of the wretched, +stricken Toussaint, as he sat quite motionless in that little and still +cleanly home of toil and want. The poor man had listened to his wife, and +he 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. What +dupery his long life of labour had been! how frightfully unjust it was +that all his efforts should end in such sufferings! how exasperating it +was to feel himself powerless, and to see those whom he loved and who +were as innocent as himself suffer and die by reason of his own suffering +and death! Ah! poor old man, cripple that he was, ending like some beast +of burden that has foundered by the roadside--that goal of labour! And it +was 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. “Things +are like that, and there’s no mending them.” + +Then she went to put the child to bed again, and on her return, just as +Thomas and Pierre were about to speak to her of Toussaint’s employer, M. +Grandidier, a fresh visitor arrived. Thereupon the others decided to +wait. + +The new comer was Madame Chrétiennot, Toussaint’s other sister, eighteen +years younger than himself. Her husband, the little clerk, had compelled +her to break off almost all intercourse with her relatives, as he felt +ashamed of them; nevertheless, having heard of her brother’s misfortune, +she had very properly come to condole with him. She wore a gown of cheap +flimsy silk, and a hat trimmed with red poppies, which she had freshened +up three times already; but in spite of this display her appearance +bespoke penury, and she did her best to hide her feet on account of the +shabbiness of her boots. Moreover, she was no longer the beautiful +Hortense. Since a recent miscarriage, all trace of her good looks had +disappeared. + +The lamentable appearance of her brother and the bareness of that home of +suffering chilled her directly she crossed the threshold. And as soon as +she had kissed Toussaint, and said how sorry she was to find him in such +a 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 to +be pitied! But if you only knew! We all have our troubles. Thus in my +case, obliged as I am to dress fairly well on account of my husband’s +position, I have more trouble than you can imagine in making both ends +meet. One can’t go far on a salary of three thousand francs a year, when +one has to pay seven hundred francs’ rent out of it. You will perhaps say +that we might lodge ourselves in a more modest way; but we can’t, my +dear, I must have a _salon_ on account of the visits I receive. So just +count!... Then there are my two girls. I’ve had to send them to +school; Lucienne has begun to learn the piano and Marcelle has some taste +for drawing.... By the way, I would have brought them with me, but I +feared 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 on +account of Salvat’s ignominious death. Chrétiennot, vain, quarrelsome +little fellow that he was, felt exasperated at now having a _guillotine_ +in his wife’s family. And he had lately begun to treat the unfortunate +woman most harshly, charging her with having brought about all their +troubles, and even rendering her responsible for his own mediocrity, +embittered as he was more and more each day by a confined life of office +work. On some evenings they had downright quarrels; she stood up for +herself, and related that when she was at the confectionery shop in the +Rue des Martyrs she could have married a doctor had she only chosen, for +the doctor found her quite pretty enough. Now, however, she was becoming +plainer and plainer, and her husband felt that he was condemned to +everlasting penury; so that their life was becoming more and more dismal +and 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 her +sister-in-law’s endless narrative of worries, “you have had one piece of +luck. 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 should +have managed, I don’t know.... Still, I was very ill, and I’m far from +being in good health now. The doctor says that I don’t eat enough, and +that I ought to have good food.” + +Then she rose for the purpose of giving her brother another kiss and +taking her departure; for she feared a scene on her husband’s part should +he 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 seen +her sister, Madame Théodore, and little Céline, both of them comfortably +clad and looking happy. And with a touch of jealousy she added: “Well, my +husband contents himself with slaving away at his office every day. He’ll +never do anything to get his head cut off; and it’s quite certain that +nobody will think of leaving an income to Marcelle and Lucienne.... +Well, good by, my dear, you must be brave, one must always hope that +things will turn out for the best.” + +When she had gone off, Pierre and Thomas inquired if M. Grandidier had +heard of Toussaint’s misfortune and agreed to do anything for him. Madame +Toussaint answered that he had so far made only a vague promise; and on +learning this they resolved to speak to him as warmly as they could on +behalf of the old mechanician, who had spent as many as five and twenty +years at the works. The misfortune was that a scheme for establishing a +friendly society, and even a pension fund, which had been launched before +the crisis from which the works were now recovering, had collapsed +through a number of obstacles and complications. Had things turned out +otherwise, Thomas might have had a pittance assured him, even though he +was unable to work. But under the circumstances the only hope for the +poor stricken fellow lay in his employer’s compassion, if not his sense +of justice. + +As the baby again began to cry, Madame Toussaint went to fetch it, and +she was once more carrying it to and fro, when Thomas pressed her +husband’s sound hand between both his own. “We will come back,” said the +young man; “we won’t forsake you, Toussaint. You know very well that +people like you, for you’ve always been a good and steady workman. So +rely 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 other +luckless creature, who was now so heavy on the old folks’ hands, and like +them was fated to die of want and unjust toil. + +Toil, manual toil, panting at every effort, this was what Pierre and +Thomas once more found at the works. From the slender pipes above the +roofs spurted rhythmical puffs of steam, which seemed like the very +breath of all that labour. And in the work-shops one found a continuous +rumbling, 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 or +other before the bell should ring for departure. + +On inquiring for the master Thomas learnt that he had not been seen since +_déjeuner_, which was such an unusual occurrence that the young man at +once feared some terrible scene in the silent pavilion, whose shutters +were ever closed upon Grandidier’s unhappy wife--that mad but beautiful +creature, whom he loved so passionately that he had never been willing to +part from her. The pavilion could be seen from the little glazed +work-shop which Thomas usually occupied, and as he and Pierre stood +waiting there, it looked very peaceful and pleasant amidst the big +lilac-bushes planted round about it. Surely, they thought, it ought to +have been brightened by the gay gown of a young woman and the laughter of +playful children. But all at once a loud, piercing shriek reached their +ears, followed by howls and moans, like those of an animal that is being +beaten or possibly slaughtered. Ah! those howls ringing out amidst all +the stir of the toiling works, punctuated it seemed by the rhythmical +puffing of the steam, accompanied too by the dull rumbling of the +machinery! The receipts of the business had been doubling and doubling +since the last stock-taking; there was increase of prosperity every +month, the bad times were over, far behind. Grandidier was realising a +large fortune with his famous bicycle for the million, the “Lisette”; and +the approaching vogue of motor-cars also promised huge gains, should he +again start making little motor-engines, as he meant to do, as soon as +Thomas’s long-projected motor should be perfected. But what was wealth +when in that dismal pavilion, whose shutters were ever closed, those +frightful shrieks continued, proclaiming some terrible drama, which all +the stir and bustle of the prosperous works were unable to stifle? + +Pierre and Thomas looked at one another, pale and quivering. And all at +once, as the cries ceased and the pavilion sank into death-like silence +once more, the latter said in an undertone: “She is usually very gentle, +she will sometimes spend whole days sitting on a carpet like a little +child. He is fond of her when she is like that; he lays her down and +picks 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 the +walls. And then he has to struggle with her, for no one else is allowed +to touch her. He tries to restrain her, and holds her in his arms to calm +her.... But how terrible it was just now! Did you hear? I do not think +she has ever had such a frightful attack before.” + +For a quarter of an hour longer profound silence prevailed. Then +Grandidier came out of the pavilion, bareheaded and still ghastly pale. +Passing the little glazed work-shop on his way, he perceived Thomas and +Pierre there, and at once came in. But he was obliged to lean against a +bench like a man who is dazed, haunted by a nightmare. His good-natured, +energetic face retained an expression of acute anguish; and his left ear +was scratched and bleeding. However, he at once wished to talk, overcome +his feelings, and return to his life of activity. “I am very pleased to +see you, my dear Thomas,” said he, “I have been thinking over what you +told me about our little motor. We must go into the matter again.” + +Seeing how distracted he was, it occurred to the young man that some +sudden diversion, such as the story of another’s misfortunes, might +perhaps draw him from his haunting thoughts. “Of course I am at your +disposal,” he replied; “but before talking of that matter I should like +to tell you that we have just seen Toussaint, that poor old fellow who +has 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 had +spent at the factory, and suggested that it would be only just to take +some account of his long efforts, the years of his life which he had +devoted to the establishment. And he asked that he might be assisted in +the name both of equity and compassion. + +“Ah! monsieur,” Pierre in his turn ventured to say. “I should like to +take 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 speech +left him to tell people his sufferings. There can be no greater +wretchedness than to die in this fashion, despairing of all kindliness +and justice.” + +Grandidier had listened to them in silence. But big tears had +irresistibly filled his eyes, and when he spoke it was in a very low and +tremulous voice: “The greatest wretchedness, who can tell what it is? Who +can 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 state +at 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 poison +one’s life in a still greater degree.... Ah! yes, food indeed! To +think that happiness will reign in the world when everybody has food to +eat! What an idiotic hope!” + +The whole grievous tragedy of his life was in the shudder which had come +over 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 an +establishment to which prosperity has returned, whose machinery coins +gold, apparently leaving one no other trouble than that of pocketing +one’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 hearth +no 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 successive +inventory, was sobbing with bitter grief. + +However, he showed himself kindly disposed towards Toussaint, and +promised to assist him. As for a pension that was an idea which he could +not entertain, as it was the negation of the wage-system such as it +existed. He energetically defended his rights as an employer, repeating +that the strain of competition would compel him to avail himself of them +so long as the present system should endure. His part in it was to do +good business in an honest way. However, he regretted that his men had +never carried out the scheme of establishing a relief fund, and he said +that 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 the +interests of his life of battle he felt his energy restored. He again +reverted to the question of the little motor, and spoke of it for some +time with Thomas, while Pierre waited, feeling quite upset. Ah! he +thought, how universal was the thirst for happiness! Then, in spite of +the many technical terms that were used he caught a little of what the +others were saying. Small steam motors had been made at the works in +former times; but they had not proved successes. In point of fact a new +propelling force was needed. Electricity, though everyone foresaw its +future triumph, was so far out of the question on account of the weight +of the apparatus which its employment necessitated. So only petroleum +remained, and the inconvenience attaching to its use was so great that +victory and fortune would certainly rest with the manufacturer who should +be able to replace it by some other hitherto unknown agent. In the +discovery and adaptation of the latter lay the whole problem. + +“Yes, I am eager about it now,” at last exclaimed Grandidier in an +animated way. “I allowed you to prosecute your experiments without +troubling you with any inquisitive questions. But a solution is becoming +imperative.” + +Thomas smiled: “Well, you must remain patient just a little longer,” said +he; “I believe that I am on the right road.” + +Then Grandidier shook hands with him and Pierre, and went off to make his +usual round through his busy, bustling works, whilst near at hand, +awaiting his return, stood the closed pavilion, where every evening he +was fated to relapse into endless, incurable anguish. + +The daylight was already waning when Pierre and Thomas, after +re-ascending the height of Montmartre, walked towards the large work-shop +which Jahan, the sculptor, had set up among the many sheds whose erection +had been necessitated by the building of the Sacred Heart. There was here +a stretch of ground littered with materials, an extraordinary chaos of +building stone, beams and machinery; and pending the time when an army of +navvies would come to set the whole place in order, one could see gaping +trenches, rough flights of descending steps and fences, imperfectly +closing doorways which conducted to the substructures of the basilica. + +Halting in front of Jahan’s work-shop, Thomas pointed to one of these +doorways by which one could reach the foundation works. “Have you never +had an idea of visiting the foundations?” he inquired of Pierre. “There’s +quite a city down there on which millions of money have been spent. They +could only find firm soil at the very base of the height, and they had to +excavate more than eighty shafts, fill them with concrete, and then rear +their church on all those subterranean columns.... Yes, that is so. Of +course the columns cannot be seen, but it is they who hold that insulting +edifice aloft, right over Paris!” + +Having drawn near to the fence, Pierre was looking