Society soon learned the news of the Countess Hermenstein's betrothal
to the "eccentric Englishman," Aubrey Leigh,--and with its million
tongues discussed the affair in all tones,--most people preferring to
say, with the usual "society" kindness, that--"Leigh was not quite such
a self-sacrificing idealist as he seemed to be,--he was going to marry
for money." Some few ventured to remark that Sylvie Hermenstein was
charming in herself and well worth winning,--but the more practical
pooh-poohed this view of the case at once. "Pretty women are to be had
by the score," they said, "It is the money that tells!" Aubrey Leigh
caught these rumours, and was in a manner stung by them,--he said very
little however, and to all the congratulations he received, merely gave
coldly civil thanks. And so the gossips went to work again in their own
peculiar way, and said, "Well! She will have an iceberg for a husband,
that is one thing! A stuck up, insolent sort of chap!--not a bit of go
in him!" Which was true,--Aubrey had no "go." "Go" means, in modern
parlance, to drink oneself stupid, to bet on the most trifling passing
events, and to talk slang that would disgrace a stable-boy, as well as
to amuse oneself with all sorts of mean and vulgar intrigues which are
carried on through the veriest skulk and caddishness;--thus Aubrey was
a sad failure in "tip-top" circles. But the "tip-top" circles are not a
desirable heaven to every man;--and Aubrey did not care much as to what
sort of comments were passed on himself, provided he could see Sylvie
always "queen it" over her inferiors in that graceful, gracious way of
conquest which was her special peculiarity and charm. Among her friends
no one perhaps was happier in Sylvie's happiness than Angela Sovrani;
her nature was of that rare quality which vibrates like a harp to every
touch, and the joy of others swept over her with a gladness which made
her more glad than if she had received some priceless boon for her own
benefit. Florian Varillo was exceedingly angry at the whole
affair,--and whenever Sylvie's betrothal was spoken of he assumed an
expression of pained and personal offence which was almost grotesque.
"Such a marriage is ridiculous!" he declared,--"Everyone can see how
utterly unsuited the two are in tastes, habits and opinions! They will
rue the day they ever met!"
And not all the gentle remonstrances of his own fiancee Angela, could
soothe his ruffled humour, or make him accept the inevitable with
grace. Angela was exceedingly troubled and puzzled by his almost
childish waywardness,--she did not yet understand the nature of a man
who was to himself all in all, and who could not endure the idea that
any woman whom he personally condescended to admire should become the
possession of another, no matter how completely that woman might be
beyond his own reach. Poor Angela! She was very simple--very foolish
indeed;--she never imagined it could be possible for a man to carry on
five or six love-affairs at once, and never be found out. Yet this was
the kind of life her "ideal" found the most suitable to his habit and
temperament,--and he had made a mental note of Sylvie Hermenstein as
one whom he proposed to add to his little list of conquests. So that
her engagement of marriage to one who, though reserved in manner and
without "go," was yet every inch a gentleman, and a determined opposer
of sophistry and humbug, had considerably disturbed his little plans,
and the unsettlement of anything he had set his heart upon greatly
displeased him. He generally had his own way in most things, and could
not at all comprehend why he was not to have it now. But among all the
people who discussed the intended marriage there were two who were so
well satisfied as to be almost jubilant, and these were the Monsignori
Moretti and Gherardi. These worthies met together in one of the private
chambers set apart for the use of the Papal court in the Vatican, and
heartily congratulated each other on the subjugation and enthralment of
Aubrey Leigh, which meant, as they considered, the consequent removal
of a fierce opponent to the Roman Catholic movement in England.
"Did I not tell you," said Moretti, as he untied some papers he had
been carrying, and sat down at a table to glance over them, "Did I not
tell you that when all other arguments fail, the unanswerable one of
woman can be brought in to clinch every business?"
Gherardi, though in a way contented, was not altogether so sure of his
goal. He remembered, with an uncomfortable thrill of doubt, the little
skirmish of words he had had with the fair Sylvie in the Pamphili woods.
"You take your thoughts for deeds, and judge them as fully accomplished
while they are still in embryo!" he said, "It is true that the
engagement of marriage is settled,--but can you be certain that in
religious matters the wife may not go with her husband?"