at an open doorway +beyond it, a sort of dark landing whence steps descended as if into the +bowels of the earth. And he thought of those invisible columns of +concrete, and of all the stubborn energy and desire for domination which +had 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 to +show them a new model he had prepared. When they entered the work-shop +they found the two assistants still working at the colossal angel which +had been ordered for the basilica. Standing on a scaffolding they were +rough-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 been +working. + +“Ah! it’s you,” he exclaimed. “Antoine has been waiting more than half an +hour 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, so +simple were its lines, that it suggested something gigantic. The figure’s +abundant, outspread hair suggested rays around its face, which beamed +with sovereign beauty like the sun. And its only gesture was one of offer +and of greeting; its arms were thrown slightly forward, and its hands +were open for the grasp of all mankind. + +Still lingering in his dream Jahan began to speak slowly: “You remember +that I wanted a pendant for my figure of Fecundity. I had modelled a +Charity, but it pleased me so little and seemed so commonplace that I let +the clay dry and spoil.... And then the idea of a figure of Justice +came to me. But not a gowned figure with the sword and the scales! That +wasn’t the Justice that inspired me. What haunted my mind was the other +Justice, the one that the lowly and the sufferers await, the one who +alone can some day set a little order and happiness among us. And I +pictured her like that, quite bare, quite simple, and very lofty. She is +the sun as it were, a sun all beauty, harmony and strength; for justice +is only to be found in the sun which shines in the heavens for one and +all, and bestows on poor and rich alike its magnificence and light and +warmth, which are the source of all life. And so my figure, you see, has +her 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 the +good woman carries herself upright.... What do you fellows say?” + +His visitors highly praised his work. Pierre for his part was much +affected at finding in this artistic conception the very idea that he had +so long been revolving in his mind--the idea of an era of Justice rising +from the ruins of the world, which Charity after centuries of trial had +failed to save. + +Then the sculptor gaily explained that he had prepared his model there +instead of at home, in order to console himself a little for his big +dummy of an angel, the prescribed triteness of which disgusted him. Some +fresh 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 been +compelled 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 and +disbelief. Ah! if social or human art could only revive, how glorious to +be one of the first to bear the tidings!” + +Then he paused. Where could the youngsters, Antoine and Lise, have got +to, he wondered. He threw the door wide open, and, a little distance +away, among the materials littering the waste ground, one could see +Antoine’s tall figure and Lise’s short slender form standing out against +the immensity of Paris, which was all golden amidst the sun’s farewell. +The young man’s strong arm supported Lise, who with this help walked +beside him without feeling any fatigue. Slender and graceful, like a girl +blossoming into womanhood, she raised her eyes to his with a smile of +infinite gratitude, which proclaimed that she belonged to him for +evermore. + +“Ah! they are coming back,” said Jahan. “The miracle is now complete, you +know. I’m delighted at it. I did not know what to do with her; I had even +renounced all attempts to teach her to read; I left her for days together +in a corner, infirm and tongue-tied like a lack-wit.... But your +brother came and took her in hand somehow or other. She listened to him +and understood him, and began to read and write with him, and grow +intelligent and gay. Then, as her limbs still gained no suppleness, and +she remained infirm, ailing and puny, he began by carrying her here, and +then 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 which +rose from the great city, where all was yet heat and sunshine, brought +them a bath of life. If the young man had chosen that spot, with its +splendid horizon, open to the full air which wafted all the germs of +life, it was doubtless because he felt that nowhere else could he instil +more vitality, more soul, more strength into her. And love had been +created by love. He had found her asleep, benumbed, without power of +motion or intellect, and he had awakened her, kindled life in her, loved +her, that he might be loved by her in return. She was his work, she was +part of himself. + +“So you no longer feel tired, little one?” said Jahan. + +She smiled divinely. “Oh! no, it’s so pleasant, so beautiful, to walk +straight on like this.... All I desire is to go on for ever and ever +with Antoine.” + +The others laughed, and Jahan exclaimed in his good-natured way: “Let us +hope 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 the +falling twilight seemed to impart a quiver of life. “Oh! how divinely +simple, how divinely beautiful!” said he. + +For his own part he had lately finished a new wood engraving, which +depicted Lise holding a book in her hand, an engraving instinct with +truth and emotion, showing her awakened to intelligence and love. And +this time he had achieved his desire, making no preliminary drawing, but +tackling the block with his graver, straight away, in presence of his +model. And infinite hopefulness had come upon him, he was dreaming of +great original works in which the whole period that he belonged to would +live anew and for ever. + +Thomas now wished to return home. So they shook hands with Jahan, who, as +his day’s work was over, put on his coat to take his sister back to the +Rue 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 had +opened to life. “Till to-morrow, Antoine,” said she. + +Outside, the twilight was falling. Pierre was the first to cross the +threshold, and as he did so, he saw so extraordinary a sight that for an +instant he felt stupefied. But it was certain enough: he could plainly +distinguish his brother Guillaume emerging from the gaping doorway which +conducted to the foundations of the basilica. And he saw him hastily +climb over the palings, and then pretend to be there by pure chance, as +though he had come up from the Rue Lamarck. When he accosted his two +sons, as if he were delighted to meet them, and began to say that he had +just come from Paris, Pierre asked himself if he had been dreaming. +However, an anxious glance which his brother cast at him convinced him +that he had been right. And then he not only felt ill at ease in presence +of that man whom he had never previously known to lie, but it seemed to +him that he was at last on the track of all he had feared, the formidable +mystery that he had for some time past felt brewing around him in the +little peaceful house. + +When Guillaume, his sons and his brother reached home and entered the +large workroom overlooking Paris, it was so dark that they fancied nobody +was there. + +“What! nobody in?” said Guillaume. + +But in a somewhat low, quiet voice François 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 head +resting on his hands, his eyes wandering over Paris, where night was +gradually falling. As his examination was now near at hand, he was living +in a state of severe mental strain. + +“What, you are still working there!” said his father. “Why didn’t you ask +for a lamp?” + +“No, I wasn’t working, I was looking at Paris,” François slowly answered. +“It’s singular how the night falls over it by degrees. The last district +that remained visible was the Montague Ste. Genevieve, the plateau of the +Pantheon, where all our knowledge and science have grown up. A sun-ray +still gilds the schools and libraries and laboratories, when the +low-lying districts of trade are already steeped in darkness. I won’t say +that the planet has a particular partiality for us at the École Normale, +but it’s certain that its beams still linger on our roofs, when they are +to be seen nowhere else.” + +He began to laugh at his jest. Still one could see how ardent was his +faith in mental effort, how entirely he gave himself to mental labour, +which, in his opinion, could alone bring truth, establish justice and +create happiness. + +Then came a short spell of silence. Paris sank more and more deeply into +the night, growing black and mysterious, till all at once sparks of light +began to appear. + +“The lamps are being lighted,” resumed François; “work is being resumed on +all sides.” + +Then Guillaume, who likewise had been dreaming, immersed in his fixed +idea, exclaimed: “Work, yes, no doubt! But for work to give a full +harvest it must be fertilised by will. There is something which is +superior to work.” + +Thomas and Antoine had drawn near. And François, as much for them as for +himself, inquired: “What is that, father?” + +“Action.” + +For a moment the three young men remained silent, impressed by the +solemnity of the hour, quivering too beneath the great waves of darkness +which 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 his +nephews, now felt his nervousness increasing. That huge and terrifying +mystery of which he was dimly conscious rose before him, while a great +quiver sped by in the darkness, over that black city where the lamps were +now 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 Sacred +Heart. Ten thousand pilgrims were to be present there, at a solemn +consecration of the Holy Sacrament; and pending the arrival of four +o’clock, the hour fixed for the service, Montmartre would be invaded by +people. Its slopes would be black with swarming devotees, the shops where +religious emblems and pictures were sold would be besieged, the cafés and +taverns would be crowded to overflowing. It would all be like some huge +fair, and meantime the big bell of the basilica, “La Savoyarde,” would be +ringing peal on peal over the holiday-making multitude. + +When Pierre entered the workroom in the morning he perceived Guillaume +and Mère-Grand alone there; and a remark which he heard the former make +caused him to stop short and listen from behind a tall-revolving +bookstand. Mère-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!” she +said, “so you have made up your mind.” + +“Yes, irrevocably. At four o’clock I shall be yonder, and it will all be +over.” + +“‘Tis well--you are the master.” + +Silence fell, terrible silence. Guillaume’s voice seemed to come from far +away, from somewhere beyond the world. It was evident that his resolution +was unshakable, that his tragic dream, his fixed idea of martyrdom, +wholly absorbed him. Mère-Grand looked at him with her pale eyes, like an +heroic woman who had grown old in relieving the sufferings of others, and +had ever shown all the abnegation and devotion of an intrepid heart, +which nothing but the idea of duty could influence. She knew Guillaume’s +terrible scheme, and had helped him to regulate the pettiest details of +it; but if on the one hand, after all the iniquity she had seen and +endured, she admitted that fierce and exemplary punishment might seem +necessary, and that even the idea of purifying the world by the fire of a +volcano might be entertained, on the other hand, she believed too +strongly 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 or +profitable. + +“My son,” she gently resumed, “I witnessed the growth of your scheme, and +it neither surprised nor angered me. I accepted it as one accepts +lightning, the very fire of the skies, something of sovereign purity and +power. And I have helped you through it all, and have taken upon myself +to act as the mouthpiece of your conscience.... But let me tell you +once more, one ought never to desert the cause of life.” + +“It is useless to speak, mother,” Guillaume replied: “I have resolved to +give my life and cannot take it back.... Are you now unwilling to +carry out my desires, remain here, and act as we have decided, when all +is over?” + +She did not answer this inquiry, but in her turn, speaking slowly and +gravely, put a question to him: “So it is useless for me to speak to you +of the children, myself and the house?” said she. “You have thought it +all over, you are quite determined?” And as he simply answered “Yes,” she +added: “‘Tis well, you are the master.... I will be the one who is to +remain behind and act. And you may be without fear, your bequest is in +good 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 be +something superhuman in her simplicity and grandeur as she sat there in +her thin black gown. Her glance, in which the greatest bravery and the +deepest sadness mingled, filled Guillaume with acute emotion. His hands +began to tremble, and he asked: “Will you let me kiss you, mother?” + +“Oh! right willingly, my son,” she responded. “Your path of duty may not +be mine, but you see I respect your views and love you.” + +They kissed one another, and when Pierre, whom the scene had chilled to +his heart, presented himself as if he were just arriving, Mère-Grand had +quietly taken up her needlework once more, while Guillaume was going to +and fro, setting one of his laboratory shelves in order with all his +wonted activity. + +At noon when lunch was ready, they found it necessary to wait for Thomas, +who had not yet come home. His brothers François and Antoine complained +in a jesting way, saying that they were dying of hunger, while for her +part Marie, who had made a _crême_, and was very proud of it, declared +that they would eat it all, and that those who came late would have to go +without tasting it. When Thomas eventually put in an appearance he was +greeted with jeers. + +“But it wasn’t my fault,” said he; “I stupidly came up the hill by way of +the 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 told +that 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 busy +eating, here, there and everywhere, all over the patches of waste ground +and even on the pavements. One can scarcely set one foot before the other +without risk of treading on somebody.” + +The meal proved a very gay one, though Pierre found the gaiety forced and +excessive. Yet the young people could surely know nothing of the +frightful, invisible thing which to Pierre ever seemed to be hovering +around in the bright sunlight of that splendid June day. Was it that the +dim presentiment which comes to loving hearts when mourning threatens +them, swept by during the short intervals of silence that followed the +joyous outbursts? Although Guillaume looked somewhat pale, and spoke with +unusual caressing softness, he retained his customary bright smile. But, +on the other hand, never had Mère-Grand been more silent or more grave. + +Marie’s _crême_ proved a great success, and the others congratulated her +on it so fulsomely that they made her blush. Then, all at once, heavy +silence fell once more, a deathly chill seemed to sweep by, making every +face turn pale--even while they were still cleaning their plates with +their little spoons. + +“Ah! that bell,” exclaimed François; “it is really intolerable. I can +feel my head splitting.” + +He referred to “La Savoyarde,” the big bell of the basilica, which had +now begun to toll, sending forth deep sonorous volumes of sound, which +ever and ever winged their flight over the immensity of Paris. In the +workroom 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 consecration +you 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 want +to be deafened for life had better keep their windows closed. The worst +is, that Paris has to hear it whether it will or no, and even as far away +as the Pantheon, so I’m told.” + +Meantime Mère-Grand remained silent and impassive. Antoine for his part +expressed his disgust with the horrible religious pictures for which the +pilgrims fought--pictures which in some respects suggested those on the +lids of sweetmeat boxes, although they depicted the Christ with His +breast ripped open and displaying His bleeding heart. There could be no +more repulsive materialism, no grosser or baser art, said Antoine. Then +they rose from table, talking at the top of their voices so as to make +themselves heard above the incessant din which came from the big bell. + +Immediately afterwards they all set to work again. Mère-Grand took her +everlasting needlework in hand once more, while Marie, sitting near her, +continued some embroidery. The young men also attended to their +respective tasks, and now and again raised their heads and exchanged a +few words. Guillaume, for his part, likewise seemed very busy; Pierre +alone coming and going in a state of anguish, beholding them all as in a +nightmare, and attributing some terrible meaning to the most innocent +remarks. During _déjeuner_, in order to explain the frightful discomfort +into which he was thrown by the gaiety of the meal, he had been obliged +to say that he felt poorly. And now he was looking and listening and +waiting with ever-growing anxiety. + +Shortly before three o’clock, Guillaume glanced at his watch and then +quietly took up his hat. “Well,” said he, “I’m going out.” + +His sons, Mère-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 within +him, striving to prevent either shudder or pallor from betraying his +awful secret. Ah! he must have suffered keenly; he dared not give his +sons a last kiss, for fear lest he might rouse some suspicion in their +minds, which would impel them to oppose him and prevent his death! At +last 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.” + +Mère-Grand, still majestically silent, kept her eyes fixed upon him. Her +he had ventured to kiss, and their glances met and mingled, instinct with +all that he had decided and that she had promised: their common dream of +truth and justice. + +“I say, Guillaume,” exclaimed Marie gaily, “will you undertake a +commission 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 I +shan’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, the +stylishness of which she considered very amusing. Whenever she spoke of +it, both she and the others began to laugh. + +“It’s understood, my dear,” said Guillaume, likewise making merry over +it. “We know it’s Cinderella’s court robe, eh? The fairy brocade and lace +that are to make you very beautiful and for ever happy.” + +However, the laughter ceased, and in the sudden silence which fell, it +again seemed as if death were passing by with a great flapping of wings +and an icy gust which chilled the hearts of everyone remaining there. + +“It’s understood; so now I’m really off,” resumed Guillaume. “_Au +revoir_, children.” + +Then he sallied forth, without even turning round, and for a moment they +could hear the firm tread of his feet over the garden gravel. + +Pierre having invented a pretext was able to follow him a couple of +minutes afterwards. As a matter of fact there was no need for him to dog +Guillaume’s heels, for he knew where his brother was going. He was +thoroughly convinced that he would find him at that doorway, conducting +to the foundations of the basilica, whence he had seen him emerge two +days before. And so he wasted no time in looking for him among the crowd +of pilgrims going to the church. His only thought was to hurry on and +reach Jahan’s workshop. And in accordance with his expectation, just as +he arrived there, he perceived Guillaume slipping between the broken +palings. The crush and the confusion prevailing among the concourse of +believers favored Pierre as it had his brother, in such wise that he was +able 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 did +the 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 that +Pierre ventured into the gloom, which ever grew denser and denser. He +lowered his feet gently so as to make no noise, and feeling the walls +with his hands, turned round and round as he went lower and lower into a +kind of well. However, the descent was not a very long one. As soon as he +found beaten ground beneath his feet he paused, no longer daring to stir +for fear of betraying his presence. The darkness was like ink, and there +was not a sound, a breath; the silence was complete. + +How should he find his way? he wondered. Which direction ought he to +take? He was still hesitating when some twenty paces away he suddenly saw +a bright spark, the gleam of a lucifer. Guillaume was lighting a candle. +Pierre recognised his broad shoulders, and from that moment he simply had +to follow the flickering light along a walled and vaulted subterranean +gallery. It seemed to be interminable and to run in a northerly +direction, towards the nave of the basilica. + +All at once the little light at last stopped, while Pierre, anxious to +see what would happen, continued to advance, treading as softly as he +could and remaining in the gloom. He found that Guillaume had stood his +candle upon the ground in the middle of a kind of low rotunda under the +crypt, and that he had knelt down and moved aside a long flagstone which +seemed to cover a cavity. They were here among the foundations of the +basilica; and one of the columns or piles of concrete poured into shafts +in order to support the building could be seen. The gap, which the stone +slab removed by Guillaume had covered, was by the very side of the +pillar; it was either some natural surface flaw, or a deep fissure caused +by some subsidence or settling of the soil. The heads of other pillars +could be descried around, and these the cleft seemed to be reaching, for +little slits branched out in all directions. Then, on seeing his brother +leaning forward, like one who is for the last time examining a mine he +has laid before applying a match to the fuse, Pierre suddenly understood +the whole terrifying business. Considerable quantities of the new +explosive had been brought to that spot. Guillaume had made the journey a +score of times at carefully selected hours, and all his powder had been +poured into the gap beside the pillar, spreading to the slightest rifts +below, saturating the soil at a great depth, and in this wise forming a +natural mine of incalculable force. And now the powder was flush with the +flagstone which Guillaume has just moved aside. It was only necessary to +throw 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 could +neither have taken a step nor raised a cry. He pictured the swarming +throng above him, the ten thousand pilgrims crowding the lofty naves of +the basilica to witness the solemn consecration of the Host. Peal upon +peal flew from “La Savoyarde,” incense smoked, and ten thousand voices +raised a hymn of magnificence and praise. And all at once came thunder +and 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 doubtless +split the edifice atwain, and hurl one-half down the slopes descending +towards Paris, whilst the other on the side of the apse would crumble and +collapse upon the spot where it stood. And how fearful would be the +avalanche; a broken forest of scaffoldings, a hail of stonework, rushing +and bounding through the dust and smoke on to the roofs below; whilst the +violence of the shock would threaten the whole of Montmartre, which, it +seemed 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 over +the subterranean vault. Amidst the dense blackness the light looked like +some dismal stationary star. Guillaume drew near to it in order to see +what 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 to +carry out his design punctually, at the precise moment he had selected; +and he therefore sat down on a block of stone, and remained there without +moving, quiet and patient. The candle now cast its light upon his pale +face, upon his towering brow crowned with white hair, upon the whole of +his energetic countenance, which still looked handsome and young, thanks +to his bright eyes and dark moustaches. And not a muscle of his face +stirred; he simply gazed into the void. What thoughts could be passing +through his mind at that supreme moment? Who could tell? There was not a +quiver; heavy night, the deep eternal silence of the earth reigned all +around. + +Then Pierre, having quieted his palpitating heart, drew near. At the +sound of his footsteps Guillaume rose menacingly, but he immediately +recognised his brother, and did not seem astonished to see him. + +“Ah! it’s you,” he said, “you followed me.... I felt that you +possessed my secret. And it grieves me that you should have abused your +knowledge 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 will +listen to you by-and-by. We have nearly an hour before us, so we can +chat. But I want you to understand the futility of all you may think +needful to tell me. My resolution is unshakable; I was a long time coming +to it, and in carrying it out I shall simply be acting in accordance with +my reason and my conscience.” + +Then he quietly related that having decided upon a great deed he had long +hesitated as to which edifice he should destroy. The opera-house had +momentarily tempted him, but he had reflected that there would be no +great significance in the whirlwind of anger and justice destroying a +little set of enjoyers. In fact, such a deed might savour of jealousy and +covetousness. Next he had thought of the Bourse, where he might strike a +blow at money, the great agent of corruption, and the capitalist society +in whose clutches the wage-earners groaned. Only, here again the blow +would fall upon a restricted circle. Then an idea of destroying the +Palace of Justice, particularly the assize court, had occurred to him. It +was a very tempting thought--to wreak justice upon human justice, to +sweep away the witnesses, the culprit, the public prosecutor who charges +the latter, the counsel who defends him, the judges who sentence him, and +the lounging public which comes to the spot as to the unfolding of some +sensational serial. And then too what fierce irony there would be in the +summary superior justice of the volcano swallowing up everything +indiscriminately without pausing to enter into details. However, the plan +over which he had most lingered was that of blowing up the Arc de +Triomphe. This he regarded as an odious monument which perpetuated +warfare, hatred among nations, and the false, dearly purchased, +sanguineous glory of conquerors. That colossus raised to the memory of so +much frightful slaughter which had uselessly put an end to so many human +lives, ought, he considered, to be slaughtered in its turn. Could he so +have arranged things that the earth should swallow it up, he might have +achieved the glory of causing no other death than his own, of dying +alone, struck down, crushed to pieces beneath that giant of stone. What a +tomb, 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’m +perfectly willing to die alone, I thought what a loftier and more +terrible lesson there would be in the unjust death of an innocent +multitude, of thousands of unknown people, of all those that might happen +to be passing. In the same way as human society by dint of injustice, +want and harsh regulations causes so many innocent victims, so must +punishment fall as the lightning falls, indiscriminately killing and +destroying whatever it may encounter in its course. When a man sets his +foot on an ant-hill, he gives no heed to all the lives which he stamps +out.” + +Pierre, whom this theory rendered quite indignant, raised a cry of +protest: “Oh! brother, brother, is it you who are saying such things?” + +Yet, Guillaume did not pause: “If I have ended by choosing this basilica +of the Sacred Heart,” he continued, “it is because I found it near at +hand and easy to destroy. But it is also because it haunts and +exasperates me, because I have long since condemned it.... As I have +often said to you, one cannot imagine anything more preposterous than +Paris, our great Paris, crowned and dominated by this temple raised to +the glorification of the absurd. Is it not outrageous that common sense +should receive such a smack after so many centuries of science, that Rome +should claim the right of triumphing in this insolent fashion, on our +loftiest height in the full sunlight? The priests want Paris to repent +and do penitence for its liberative work of truth and justice. But its +only right course is to sweep away all that hampers and insults it in its +march towards deliverance. And so may the temple fall with its deity of +falsehood and servitude! And may its ruins crush its worshippers, so that +like one of the old geological revolutions of the world, the catastrophe +may resound through the very entrails of mankind, and renew and change +it!” + +“Brother, brother!” again cried Pierre, quite beside himself, “is it you +who are talking? What! you, a great scientist, a man of great heart, you +have come to this! What madness is stirring you that you should think and +say such abominable things? On the evening when we confessed our secrets +one to the other, you told me of your proud and lofty dream of ideal +Anarchy. There would be free harmony in life, which left to its natural +forces would of itself create happiness. But you still rebelled against +the idea of theft and murder. You would not accept them as right or +necessary; you merely explained and excused them. What has happened then +that you, all brain and thought, should now have become the hateful hand +that acts?” + +“Salvat has been guillotined,” said Guillaume simply, “and I read his +will and testament in his last glance. I am merely an executor.... And +what has happened, you ask? Why, all that has made me suffer for four +months past, the whole social evil which surrounds us, and which must be +brought to an end.” + +Silence fell. The brothers looked at one another in the darkness. And +Pierre now understood things. He saw that Guillaume was changed, that the +terrible gust of revolutionary contagion sweeping over Paris had +transformed him. It had all come from the duality of his nature, the +presence of contradictory elements within him. On one side one found a +scientist whose whole creed lay in observation and experiment, who, in +dealing with nature, evinced the most cautious logic; while on the other +side was a social dreamer, haunted by ideas of fraternity, equality and +justice, and eager