"What!" exclaimed Moretti, opening his dark eyes quickly, as a flash of
hell-fire illumined them at the very idea, "Do you suggest that Sylvie
Hermenstein,--the last of her race--a race which, back to its earliest
source, has been distinguished for its faithful allegiance to
Mother-Church, and has moreover added largely to the Papal
revenues--could be otherwise than our obedient and docile daughter? Per
la Santissima Madonna!--if I thought she could turn against us her
marriage should never take place!"
And he brought his fist down with a fierce blow on the papers before
him.
"The marriage should never take place!" echoed Gherardi, "How could you
prevent it?"
"The Pope himself should intervene!" said Moretti, with increasing
fury, losing a little of his self-control, "Gran Dio! Conceive for a
moment the wealth of the Hermensteins being used to promulgate the
reformer Leigh's threadbare theories, and feed his rascal poor! Do you
know what Sylvie Hermenstein's fortune is? No, I suppose you do not!
But I do! She tries to keep it a secret, but I have made it my business
to find out! It is enormous!--and it is ever increasing. With all the
fanciful creature's clothes and jewels and unthinking way of living her
life, she spends not a quarter, nor half a quarter of her income,--and
yet you actually venture to suggest that her power is so slight over
the man who is now her promised husband, that she would voluntarily
allow him to use all that huge amount of money as he pleased, OUTSIDE
the Church?"
Moretti spoke with such passionate insistence that Gherardi thought it
prudent not to irritate him further by argument. So he merely said,
"You expect her to persuade him to embrace our faith?"
"Naturally!" answered Moretti, "And she can, and will do so. If she
cannot or will not, she must be MADE to do so!"
He bent over his papers again and rustled them impatiently, but his
hand trembled. The pale December sunlight glittered through a
stained-glass window above him, and cast deep violet rays about his
chair,--Gherardi stood where the same luminance touched his pale face
with a crimson glow as of fire.
"This is a busy morning with us," said Moretti, without looking up,
"The excommunication of Denis Vergniaud will be pronounced
to-day,--and, what is even more important,--Cardinal Bonpre is summoned
by His Holiness's command to wait upon him this afternoon, bringing the
boy,--that boy who is always with him--"
"Ah, there is a history there!" interrupted Gherardi, "It should be
remembered that this boy was a witness of the miracle in Rouen, and he
was also present at the Vergniaud scandal in Paris--he should have been
sent for ere now. He, more than anyone, must surely know how the
miracle was accomplished,--for the worthy Felix tells me he is 'wise
beyond his years'!"
"So! His wisdom will be put to the test to-day!" said Moretti coldly,
"Do you not think it strange"--here he raised his eyes from his papers,
"and somewhat incriminating too--always supposing the miracle is a case
of conspiracy--that no trace has been discovered of the man Claude
Cazeau?"
Gherardi had moved to a book-case, and was standing close to it,
turning over a vellum-bound manuscript.
"Yes--the whole business looks as black as murder!" he said.
Moretti looked at him sharply.
"Murder? You suppose--"
"That Claude Cazeau has been murdered? Certainly I suppose it! It is
more than a week now since we heard that he had mysteriously
disappeared, and still there is no news. What can it be but murder? But
I do not for a moment suppose that our good Saint Felix is concerned in
it!"
And he smiled, turning over the vellum volume carelessly.
Moretti knitted his dark brows.
"No--no!" he said musingly, "That would not be possible! Cardinal
Bonpre is not that kind of man--he would rather bear the heaviest
weight of punishment for himself than allow another to suffer. That I
KNOW of him;--and though I do not admire his extreme views on this
point, and do not think them politic, I give him full credit for this
particular and uncommon form of--eccentricity!"
"Or Christianity!" said Gherardi, still smiling.
Moretti pushed aside his papers, and leaning his head on one hand
frowned meditatively at the amethyst light which streamed radiantly
through the jewel-like window above him. "Yes--or Christianity, if you
like!" he said, "For Christianity pur et simple, WOULD be eccentricity.