for universal happiness. Thence had first come the +theoretical anarchist that he had been, one in whom science and chimeras +were mingled, who dreamt of human society returning to the harmonious law +of the spheres, each man free, in a free association, regulated by love +alone. Neither Théophile Morin with the doctrines of Proudhon and Comte, +nor Bache with those of St. Simon and Fourier, had been able to satisfy +his desire for the absolute. All those systems had seemed to him +imperfect and chaotic, destructive of one another, and tending to the +same wretchedness of life. Janzen alone had occasionally satisfied him +with some of his curt phrases which shot over the horizon, like arrows +conquering the whole earth for the human family. And then in Guillaume’s +big heart, which the idea of want, the unjust sufferings of the lowly and +the poor exasperated, Salvat’s tragic adventure had suddenly found place, +fomenting supreme rebellion. For long weeks he had lived on with +trembling hands, with growing anguish clutching at his throat. First had +come that bomb and the explosion which still made him quiver, then the +vile cupidity of the newspapers howling for the poor wretch’s head, then +the search for him and the hunt through the Bois de Boulogne, till he +fell into the hands of the police, covered with mud and dying of +starvation. And afterwards there had been the assize court, the judges, +the gendarmes, the witnesses, the whole of France arrayed against one man +and bent on making him pay for the universal crime. And finally, there +had come the guillotine, the monstrous, the filthy beast consummating +irreparable injustice in human justice’s name. One sole idea now remained +to Guillaume, that idea of justice which maddened him, leaving naught in +his mind save the thought of the just, avenging flare by which he would +repair 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 with +a desire for death, a desire to give his own blood and set the blood of +others 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 felt +utterly upset by the fear that he should be unable to overcome it. “You +are mad, brother!” he exclaimed, “they have driven you mad! It is a gust +of violence passing; they were treated in a wrong way and too +relentlessly 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 a +Bergaz who steals! Remember the pillage of the Princess’s house and +remember the fair-haired, pretty child whom we saw lying yonder, ripped +open.... You do not, you cannot belong to that set, brother--” + +With a wave of his hand, Guillaume brushed these vain reasons aside. Of +what consequence were a few lives, his own included? No change had ever +taken place in the world without millions and millions of existences +being stamped out. + +“But you had a great scheme in hand,” cried Pierre, hoping to save him by +reviving his sense of duty. “It isn’t allowable for you to go off like +this.” + +Then he fervently strove to awaken his brother’s scientific pride. He +spoke to him of his secret, of that great engine of warfare, which could +destroy armies and reduce cities to dust, and which he had intended to +offer to France, so that on emerging victorious from the approaching war, +she might afterwards become the deliverer of the world. And it was this +grand scheme that he had abandoned, preferring to employ his explosive in +killing innocent people and overthrowing a church, which would be built +afresh, whatever the cost, and become a sanctuary of martyrs! + +Guillaume smiled. “I have not relinquished my scheme,” said he, “I have +simply modified it. Did I not tell you of my doubts, my anxious +perplexity? Ah! to believe that one holds the destiny of the world in +one’s grasp, and to tremble and hesitate and wonder if the intelligence +and wisdom, that are needful for things to take the one wise course, will +be forthcoming! At sight of all the stains upon our great Paris, all the +errors and transgressions which we lately witnessed, I shuddered. I asked +myself if Paris were sufficiently calm and pure for one to entrust her +with omnipotence. How terrible would be the disaster if such an invention +as mine should fall into the hands of a demented nation, possibly a +dictator, some man of conquest, who would simply employ it to terrorize +other nations and reduce them to slavery.... Ah! no, I do not wish to +perpetuate warfare, I wish to kill it.” + +Then in a clear firm voice he explained his new plan, in which Pierre was +surprised to find some of the ideas which General de Bozonnet had one day +laid before him in a very different spirit. Warfare was on the road to +extinction, threatened by its very excesses. In the old days of +mercenaries, and afterwards with conscripts, the percentage of soldiers +designated by chance, war had been a profession and a passion. But +nowadays, when everybody is called upon to fight, none care to do so. By +the logical force of things, the system of the whole nation in arms means +the coming end of armies. How much longer will the nations remain on a +footing of deadly peace, bowed down by ever increasing “estimates,” + spending millions and millions on holding one another in respect? Ah! how +great the deliverance, what a cry of relief would go up on the day when +some formidable engine, capable of destroying armies and sweeping cities +away, should render war an impossibility and constrain every people to +disarm! Warfare would be dead, killed in her own turn, she who has killed +so many. This was Guillaume’s dream, and he grew quite enthusiastic, so +strong was his conviction that he would presently bring it to pass. + +“Everything is settled,” said he; “if I am about to die and disappear, it +is in order that my idea may triumph.... You have lately seen me spend +whole afternoons alone with Mère-Grand. Well, we were completing the +classification of the documents and making our final arrangements. She +has my orders, and will execute them even at the risk of her life, for +none has a braver, loftier soul.... As soon as I am dead, buried +beneath these stones, as soon as she has heard the explosion shake Paris +and proclaim the advent of the new era, she will forward a set of all the +documents I have confided to her--the formula of my explosive, the +drawings 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 of +destruction and omnipotence which, at first, I wished to bestow on France +alone; and I do this in order that the nations, being one and all armed +with 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, in +which childishness was blended with genius. “Well,” said he, “if you give +your secret to all the nations, why should you blow up this church, and +die yourself?” + +“Why! In order that I may be believed!” cried Guillaume with +extraordinary force of utterance. Then he added, “The edifice must lie on +the ground, and I must be under it. If the experiment is not made, if +universal horror does not attest and proclaim the amazing destructive +power of my explosive, people will consider me a mere schemer, a +visionary!... A lot of dead, a lot of blood, that is what is needed in +order that blood may for ever cease to flow!” Then, with a broad sweep of +his arm, he again declared that his action was necessary. “Besides,” he +said, “Salvat left me the legacy of carrying out this deed of justice. If +I have given it greater scope and significance, utilising it as a means +of hastening the end of war, this is because I happen to be a man of +intellect. It would have been better possibly if my mind had been a +simple one, and if I had merely acted like some volcano which changes the +soil, leaving life the task of renewing humanity.” + +Much of the candle had now burnt away, and Guillaume at last rose from +the block of stone. He had again consulted his watch, and found that he +had ten minutes left him. The little current of air created by his +gestures made the light flicker, while all around him the darkness seemed +to grow denser. And near at hand ever lay the threatening open mine which +a 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 been +awakened in my old heart. So love me in like fashion, and find love +enough 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 struggled +on, forced back his tears, and ended by conquering himself. It was as if +he were no longer of the world, no longer one of mankind. + +“No, brother, you have not convinced me,” said Pierre, who on his side +did not seek to hide his tears, “and it is precisely because I love you +as you love me, with my whole being, my whole soul, that I cannot go +away. It is impossible! You cannot be the madman, the murderer you would +try to be.” + +“Why not? Am I not free. I have rid my life of all responsibilities, all +ties.... 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 passionately +availed himself of it. “So you want to die because you have given me +Marie,” said he. “You still love her, confess it!” + +“No!” cried Guillaume, “I no longer love her, I swear it. I gave her to +you. I love her no more.” + +“So you fancied; but you can see now that you still love her, for here +you are, quite upset; whereas none of the terrifying things of which we +spoke just now could even move you.... Yes, if you wish to die it is +because you have lost Marie!” + +Guillaume quivered, shaken by what his brother said, and in low, broken +words he tried to question himself. “No, no, that any love pain should +have urged me to this terrible deed would be unworthy--unworthy of my +great 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 of +justice and for the benefit of humanity, in order that war and want may +cease.” + +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 the +happiness 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 does +not 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 lying +to himself; and by degrees gloomy anger came over him: “Listen, that is +enough, 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 my +reasoning cannot save you from your insanity, fire your mine, and I will +die 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 a +question of flinging this candle into that hole, tell me so, and I will +take it and fling it there myself.” + +He made a gesture at which his brother thought that he was about to carry +out 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 to +soften me, you are torturing my heart!” Then all at once, imagining that +Pierre’s offer had concealed another design, Guillaume thundered in a +fury: “You don’t want to take the candle in order to throw it there. What +you want to do is to blow it out! And you think I shan’t be able +then--ah! you bad brother!” + +In his turn Pierre exclaimed: “Oh! certainly, I’ll use every means to +prevent 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 hold +your 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 of +Pierre, pressing his ribs with his powerful muscular arms. They were +closely linked together, their eyes fixed upon one another, and their +breath mingling in that kind of subterranean dungeon, where their big +dancing shadows looked like ghosts. They seemed to be vanishing into the +night, the candle now showed merely like a little yellow tear in the +midst of the darkness; and at that moment, in those far depths, a quiver +sped through the silence of the earth which weighed so heavily upon them. +Distant but sonorous peals rang out, as if death itself were somewhere +ringing its invisible bell. + +“You hear,” stammered Guillaume, “it’s their bell up there. The time has +come. 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 could +see 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, at +finding an obstacle suddenly barring the road to his fixed idea. + +“As long as you are alive, as long as you are alive!” he repeated, beside +himself. “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 as +if it were a club. + +“Ah! I’m willing,” cried Pierre. “Kill me, then; kill your own brother +before you kill the others!” + +The brick was already descending, but Guillaume’s arms must have +deviated, for the weapon only grazed one of Pierre’s shoulders. +Nevertheless, he sank upon his knees in the gloom. When Guillaume saw him +there he fancied he had dealt him a mortal blow. What was it that had +happened between them, what had he done? For a moment he remained +standing, haggard, his mouth open, his eyes dilating with terror. He +looked at his hands, fancying that blood was streaming from them. Then he +pressed them to his brow, which seemed to be bursting with pain, as if +his fixed idea had been torn from him, leaving his skull open. And he +himself suddenly sank upon the ground with a great sob. + +“Oh! brother, little brother, what have I done?” he called. “I am a +monster!” + +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 your +anger with me has dispelled your evil dream of violence.” + +“I am horrified with myself,” gasped Guillaume, “to think that I wanted +to kill you! Yes, I’m a brute beast that would kill his brother! And the +others, too, all the others up yonder.... Oh! I’m cold, I feel so +cold.” + +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 his +fratricidal deed cast upon things, the scheme which had haunted him and +goaded him to madness appeared like some act of criminal folly, projected +by another. + +“To kill you!” he repeated almost in a whisper. “I shall never forgive +myself. 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 between +us? Ah! yes, brother, let me save you as you saved me, and we shall be +yet more closely united! Don’t you remember that evening at Neuilly, when +you consoled me and held me to your heart as I am holding you to mine? I +had confessed my torments to you, and you told me that I must live and +love!... And you did far more afterwards: you plucked your own love +from your breast and gave it to me. You wished to ensure my happiness at +the price of your own! And how delightful it is that, in my turn, I now +have an opportunity to console you, save you, and bring you back to +life!” + +“No, no, the bloodstain is there and it is ineffaceable. I can hope no +more!” + +“Yes, yes, you can. Hope in life as you bade me do! Hope in love and hope +in labour!” + +Still weeping and clasping one another, the brothers continued speaking +in low voices. The expiring candle suddenly went out unknown to them, and +in the inky night and deep silence their tears of redeeming affection +flowed freely. On the one hand, there was joy at being able to repay a +debt of brotherliness, and on the other, acute emotion at having been led +by 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 which +cleansed and purified them; there were protests against suffering in +every form, and ardent wishes that the world might some day be relieved +of 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 Mère-Grand, still seated near the window of the workroom, had +impassively continued sewing. Now and again, pending the arrival of four +o’clock, she had looked up at the timepiece hanging on the wall on her +left hand, or else had glanced out of the window towards the unfinished +pile of the basilica, which a gigantic framework of scaffoldings +encompassed. Slowly and steadily plying her needle, the old lady remained +very pale and silent, but full of heroic serenity. On the other hand, +Marie, who sat near her, embroidering, shifted her position a score of +times, broke her thread, and grew impatient, feeling strangely nervous, a +prey 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 some +contagious fever disturbed them. Each had gone to his work: Thomas was +filing something at his bench; François and Antoine were on either side +of their table, the first trying to solve a mathematical problem, and the +other 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 slightest +sound, 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 dared +not say anything, and thus the heavy silence grew more and more terrible. + +When it was a few minutes to four o’clock Mère-Grand felt weary, or else +desired 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 she +remained with her eyes fixed on the huge walls and the forest of +scaffolding which rose over yonder with such triumphant pride under the +blue sky. Then all at once, however brave and firm she might be, she +could not restrain a start, for “La Savoyarde” had raised a joyful clang. +The consecration of the Host was now at hand, the ten thousand pilgrims +filled the church, four o’clock was about to strike. And thereupon an +irresistible impulse forced the old lady to her feet; she drew herself +up, quivering, her hands clasped, her eyes ever turned yonder, waiting in +mute dread. + +“What is the matter?” cried Thomas, who noticed her. “Why are you +trembling, Mère-Grand?” + +François 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 the +earth asunder, reach the house and sweep it into the flaming crater of +the volcano! Might she and the three young men, might they all die with +the father, this was her one ardent wish in order that grief might be +spared them. And she remained waiting and waiting, quivering despite +herself, but with her brave, clear eyes ever gazing yonder. + +“Mère-Grand, Mère-Grand!” cried Marie in dismay; “you frighten us by +refusing to answer us, by looking over there as if some misfortune were +coming up at a gallop!” + +Then, prompted by the same anguish, the same cry suddenly came from +Thomas, François and Antoine: “Father is in peril--father is going to +die!” + +What did they know? Nothing precise, certainly. Thomas no doubt had been +astonished to see what a large quantity of the explosive his father had +recently prepared, and both François and Antoine were aware of the ideas +of revolt which he harboured in his mind. But, full of filial deference, +they never sought to know anything beyond what he might choose to confide +to 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 was +going to die, that some most frightful catastrophe was impending. It must +have been that which had already sent such a quiver through the +atmosphere ever since the morning, making them shiver with fever, feel +ill 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 the +same anguish, and furiously longing to know what the danger was, in order +that they might rush upon it and die with their father if they could not +save him. And amidst Mère-Grand’s stubborn silence death once more +flitted through the room: there came a cold gust such as they had already +felt brushing past them during _déjeuner_. + +At last four o’clock began to strike, and Mère-Grand raised her white +hands with a gesture of supreme entreaty. It was then that she at last +spoke: “Father is going to die. Nothing but the duty of living can save +him.” + +At this the three young men again wished to rush yonder, whither they +knew not; but they felt that they must throw down all obstacles and +conquer. Their powerlessness rent their hearts, they were both so frantic +and so woeful that their grandmother strove to calm them. “Father’s own +wish 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 be +heroic. But the minutes crept by, and it seemed as if the cold gust had +slowly passed away. Sometimes, at the twilight hour, a night-bird will +come in by the window like some messenger of misfortune, flit round the +darkened room, and then fly off again, carrying its sadness with it. And +it was much like that; the gust passed, the basilica remained standing, +the earth did not open to swallow it. Little by little the atrocious +anguish which wrung their hearts gave place to hope. And when at last +Guillaume appeared, followed by Pierre, a great cry of resurrection came +from 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 were +returning to life perforce. Mère-Grand, who understood what bitter +feelings must have followed the subjugation of his will, approached him +smiling, and took hold of both his hands as if to tell him that she was +well pleased at seeing him again, and at finding that he accepted his +task and was unwilling to desert the cause of life. For his part he +suffered dreadfully, the shock had been so great. The others spared him +any narrative of their feelings; and he, himself, related nothing. With a +gesture, a loving word, he simply indicated that it was Pierre who had +saved him. + +Thereupon, in a corner of the room, Marie flung her arms round the young +man’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 Pierre +remained for a moment alone in the big workroom. The young men had gone +out, and Mère-Grand and Marie were upstairs sorting some house linen, +while Madame Mathis, who had brought some work back, sat patiently in a +dim corner waiting for another bundle of things which might require +mending. The brothers, steeped in the soft melancholy of the twilight +hour, and chatting in low tones, had quite forgotten her. + +But all at once the arrival of a visitor upset them. It was Janzen with +the fair, Christ-like face. He called very seldom nowadays; and one never +knew from what gloomy spot he had come or into what darkness he would +return when he took his departure. He disappeared, indeed, for months +together, and was then suddenly to be seen like some momentary passer-by +whose 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!” said +he, “I am at home everywhere. To begin with, I am not a Russian, and then +I recognise no other country than the world.” + +With a sweeping gesture he gave them to understand what manner of man he +was, one who had no fatherland of his own, but carried his gory dream of +fraternity hither and thither regardless of frontiers. From some words he +spoke the brothers fancied he was returning to Spain, where some +fellow-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 been +thrown into the Cafe de l’Univers on the Boulevard. Three _bourgeois_ +were killed.” + +Pierre and Guillaume shuddered, and asked for particulars. Thereupon +Janzen related that he had happened to be there, had heard the explosion, +and seen the windows of the café shivered to atoms. Three customers were +lying on the floor blown to pieces. Two of them were gentlemen, who had +entered the place by chance and whose names were not known, while the +third was a regular customer, a petty cit of the neighbourhood, who came +every day to play a game at dominoes. And the whole place was wrecked; +the marble tables were broken, the chandeliers twisted out of shape, the +mirrors studded with projectiles. And how great the terror and the +indignation, and how frantic the rush of the crowd! The perpetrator of +the deed had been arrested immediately--in fact, just as he was turning +the corner of the Rue Caumartin. + +“I thought I would come and tell you of it,” concluded Janzen; “it is +well you should know it.” + +Then as Pierre, shuddering and already suspecting the truth, asked him if +he knew who the man was that had been arrested, he slowly replied: “The +worry is that you happen to know him--it was little Victor Mathis.” + +Pierre tried to silence Janzen too late. He had suddenly remembered that +Victor’s mother had been sitting in a dark corner behind them a short +time previously. Was she still there? Then he again pictured Victor, +slight and almost beardless, with a straight, stubborn brow, grey eyes +glittering with intelligence, a pointed nose and thin lips expressive of +stern will and unforgiving hatred. He was no simple and lowly one from +the ranks of the disinherited. He was an educated scion of the +_bourgeoisie_, and but for circumstances would have entered the École +Normale. There was no excuse for his abominable deed, there was no +political passion, no humanitarian insanity, in it. He was the destroyer +pure and simple, the theoretician of destruction, the cold energetic man +of 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 all +visionaries: a monster whose nature could only be explained by mad pride, +and who craved for the most awful immortality, dreaming that the coming +dawn would rise from the arms of the guillotine. Only one thing could +surpass him: the scythe of death which blindly mows the world. + +For a few seconds, amidst the growing darkness, cold horror reigned in +the workroom. “Ah!” muttered Guillaume, “he had the daring to do it, he +had.” + +Pierre, however, lovingly pressed his arm. And he felt that he was as +distracted, as upset, as himself. Perhaps this last abomination had been +needed to ravage and cure him. + +Janzen no doubt had been an accomplice in the deed. He was relating that +Victor’s purpose had been to avenge Salvat, when all at once a great sigh +of pain was heard in the darkness, followed by a heavy thud upon the +floor. It was Madame Mathis falling like a bundle, overwhelmed by the +news which chance had brought her. At that moment it so happened that +Mère-Grand came down with a lamp, which lighted up the room, and +thereupon they hurried to the help of the wretched woman, who lay there +as 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 Abbé Rose’s, so discreet, +so shamefaced, in her poverty, scarce able to live upon the slender +resources which persistent misfortunes had left her. Hers had indeed been +a cruel lot: first, a home with wealthy parents in the provinces, a love +story and elopement with the man of her choice; next, ill-luck steadily +pursuing her, all sorts of home troubles, and at last her husband’s +death. Then, in the retirement of her widowhood, after losing the best +part 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, her +sole affection, the only one in whom she had faith. She had ever striven +to believe that he was very busy, absorbed in work, and on the eve of +attaining to some superb position worthy of his merits. And now, all at +once, she had learnt that this fondly loved son was simply the most +odious of assassins, that he had flung a bomb into a café, and had there +killed three men. + +When Madame Mathis had recovered her senses, thanks to the careful +tending of Mère-Grand, she sobbed on without cessation, raising such a +continuous doleful wail, that Pierre’s hand again sought Guillaume’s, and +grasped it, whilst their hearts, distracted but healed, mingled lovingly +one with the other. + + + + +V. LIFE’S WORK AND PROMISE + +FIFTEEN months later, one fine golden day in September, Bache and +Théophile Morin were taking _déjeuner_ at Guillaume’s, in the big +workroom overlooking the immensity of Paris. + +Near the table was a cradle with its little curtains drawn. Behind them +slept Jean, a fine boy four months old, the son of Pierre and Marie. The +latter, simply in order to protect the child’s social rights, had been +married civilly at the town-hall of Montmartre. Then, by way of pleasing +Guillaume, who wished to keep them with him, and thus enlarge the family +circle, they had continued living in the little lodging over the +work-shop, leaving the sleepy house at Neuilly in the charge of Sophie, +Pierre’s old servant. And life had been flowing on happily for the +fourteen months or so that they had now belonged to one another. + +There was simply peace, affection and work around the young couple. +François, who had left the École Normale provided with every degree, +every diploma, was now about to start for a college in the west of +France, so as to serve his term of probation as a professor, intending to +resign his post afterwards and devote himself, if he pleased, to science +pure and simple. Then Antoine had lately achieved great success with a +series of engravings he had executed--some views and scenes of Paris +life; and it was settled that he was to marry Lise Jahan in the ensuing +spring, when she would have completed her seventeenth year. Of the three +sons, however, Thomas was the most triumphant, for he had at last devised +and 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 and +hitherto failed to utilise, had suddenly thought of employing it as a +motive force, in the place of petroleum, in the motor which his eldest +son had so long been trying to construct for the Grandidier works. So he +had set to work with Thomas, devising a new mechanism, encountering +endless difficulties, and labouring for a whole year before reaching +success. But now the father and son had accomplished their task; the +marvel was created, and stood there riveted to an oak stand, and ready to +work as soon as its final toilet should have been performed. + +Amidst all the changes which had occurred, Mère-Grand, in spite of her +great age, continued exercising her active, silent sway over the +household, which was now again so gay and peaceful. Though she seldom +seemed to leave her chair in front of her work-table, she was really +here, there and everywhere. Since the birth of Jean, she had talked of +rearing the child in the same way as she had formerly reared Thomas, +François and Antoine. She was indeed full of the bravery of devotion, and +seemed to think that she was not at all likely to die so long as she +might have others to guide, love and save. Marie marvelled at it all. She +herself, though she was always gay and in good health, felt tired at +times now that she was suckling her infant. Little Jean indeed had two +vigilant mothers near his cradle; whilst his father, Pierre, who had +become Thomas’s assistant, pulled the bellows, roughened out pieces of +metal, and generally completed his apprenticeship as a working +mechanician. + +On the particular day when Bache and Théophile Morin came to Montmartre, +the _déjeuner_ proved even gayer than usual, thanks perhaps to their +presence. The meal was over, the table had been cleared, and the coffee +was being served, when a little boy, the son of a doorkeeper in the Rue +Cortot, came to ask for Monsieur Pierre Froment. When they inquired his +business, he answered in a hesitating way that Monsieur l’Abbé Rose was +very ill, indeed dying, and that he had sent him to fetch Monsieur Pierre +Froment at once. + +Pierre followed the lad, feeling much affected; and on reaching the Rue +Cortot he there found Abbé Rose in a little damp ground-floor room +overlooking a strip of garden. The old priest was in bed, dying as the +boy had said, but he still retained the use of his faculties, and could +speak in his wonted slow and gentle voice. A Sister of Charity was +watching beside him, and