In its primitive simplicity it is an impossible creed. Founded by the
Divine it needs divine beings to comprehend and follow it,--beings not
of this world nor addicted to the things of this world. And to exist in
the world, made of the world's clay, and the world's inherited
associations, and yet not be of it, is to be judged crazed! True, there
have been saints and martyrs,--there are saints and martyrs now,
unknown and unheard of, but nevertheless consumed by flames more cruel
perhaps than those which physically burn the flesh;--idealists,
thinkers, dreamers, heralds of future progress,--and how are they
estimated? As madmen all! To be human, and yet above humanity, is the
supreme sin! For that very affront the multitude cried out, 'Not this
man, but Barabbas!' And to this day we all prefer Barabbas to Christ.
Hence the power of the Church!"
Gherardi put back the volume he had been glancing at, on its shelf, and
looked at his confrere with a certain amount of admiring respect. He
had been long an interested student of the various psychological
workings of Moretti's mind,--and he knew that Moretti's scheming brain
was ever hard at work designing bold and almost martial plans for
securing such conversions to the Church as would seriously trouble the
peace of two or three great nations. Moretti was in close personal
touch with every crowned head in Europe; he was acquainted more closely
than anyone alive with the timidities, the nervous horrors, the sudden
scruples, the sickening qualms of conscience, and the overwhelming
fears of death which troubled the minds of certain powerful personages
apparently presenting a brave front to the world,--and he held such
personages in awe by the very secrets which they had, in weak moments,
entrusted to him. Gherardi even was not without his own fears,--he
instinctively felt that Moretti knew more about himself than was either
safe or convenient.
"We all live for Barabbas," pursued Moretti, an ironical smile playing
on his thin lips, "Not for Christ! Barabbas, in the shape of the
unscrupulous millionaire, robs the world!--and we share the spoils,
pardon his robberies, and set him free. But whosoever lives outside
Dogma, serving God purely and preaching truth,--him we crucify!--but
our Robber,--our murderer of Truth, we set at liberty! Hence, as I said
before, the power of the Church!"
Carried away by his thoughts, he rose, and pacing the room, talked more
to himself than to Gherardi.
"The Church supports the robber, because he is always a coward and
cannot stand alone. The murderer of his fellow-men's good name is
naturally a liar, and fears lest his lies should find him out. Fear!
That is the keynote on which we of Rome play our invincible march of
triumph! The Church appeals to the ignorant, the base, the sensual, the
false, and the timorous; and knowing that they never repent, but are
only afraid, retains them by fear!--fear, not love! Christ taught
love--but hate is the more popular virtue! Hence again, the power of
the Church!"
"Your argument is perfectly orthodox!" said Gherardi, with a smile.
"Hate is a grand, a strong quality!" went on Moretti, "It makes
nations, it builds up creeds! If men loved one another what should they
need of a Church? But Hate!--the subtle sense which makes the
ultra-respectable thank God that he is not as other men are!--the
fierce emotion which almost touches ecstacy when the wronged individual
thinks his enemy will go to hell!--the fine fever which sets father
against son, creed against creed, nation against nation!--hate is the
chief mainspring of human motives! From hate and envy spring emulation
and conquest--and we of the Church encourage the haters to hate on!
They make Us!--they emulate each other in the greed of their gifts to
us, which give them notoriety and advertise their generosity,--WE fan
the flame and encourage the fury! For the world must have a
religion--it crucified Christ, but the Church, built up in His name,
takes just and daily revenge for His murder! We do not save--we kill!
We do not rescue--we trample down! We humiliate,--we crush wherever we
can, and it is well and fitting we should do so! For Humanity is a
brute beast, and serves us best under the lash. Rome made many a
blunder in the old days of barbarity and ignorance--but now we have a
thousand forces put into our hands instead of one or two,--forces to
terrorise--forces to compel!--and the power of Rome wielded by the
Popes of the days to come, shall be indeed a power irresistible!"
He stood enrapt,--his hand upraised, his eyes flashing, then recalling
himself, turned abruptly on Gherardi with an impatient gesture.
"You can repeat all this," he said sarcastically, "in your next
eloquent discourse with Aubrey Leigh! It will save you the trouble of
thinking! His influence with the English masses will be but a brief
phenomenon,--the blind and brutal stupidity of the people he seeks to
serve will soon dishearten and discourage him, and then he will come to
us through his wife, and his conversion will be a triumph worth
winning,--a step in the right direction. And now to other matters.
These papers," and he sat down at the table once more, "are, I think,
sufficiently in order to be placed before His Holiness. But you may as
well look through them with me first. Later on, the affair of Cardinal
Bonpre will occupy all our time . . ."
"It is an 'affair' then?" asked Gherardi, "The 'saint' is in trouble?"
"All 'saints' get into trouble!" answered Moretti, "It is only sinners
who receive honour! Cardinal Bonpre has made the fatal mistake of
reading Jesus Christ's Gospel instead of Church Doctrine! His creed is
Love,--his duty, as I have just explained to you, if he would be a
faithful son of the Church, is Hate!"
"Love forms no part of your nature then?" asked Gherardi, hardly
knowing why he put the question, yet curious as to the answer.
"I am of the world!" replied Moretti coldly, "And I hate accordingly. I
hate, and in my hate, aspire to crush those who in turn hate me! That
is the human code, and one that must be strictly practised by all who
would rule mankind. Never do anything for those who can do nothing for
you! Firmly oppose those who oppose you! Revenge yourself on those who
despitefully use you! We do revenge ourselves,--and we reward all who
help us to our revenge! For example, Denis Vergniaud has cast
opprobrium on his calling, and made a scandal and a shame of the Church
before his congregation in Paris;--we excommunicate him! It is no use,
but we do it on principle. And we are still unable to explain away, or
offer any excuse for Cardinal Bonpre's mistake in condoning and
pardoning his offence. Therefore it follows as you say, that the
'saint' is in trouble!"
"Notwithstanding the miracle?"
"Notwithstanding the miracle!" echoed Moretti, "For the miracle is
doubtful. The Holy Father is not satisfied of its truth. Yes--there is
no doubt about it, Saint Felix is in trouble! It would be better for
him had he never come out of his long retirement. But perhaps he was
compelled to look after his Rouen foundling!"
A smile flickered faintly over Gherardi's face, but he said not a word
in answer. Discovering an error in one of the documents he was
examining, he called Moretti's attention to it, and the conversation
drifted to everyday trivial subjects. But the thoughts of both men were
elsewhere, and not even the news received that morning of the bequest
of one hundred thousand pounds to the Shrine of Lourdes from a deluded
believer in the miraculous Virgin there, absorbed so much of their
reflective brain powers as the imminent trial--for it was little
else--of Cardinal Bonpre, in the presence of the boy to whom he so
openly gave his confidence and protection.
Meanwhile, the good Felix himself was very sorely troubled. During his
sojourn in Rome, he had grown thinner and paler, and the fine,
spiritual delicacy of his features had become more intensified, while
his clear blue eyes shone from under their deeply arched brows with a
flashing luminance that was almost unearthly. Often, when about to
enter his room with unthinking haste, his brother-in-law, Prince
Pietro, would see him kneeling before his crucifix absorbed, one might
almost say entranced, in prayer. And he would softly move away again
with a deep sense of awe, and a feeling that some higher power than any
on earth, sustained the venerable prelate, and inspired both his words
and actions. But with all his patient, sometimes passionate prayer,
earnest meditations, and constant study of the Gospels, the Cardinal
himself was more or less heavy-hearted,--and his Master's phrase--"My
soul is exceeding sorrowful even unto death!" was one which he often
breathed in the solitude and extremity of his own position. The news of
the disappearance of Claude Cazeau had materially added to his
difficulties--and now he had been commanded, with a certain
peremptoriness in the summons, to wait upon the Sovereign Pontiff in a
private audience, bringing with him the boy who could, or would give no
further account of himself than that of a world's waif and stray.
Prepared for this visit and arrayed in all the splendour befitting his
rank in the Church, the gentle old man looked paler and more fragile
than ever, and the vague trouble he felt at the express injunction laid
upon him concerning Manuel, showed itself in the deep furrows of
anxiety marked upon his brow, and the pain in his thoughtful eyes.