she seemed so surprised and anxious at the +arrival of a visitor whom she did not know, that Pierre understood she +was there to guard the dying man and prevent him from having intercourse +with others. The old priest must have employed some stratagem in order to +send the doorkeeper’s boy to fetch him. However, when Abbé Rose in his +grave 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 to +you! Sit down there, close to the bed, so that you may be able to hear +me, for this is the end; I shall no longer be here to-night. And I have +such a great service to ask of you.” + +Quite upset at finding his friend so wasted, with his face white like a +sheet, and scarce a sign of life save the sparkle of his innocent, loving +eyes, Pierre responded: “But I would have come sooner if I had known you +were in need of me! Why did you not send for me before? Are people being +kept away from you?” + +A faint smile of shame and confession appeared on the old priest’s +embarrassed face. “Well, my dear child,” said he, “you must know that I +have again done some foolish things. Yes, I gave money to some people +who, it seems, were not deserving of it. In fact, there was quite a +scandal; they scolded me at the Archbishop’s palace, and accused me of +compromising the interests of religion. And when they heard that I was +ill, they put that good Sister beside me, because they said that I should +die on the floor, and give the very sheets off my bed if I were not +prevented.” + +He paused to draw breath, and then continued: “So you understand, that +good Sister--oh! she is a very saintly woman--is here to nurse me and +prevent me from still doing foolish things. To overcome her vigilance I +had to use a little deceit, for which God, I trust, will forgive me. As +it happens, it’s precisely my poor who are in question; it was to speak +to 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,” he +answered; “I am yours, both heart and soul.” + +“Yes, yes, I know it, my dear child. It was for that reason that I +thought of you--you alone. In spite of all that has happened, you are the +only one in whom I have any confidence, who can understand me, and give +me a promise which will enable me to die in peace.” + +This was the only allusion he would venture to make to the cruel rupture +which had occurred after the young man had thrown off his cassock and +rebelled against the Church. He had since heard of Pierre’s marriage, and +was aware that he had for ever severed all religious ties. But at that +supreme 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 now +desired was simply the help of that heart which he had seen glowing with +such passionate charity. + +“Well,” he resumed, again finding sufficient strength to smile, “it is a +very simple matter. I want to make you my heir. Oh! it isn’t a fine +legacy I am leaving you; it is the legacy of my poor, for I have nothing +else to bestow on you; I shall leave nothing behind me but my poor.” + +Of these unhappy creatures, three in particular quite upset his heart. He +recoiled from the prospect of leaving them without chance of succour, +without even the crumbs which he had hitherto distributed among them, and +which had enabled them to live. One was the big Old’un, the aged +carpenter whom he and Pierre had vainly sought one night with the object +of sending him to the Asylum for the Invalids of Labour. He had been sent +there a little later, but he had fled three days afterwards, unwilling as +he was to submit to the regulations. Wild and violent, he had the most +detestable disposition. Nevertheless, he could not be left to starve. He +came to Abbé Rose’s every Saturday, it seemed, and received a franc, +which sufficed him for the whole week. Then, too, there was a bedridden +old woman in a hovel in the Rue du Mont-Cenis. The baker, who every +morning took her the bread she needed, must be paid. And in particular +there was a poor young woman residing on the Place du Tertre, one who was +unmarried but a mother. She was dying of consumption, unable to work, and +tortured by the idea that when she should have gone, her daughter must +sink to the pavement like herself. And in this instance the legacy was +twofold: there was the mother to relieve until her death, which was near +at hand, and then the daughter to provide for until she could be placed +in some good household. + +“You must forgive me, my dear child, for leaving you all these worries,” + added Abbé Rose. “I tried to get the good Sister, who is nursing me, to +take an interest in these poor people, but when I spoke to her of the big +Old’un, she was so alarmed that she made the sign of the cross. And it’s +the same with my worthy friend Abbé Tavernier. I know nobody of more +upright mind. Still I shouldn’t be at ease with him, he has ideas of his +own.... 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. “I +shall regard your desires as sacred.” + +“Good! I knew you would accept.... So it is agreed: a franc for the +big Old’un every Saturday, the bread for the bedridden woman, some help +for the poor young mother, and then a home for her little girl. Ah! if +you only knew what a weight it is off my heart! The end may come now, it +will be welcome to me.” + +His kind white face had brightened as if with supreme joy. Holding +Pierre’s hand within his own he detained him beside the bed, exchanging a +farewell full of serene affection. And his voice weakening, he expressed +his whole mind in faint, impressive accents: “Yes, I shall be pleased to +go off. I could do no more, I could do no more! Though I gave and gave, I +felt that it was ever necessary to give more and more. And how sad to +find charity powerless, to give without hope of ever being able to stamp +out want and suffering! I rebelled against that idea of yours, as you +will remember. I told you that we should always love one another in our +poor, and that was true, since you are here, so good and affectionate to +me and those whom I am leaving behind. But, all the same, I can do no +more, I can do no more; and I would rather go off, since the woes of +others rise higher and higher around me, and I have ended by doing the +most foolish things, scandalising the faithful and making my superiors +indignant with me, without even saving one single poor person from the +ever-growing torrent of want. Farewell, my dear child. My poor old heart +goes off aching, my old hands are weary and conquered.” + +Pierre embraced him with his whole soul, and then departed. His eyes were +full of tears and indescribable emotion wrung his heart. Never had he +heard 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 and +sublime benevolence. Ah! what a disaster, that human kindness should be +futile, that the world should always display so much distress and +suffering in spite of all the compassionate tears that had been shed, in +spite of all the alms that had fallen from millions and millions of hands +for centuries and centuries! No wonder that it should bring desire for +death, no wonder that a Christian should feel pleased at escaping from +the abominations of this earth! + +When Pierre again reached the workroom he found that the table had long +since been cleared, and that Bache and Morin were chatting with +Guillaume, whilst the latter’s sons had returned to their customary +occupations. Marie, also, had resumed her usual place at the work-table +in front of Mère-Grand; but from time to time she rose and went to look +at Jean, so as to make sure that he was sleeping peacefully, with his +little clenched fists pressed to his heart. And when Pierre, who kept his +emotion to himself, had likewise leant over the cradle beside the young +woman, whose hair he discreetly kissed, he went to put on an apron in +order 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 room +vanished from before his eyes; he ceased to see or hear the persons who +were there. The scent of Marie’s hair alone lingered on his lips amidst +the acute emotion into which he had been thrown by his visit to Abbé +Rose. A recollection had come to him, that of the bitterly cold morning +when the old priest had stopped him outside the basilica of the Sacred +Heart, and had timidly asked him to take some alms to that old man +Laveuve, 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 not +felt within him, and what a resurrection had come afterwards! He had that +day said one of his last masses, and he recalled with a shudder his +abominable 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 had +simply filled him with pity for any such attempt to revert to the +primitive faith of young nations, who bend beneath the terror born of +ignorance; and, secondly, there had been an experiment at Rome, which he +had found incapable of any renewal, and which he had seen staggering to +its death amidst its ruins, a mere great shadow, which would soon be of +no account, fast sinking, as it was, to the dust of dead religions. And, +in his own mind, Charity itself had become bankrupt; he no longer +believed that alms could cure the sufferings of mankind, he awaited +naught but a frightful catastrophe, fire and massacre, which would sweep +away the guilty, condemned world. His cassock, too, stifled him, a lie +alone kept it on his shoulders, the idea, unbelieving priest though he +was, 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 ensure +the peace of the coming democracies tortured him, but between the +certainties of science and the need of the Divine, which seemed to +consume humanity, he could find no solution. If Christianity crumbled +with the principle of Charity, there could remain nothing else but +Justice, that cry which came from every breast, that battle of Justice +against Charity in which his heart must contend in that great city of +Paris. It was there that began his third and decisive experiment, the +experiment which was to make truth as plain to him as the sun itself, and +give him back health and strength and delight in life. + +At this point of his reverie Pierre was roused by Thomas, who asked him +to fetch a tool. As he did so he heard Bache remarking: “The ministry +resigned this morning. Vignon has had enough of it, he wants to reserve +his remaining strength.” + +“Well, he has lasted more than a twelvemonth,” replied Morin. “That’s +already an achievement.” + +After the crime of Victor Mathis, who had been tried and executed within +three weeks, Monferrand had suddenly fallen from power. What was the use +of having a strong-handed man at the head of the Government if bombs +still continued to terrify the country? Moreover, he had displeased the +Chamber by his voracious appetite, which had prevented him from allowing +others more than an infinitesimal share of all the good things. And this +time he had been succeeded by Vignon, although the latter’s programme of +reforms had long made people tremble. He, Vignon, was honest certainly, +but of all these reforms he had only been able to carry out a few +insignificant ones, for he had found himself hampered by a thousand +obstacles. And thus he had resigned himself to ruling the country as +others had done; and people had discovered that after all there were but +faint 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 bestirring +themselves tremendously,” replied Bache, adding, in a bitter, jesting +way, that Mège, the Collectivist leader, played the part of a dupe in +overthrowing ministry after ministry. He simply gratified the ambition of +each coterie in turn, without any possible chance of attaining to power +himself. + +Thereupon Guillaume pronounced judgment. “Oh! well, let them devour one +another,” said he. “Eager as they all are to reign and dispose of power +and wealth, they only fight over questions of persons. And nothing they +do can prevent the evolution from continuing. Ideas expand, and events +occur, 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 roaming +through the city. Paris seemed to him to be a huge vat, in which a world +fermented, something of the best and something of the worst, a frightful +mixture such as sorceresses might have used; precious powders mingled +with filth, from all of which was to come the philter of love and eternal +youth. And in that vat Pierre first marked the scum of the political +world: Monferrand who strangled Barroux, who purchased the support of +hungry ones such as Fonsègue, Duthil and Chaigneux, who made use of those +who attained to mediocrity, such as Taboureau and Dauvergne; and who +employed even the sectarian passions of Mège and the intelligent ambition +of Vignon as his weapons. Next came money the poisoner, with that affair +of the African Railways, which had rotted the Parliament and turned +Duvillard, the triumphant _bourgeois_, into a public perverter, the very +cancer as it were of the financial world. Then as a just consequence of +all this there was Duvillard’s own home infected by himself, that +frightful drama of Eve contending with her daughter Camille for the +possession of Gérard, then Camille stealing him from her mother, and +Hyacinthe, the son, passing his crazy mistress Rosemonde on to that +notorious harlot Silviane, with whom his father publicly exhibited +himself. Then there was the old expiring aristocracy, with the pale, sad +faces of Madame de Quinsac and the Marquis de Morigny; the old military +spirit whose funeral was conducted by General de Bozonnet; the magistracy +which slavishly served the powers of the day, Amadieu thrusting himself +into notoriety by means of sensational cases, Lehmann, the public +prosecutor, preparing his speeches in the private room of the Minister +whose policy he defended; and, finally, the mendacious and cupid Press +which lived upon scandal, the everlasting flood of denunciation and filth +which poured from Sagnier, and the gay impudence shown by the +unscrupulous and conscienceless Massot, who attacked all and defended +all, by profession and to order! And in the same way as insects, on +discovering one of their own kind dying, will often finish it off and +fatten upon it, so the whole swarm of appetites, interests and passions +had fallen upon a wretched madman, that unhappy Salvat, whose idiotic +crime had brought them all scrambling together, gluttonously eager to +derive some benefit from that starveling’s emaciated carcass. And all +boiled in the huge vat of Paris; the desires, the deeds of violence, the +strivings of one and another man’s will, the whole nameless medley of the +bitterest ferments, whence, in all purity, the wine of the future would +at last flow. + +Then Pierre became conscious of the prodigious work which went on in the +depths of the vat, beneath all the impurity and waste. As his brother had +just said, what mattered the stains, the egotism and greed of +politicians, if humanity were still on the march, ever slowly and +stubbornly stepping forward! What mattered, too, that corrupt and +emasculate _bourgeoisie_, nowadays as moribund as the aristocracy, whose +place it took, if behind it there ever came the inexhaustible reserve of +men who surged up from the masses of the country-sides and the towns! +What mattered the debauchery, the perversion arising from excess of +wealth and