Prince Pietro's own man-servant had assisted him to dress for the
impending ceremonial, and just as the last folds of his regal attire
were being set in place a knock was heard at the door of his apartment,
and Prince Pietro himself entered.
"A telegram for you, brother Felix," he said, "I have brought it
myself, thinking it may perhaps immediately concern your visit to the
Pope to-day."
The Cardinal, with a gentle word of thanks, opened the envelope handed
to him.
"Praise be to God!" he said simply, as he read its contents, "Vergniaud
has passed to the Higher tribunal!"
And he crossed himself reverently on brow and breast.
"Dead?" exclaimed Sovrani.
"To this world, yes!" answered Bonpre, "He died peacefully last night.
This message is from his son."
A faint ironical smile flickered over Sovrani's dark features.
"The ban of excommunication has not been declared!" he said, "It will
be a somewhat belated announcement!"
Cardinal Bonpre folded the telegram, ready to take with him to the
Vatican.
"The Church can excommunicate even the dead!" he said sorrowfully, "If
such an extreme measure is judged politic it will doubtless be carried
out!"
"Wonderful Christian charity," murmured Sovrani under his breath, "to
excommunicate a corpse! For that is all they can do. The Soul of the
man is God's affair!"
Cardinal Bonpre answered nothing, for just then the young Manuel
entered the room, in readiness to accompany his venerable protector and
friend to the Vatican, and the old man's eyes rested upon him with a
wistful, wondering trouble and anxiety which he could not conceal.
Manuel smiled up at him--that rare and beautiful smile which was like
sunshine in darkness--but the Cardinal's sad expression did not alter.
"The Abbe Vergniaud is no more," he said gently, as the boy drew near,
"His sins and sufferings are ended!"
"And his joys have begun!" answered Manuel, "For he set his life right
with the world before he left it!"
"Child, you talk as a very wise man might!" said Prince Sovrani, his
rugged brows smoothing into a kindly smile. "But the unfortunate Abbe
is not likely to be judged in that way. It will be said of him that he
scandalized the world before he left it!"
"When truth is made scandal, and right is made wrong," said Manuel, "It
will surely be a God-forgotten world!"
"WILL be? I think it is already!" said Prince Pietro. "It is said that
the patience of the Almighty is unwearied,--but I do not feel sure of
that in my own mind. Science teaches us that many a world has been
destroyed before now,--and sometimes I feel as if our turn were soon
coming!"
Here the man-servant having completely finished arranging the
Cardinal's attire, made respectful obeisance and left the room, and the
Cardinal himself proceeded into the adjoining salon, where he found his
niece Angela waiting to see him.
"Dearest uncle," she said, making her pretty genuflection as he
approached her, "I must ask you to forgive me for coming to your rooms
just now when your time is so much taken up, and when I know you have
to go to the Vatican,--but I want to tell you one thing that may
perhaps please you,--my picture is finished!"
"Finished!" echoed the Cardinal--then tenderly taking her hands, he
added, "I congratulate you, dear child, with all my heart!--and I pray
that the reward of your long and patient toil may be worthy of you. And
when are we to see your work?"
"To-morrow!" answered Angela, and her cheeks flushed, and her eyes
sparkled, "I shall be busy all today arranging it for exhibition in the
best light. To-morrow morning Florian is to see it first,--then my
father will come, and you--and Manuel!" and she smiled as she met the
boy's gentle look,--"And Queen Margherita has promised to be here at
mid-day."
"Florian first! And then your father!" said Prince Pietro, with a touch
of melancholy in his tone, "Ah well, Angela mia!--I suppose it must
always be so! The lover's love--the stranger's love,--is greater than
the love of years, the love of home! Yet sometimes, I fancy that the
lover's love often turns out to be a passing impulse more than a real
truth, and that the home-love reasserts itself afterwards with the best
and the holiest power!"
And not trusting himself to say more, he abruptly left the room. Angela
looked after him, a little troubled. The Cardinal took her hand.
"He is your father, dear girl!" he said gently, "And he cannot but feel
it hard--at first--to be relegated to a second place in your
affections."
Angela sighed.