power, the luxuriousness and dissoluteness of life, since it +seemed a proven fact that the capitals that had been queens of the world +had never reigned without extreme civilisation, a cult of beauty and of +pleasure! And what mattered even the venality, the transgressions and the +folly of the press, if at the same time it remained an admirable +instrument for the diffusion of knowledge, the open conscience, so to +say, of the nation, a river which, though there might be horrors on its +surface, none the less flowed on, carrying all nations to the brotherly +ocean of the future centuries! The human lees ended by sinking to the +bottom of the vat, and it was not possible to expect that what was right +would triumph visibly every day; for it was often necessary that years +should elapse before the realisation of some hope could emerge from the +fermentation. Eternal matter is ever being cast afresh into the crucible +and ever coming from it improved. And if in the depths of pestilential +workshops and factories the slavery of ancient times subsists in the +wage-earning system, if such men as Toussaint still die of want on their +pallets like broken-down beasts of burden, it is nevertheless a fact that +once already, on a memorable day of tempest, Liberty sprang forth from +the vat to wing her flight throughout the world. And why in her turn +should not Justice spring from it, proceeding from those troubled +elements, freeing herself from all dross, flowing forth with dazzling +limpidity and regenerating the nations? + +However, the voices of Bache and Morin, rising in the course of their +chat with Guillaume, once more drew Pierre from his reverie. They were +now speaking of Janzen, who after being compromised in a fresh outrage at +Barcelona had fled from Spain. Bache fancied that he had recognised him +in the street only the previous day. To think that a man with so clear a +mind and such keen energy should waste his natural gifts in such a +hateful cause! + +“When I remember,” said Morin slowly, “that Barthès lives in exile in a +shabby little room at Brussels, ever quivering with the hope that the +reign of liberty is at hand--he who has never had a drop of blood on his +hands and who has spent two-thirds of his life in prison in order that +the nations may be freed!” + +Bache gently shrugged his shoulders: “Liberty, liberty, of course,” said +he; “only it is worth nothing if it is not organised.” + +Thereupon their everlasting discussion began afresh, with Saint-Simon and +Fourier on one side and Proudhon and Auguste Comte on the other. Bache +gave a long account of the last commemoration which had taken place in +honour of Fourier’s memory, how faithful disciples had brought wreaths +and made speeches, forming quite a meeting of apostles, who all +stubbornly clung to their faith, as confident in the future as if they +were the messengers of some new gospel. Afterwards Morin emptied his +pockets, which were always full of Positivist tracts and pamphlets, +manifestos, answers and so forth, in which Comte’s doctrines were +extolled as furnishing the only possible basis for the new, awaited +religion. Pierre, who listened, thereupon remembered the disputes in his +little house at Neuilly when he himself, searching for certainty, had +endeavoured to draw up the century’s balance-sheet. He had lost his +depth, in the end, amidst the contradictions and incoherency of the +various precursors. Although Fourier had sprung from Saint-Simon, he +denied him in part, and if Saint-Simon’s doctrine ended in a kind of +mystical sensuality, the other’s conducted to an inacceptable regimenting +of society. Proudhon, for his part, demolished without rebuilding +anything. Comte, who created method and declared science to be the one +and only sovereign, had not even suspected the advent of the social +crisis which now threatened to sweep 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 so blind that the truths common to +them all at first seemed obscured and disfigured beyond recognition. Now, +however, that evolution had slowly transformed Pierre, those common +truths seemed to him as irrefutable, as clear as the sunlight itself. +Amidst the chaos of conflicting assertions which was to be found in the +gospels of those social messiahs, there were certain similar phrases and +principles which recurred again and again, the defence of the poor, the +idea of a new and just division of the riches of the world in accordance +with individual labour and merit, and particularly the search for a new +law of labour which would enable this fresh distribution to be made +equitably. Since all the precursory men of genius agreed so closely upon +those points, must they not be the very foundations of to-morrow’s new +religion, the necessary faith which this century must bequeath to the +coming century, in order that the latter may make of it a human religion +of peace, solidarity and love? + +Then, all at once, there came a leap in Pierre’s thoughts. He fancied +himself at the Madeleine once more, listening to the address on the New +Spirit delivered by Monseigneur Martha, who had predicted that Paris, now +reconverted to Christianity, would, thanks to the Sacred Heart, become +the ruler of the world. But no, but no! If Paris reigned, it was because +it was able to exercise its intelligence freely. To set the cross and the +mystic and repulsive symbolism of a bleeding heart above it was simply so +much falsehood. Although they might rear edifices of pride and domination +as if to crush Paris with their very weight, although they might try to +stop science in the name of a dead ideal and in the hope of setting their +clutches upon the coming century, these attempts would be of no avail. +Science will end by sweeping away all remnants of their ancient +sovereignty, their basilica will crumble beneath the breeze of Truth +without any necessity of raising a finger against it. The trial has been +made, the Gospel as a social code has fallen to pieces, and human wisdom +can only retain account of its moral maxims. Ancient Catholicism is on +all sides crumbling into dust, Catholic Rome is a mere field of ruins +from which the nations turn aside, anxious as they are for a religion +that shall not be a religion of death. In olden times the overburdened +slave, 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 be +rewarded with eternal enjoyment. But now that science has destroyed that +false idea of a heaven, and shown what dupery lies in reliance on the +morrow of death, the slave, the workman, weary of dying for happiness’ +sake, demands that justice and happiness shall find place upon this +earth. Therein lies the new hope--Justice, after eighteen hundred years +of impotent Charity. Ah! in a thousand years from now, when Catholicism +will be naught but a very ancient superstition of the past, how amazed +men will be to think that their ancestors were able to endure that +religion of torture and nihility! How astonished they will feel on +finding that God was regarded as an executioner, that manhood was +threatened, maimed and chastised, that nature was accounted an enemy, +that life was looked upon as something accursed, and that death alone was +pronounced sweet and liberating! For well-nigh two thousand years the +onward march of mankind has been hampered by the odious idea of tearing +all that is human away from man: his desires, his passions, his free +intelligence, his will and right of action, his whole strength. And how +glorious will be the awakening when such virginity as is now honoured by +the Church is held in derision, when fruitfulness is again recognised as +a virtue, amidst the hosanna of all the freed forces of nature--man’s +desires which will be honoured, his passions which will be utilised, his +labour which will be exalted, whilst life is loved and ever and ever +creates love afresh! + +A new religion! a new religion! Pierre remembered the cry which had +escaped him at Lourdes, and which he had repeated at Rome in presence of +the collapse of old Catholicism. But he no longer displayed the same +feverish eagerness as then--a puerile, sickly desire that a new Divinity +should at once reveal himself, an ideal come into being, complete in all +respects, with dogmas and form of worship. The Divine certainly seemed to +be as necessary to man as were bread and water; he had ever fallen back +upon it, hungering for the mysterious, seemingly having no other means of +consolation than that of annihilating himself in the unknown. But who can +say that science will not some day quench the thirst for what lies beyond +us? If the domain of science embraces the acquired truths, it also +embraces, and will ever do so, the truths that remain to be acquired. And +in front of it will there not ever remain a margin for the thirst of +knowledge, for the hypotheses which are but so much ideality? Besides, is +not 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 and +be able to do all, will not that yearning be quieted and end by mingling +with the love of acquired truth? A religion grafted on science is the +indicated, certain, inevitable finish of man’s long march towards +knowledge. He will come to it at last as to a natural haven, as to peace +in the midst of certainty, after passing every form of ignorance and +terror on his road. And is there not already some indication of such a +religion? Has not the idea of the duality of God and the Universe been +brushed aside, and is not the principle of unity, _monisme_, becoming +more and more evident--unity leading to solidarity, and the sole law of +life proceeding by evolution from the first point of the ether that +condensed to create the world? But if precursors, scientists and +philosophers--Darwin, Fourier and all the others--have sown the seed of +to-morrow’s religion by casting the good word to the passing breeze, how +many centuries will doubtless be required to raise the crop! People +always forget that before Catholicism grew up and reigned in the +sunlight, it spent four centuries in germinating and sprouting from the +soil. Well, then, grant some centuries to this religion of science of +whose sprouting there are signs upon all sides, and by-and-by the +admirable ideas of some Fourier will be seen expanding and forming a new +gospel, with desire serving as the lever to raise the world, work +accepted by one and all, honoured and regulated as the very mechanism of +natural and social life, and the passions of man excited, contented and +utilised for human happiness! The universal cry of Justice, which rises +louder 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 for +this happiness towards which human beings are tending, the happiness that +embodies the complete satisfaction of man’s needs, and the principle of +life loved for its own sake, in the midst of peace and the expansion of +every force and every joy. The time will come when this Kingdom of God +will be set upon the earth; so why not close that other deceptive +paradise, even if the weak-minded must momentarily suffer from the +destruction of their illusions; for it is necessary to operate even with +cruelty on the blind if they are to be extricated from their misery, from +their 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 he +had suddenly remembered that he himself was now saved, freed from +falsehood and fright, restored to good and healthy nature. How he +quivered as he recalled that he had once fancied himself lost, blotted +out of life, and that a prodigy of love had extricated him from his +nothingness, still strong and sound, since that dear child of his was +there, sturdy and smiling. Life had brought forth life; and truth had +burst forth, as dazzling as the sun. He had made his third experiment +with Paris, and this had been conclusive; it had been no wretched +miscarriage with increase of darkness and grief, like his other +experiments at Lourdes and Rome. In the first place, the law of labour +had been revealed to him, and he had imposed upon himself a task, as +humble a one as it was, that manual calling which he was learning so late +in life, but which was, nevertheless, a form of labour, and one in which +he would never fail, one too that would lend him the serenity which comes +from the accomplishment of duty, for life itself was but labour: it was +only 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 a +long and circuitous journey he had made to reach this finish at once so +natural and so simple! How he had suffered, how much error and anger he +had known before doing what all men ought to do! That eager, glowing love +which had contended against his reason, which had bled at sight of the +arrant absurdities of the miraculous grotto of Lourdes, which had bled +again too in presence of the haughty decline of the Vatican, had at last +found contentment now that he was husband and father, now that he had +confidence in work and believed in the just laws of life. And thence had +come the indisputable truth, the one solution--happiness in certainty. + +Whilst Pierre was thus plunged in thought, Bache and Morin had already +gone off with their customary handshakes and promises to come and chat +again some evening. And as Jean was now crying more loudly, Marie took +him 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!” she +said. “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 the +sight of that pink, gluttonous little creature imbibing life from that +lovely 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 Mère-Grand, she who as a rule was so serious and silent, began to +talk 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 the +last time. And if you had only seen how good he was, the darling! He will +be 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’s +fifteen, if he likes, I’ll tell him how to be a man.... Don’t you +agree with me, Thomas? And you, Antoine, and you, too, François?” + +Raising their heads, the three sons gaily nodded their approval, grateful +as they felt for the lessons in heroism which she had given them, and +apparently finding no reason why she might not live another twenty years +in order to give similar lessons to Jean. + +Pierre still remained in front of Marie, basking in all the rapture of +love, when he felt Guillaume lay his hands upon his shoulders from +behind. 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 suffered +solely from the battle between your mind and your heart, and that you +would find quietude again when you loved what you could understand? It +was necessary that our father and mother, whose painful quarrel had +continued beyond the grave, should be reconciled in you. And now it’s +done, they sleep in peace within you, since you yourself are pacified.” + +These words filled Pierre with emotion. Joy beamed upon his face, which +was now so open and energetic. He still had the towering brow, that +impregnable fortress of reason, which he had derived from his father, and +he still had the gentle chin and affectionate eyes and mouth which his +mother had given him, but all was now blended together, instinct with +happy harmony and serene strength. Those two experiments of his which had +miscarried, were like crises of his maternal heredity, the tearful +tenderness which had come to him from his mother, and which for lack of +satisfaction had made him desperate; and his third experiment had only +ended in happiness because he had contented his ardent thirst for love in +accordance with sovereign reason, that paternal heredity which pleaded so +loudly within him. Reason remained the queen. And if his sufferings had +thus always come from the warfare which his reason had waged against his +heart, it was because he was man personified, ever struggling between his +intelligence and his passions. And how peaceful all seemed, now that he +had reconciled and satisfied them both, now that he felt healthy, perfect +and strong, like some lofty oak, which grows in all freedom, and whose +branches spread far away over the forest. + +“You have done good work in that respect,” Guillaume affectionately +continued, “for yourself and for all of us, and even for our dear parents +whose shades, pacified and reconciled, now abide so peacefully in the +little 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 Jean +must 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 eyes +he asked: “And you--are you happy?” + +“Yes, very happy, happier than I have ever been; happy at loving you as I +do, 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 and +heroic affection that can blend men together. And they embraced one +another whilst, with her babe on her breast, Marie, so gay, healthful and +loyal, looked at them and smiled, with big tears gathering in her eyes. + +Thomas, however, having finished his motor’s last toilet, had just set it +in motion. It was a prodigy of lightness and strength, of no weight +whatever in comparison with the power it displayed. And it worked with +perfect smoothness, without noise or smell. The whole family was gathered +round it in delight, when there came a timely visit, one from the learned +and friendly Bertheroy, whom indeed Guillaume had asked to call, in order +that he might see the motor working. + +The great chemist at once expressed his admiration; and when he had +examined the mechanism and understood how the explosive was employed as +motive power--an idea which he had long recommended,--he tendered +enthusiastic congratulations to Guillaume and Thomas. “You have created a +little marvel,” said he, “one which may have far-reaching effects both +socially and humanly. Yes, yes, pending the invention of the electrical +motor which we have not yet arrived at, here is an ideal one, a system of +mechanical traction for all sorts of vehicles. Even aerial navigation may +now become a possibility, and the problem of force at home is finally +solved. And what a grand step! What sudden progress! Distance again +diminished, all roads thrown open, and men able to fraternise! This is a +great boon, a splendid gift, my good friends, that you are bestowing on +the world.” + +Then he began to jest about the new explosive, whose prodigious power he +had divined, and which he now found put to such a beneficent purpose. +“And to think, Guillaume,” he said, “that I fancied you acted with so +much mysteriousness and hid the formula of your powder from me because +you had an idea of blowing up Paris!” + +At this Guillaume became grave and somewhat pale. And he confessed the +truth. “Well, I did for a moment think of it.” + +However, Bertheroy went on laughing, as if he regarded this answer as +mere repartee, though truth to tell he had felt a slight chill sweep +through his hair. “Well, my friend,” he said, “you have done far better +in offering the world this marvel, which by the way must have been both a +difficult and dangerous matter. So here is a powder which was intended to +exterminate people, and which in lieu thereof will now increase their +comfort and welfare. In the long run things always end well, as I’m quite +tired of saying.” + +On beholding such lofty and tolerant good nature, Guillaume felt moved. +Bertheroy’s words were true. What had been intended for purposes of +destruction served the cause of progress; the subjugated, domesticated +volcano became labour, peace and civilisation. Guillaume had even +relinquished all idea of his engine of battle and victory; he had found +sufficient satisfaction in this last invention of his, which would +relieve men of some measure of weariness, and help to reduce their labour +to just so much effort as there must always be. In this he detected some +little advance towards Justice; at all events it was all that he himself +could contribute to the cause. And when on turning towards the window he +caught sight of the basilica of the Sacred Heart, he could not explain +what insanity had at one moment come over him, and set him dreaming of +idiotic and useless destruction. Some miasmal gust must have swept by, +something born of want that scattered germs of anger and vengeance. But +how blind it was to think that destruction and murder could ever bear +good fruit, ever sow the soil with plenty and happiness! Violence cannot +last, and all it does is to rouse man’s feeling of solidarity even among +those on whose behalf one kills. The people, the great multitude, rebel +against the isolated individual who seeks to wreak justice. No one man +can take upon himself the part of the volcano; this is the whole +terrestrial crust, the whole multitude which internal fire impels to rise +and throw up either an Alpine chain or a better and freer society. And +whatever heroism there may be in their madness, however great and +contagious may be their thirst for martyrdom, murderers are never +anything but murderers, whose deeds simply sow the seeds of horror. And +if on the one hand Victor Mathis had avenged Salvat, he had also slain +him, so universal had been the cry of reprobation roused by the second +crime, which was yet more monstrous and more useless than the first. + +Guillaume, laughing in his turn, replied to Bertheroy in words which +showed how completely he was cured: “You are right,” he said, “all ends +well since all contributes to truth and justice. Unfortunately, thousands +of years are sometimes needed for any progress to be accomplished.... +However, for my part, I am simply going to put my new explosive on the +market, so that those who secure the necessary authorisation may +manufacture 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 of +the Institute laden with offices and honours, pointed to the little +motor, and replied with all the vigour of his seventy years: “But that is +revolution, the true, the only revolution. It is with things like that +and not with stupid bombs that one revolutionises the world! It is not by +destroying, but by creating, that you have just done the work of a +revolutionist. And how many times already have I not told you that +science 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 the +benefit of those who will come after us, and prepares the triumph of +truth, justice and peace.... Ah, my dear child, if you wish to +overturn the world by striving to set a little more happiness in it, you +have only to remain in your laboratory here, for human happiness can +spring only from the furnace of the scientist.” + +He spoke perhaps in a somewhat jesting way, but one could feel that he +was convinced of it all, that he held everything excepting science in +utter contempt. He had not even shown any surprise when Pierre had cast +his cassock aside; and on finding him there with his wife and child he +had not scrupled to show him as much affection as in the past. + +Meantime, however, the motor was travelling hither and thither, making no +more noise than a bluebottle buzzing in the sunshine. The whole happy +family was gathered about it, still laughing with delight at such a +victorious 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 by +itself. At sight of it, his eyes sparkled, dimples appeared on his plump +cheeks, and, stretching out his quivering chubby hands, he raised a crow +of delight. + +Marie, who was quietly fastening her dress, smiled at his glee and +brought 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’s +strong; it’s quite alive, you see.” + +The others, standing around, were much amused by the amazed, enraptured +expression 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 and +things. And Paris too is a motor, a boiler in which the future is +boiling, while we scientists keep the eternal flame burning underneath. +Guillaume, my good fellow, you are one of the stokers, one of the +artisans of the future, with that little marvel of yours, which will +still further extend the influence of our great Paris over the whole +world.” + +These words impressed Pierre, and he again thought of a gigantic vat +stretching yonder from one horizon to the other, a vat in which the +coming century would emerge from an extraordinary mixture of the +excellent and the vile. But now, over and above all passions, ambitions, +stains and waste, he was conscious of the colossal expenditure of labour +which marked the life of Paris, of the heroic manual efforts in +work-shops and factories, and the splendid striving of the young men of +intellect whom he knew to be hard at work, studying in silence, +relinquishing none of the conquests of their elders, but glowing with +desire to enlarge their domain. And in all this Paris was exalted, +together with the future that was being prepared within it, and which +would wing its flight over the world bright like the dawn of day. If +Rome, now so near its death, had ruled the ancient world, it was Paris +that reigned with sovereign sway over the modern era, and had for the +time become the great centre of the nations as they were carried on from +civilisation to civilisation, in a sunward course from east to west. +Paris was the world’s brain. Its past so full of grandeur had prepared it +for the part of initiator, civiliser and liberator. Only yesterday it had +cast the cry of Liberty among the nations, and to-morrow it would bring +them the religion of Science, the new faith awaited by the democracies. +And Paris was also gaiety, kindness and gentleness, passion for knowledge +and generosity without limit. Among the workmen of its faubourgs and the +peasants of its country-sides there were endless reserves of men on whom +the future might freely draw. And the century ended with Paris, and the +new century would begin and spread with it. All the clamour of its +prodigious labour, all the light that came from it as from a beacon +overlooking the earth, all the thunder and tempest and triumphant +brightness that sprang from its entrails, were pregnant with that final +splendour, 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 a +harvest of gold!” + +They all re-echoed her admiration, for the effect was really one of +extraordinary magnificence. The declining sun was once more veiling the +immensity of Paris with golden dust. But this was no longer the city of +the sower, a chaos of roofs and edifices suggesting brown land turned up +by some huge plough, whilst the sun-rays streamed over it like golden +seed, falling upon every side. Nor was it the city whose divisions had +one day seemed so plain to Pierre: eastward, the districts of toil, misty +with the grey smoke of factories; southward, the districts of study, +serene and quiet; westward, the districts of wealth, bright and open; and +in the centre the districts of trade, with dark and busy streets. It now +seemed as if one and the same crop had sprung up on every side, imparting +harmony to everything, and making the entire expanse one sole, boundless +field, rich with the same fruitfulness. There was corn, corn everywhere, +an infinity of corn, whose golden wave rolled from one end of the horizon +to the other. Yes, the declining sun steeped all Paris in equal +splendour, and it was truly the crop, the harvest, after the sowing! + +“Look! just look,” repeated Marie, “there is not a nook without its +sheaf; the humblest roofs are fruitful, and every blade is full-eared +wherever one may look. It is as if there were now but one and the same +soil, reconciled and fraternal. Ah! Jean, my little Jean, look! see how +beautiful it is!” + +Pierre, who was quivering, had drawn close beside her. And Mère-Grand and +Bertheroy smiled upon that promise of a future which they would not see, +whilst beside Guillaume, whom the sight filled with emotion, were his +three big sons, the three young giants, looking quite grave, they who +ever laboured and were ever hopeful. Then Marie, with a fine gesture of +enthusiasm, stretched out her arms and raised her child aloft, as if +offering 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, and +where in glory waved the great future harvest of Truth and of Justice. + +THE END + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THREE CITIES TRILOGY *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for +copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very +easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation +of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project +Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may +do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected +by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark +license, especially commercial redistribution. + +START: FULL LICENSE + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the +person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph +1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the +Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when +you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country other than the United States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work +on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: + + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and + most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no + restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it + under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this + eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the + United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where + you are located before using this eBook. + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format +other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain +Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +provided that: + +* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation." + +* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm + works. + +* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + +* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of +the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set +forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at +www.gutenberg.org + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, +Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up +to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website +and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without +widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular +state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our website which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + |
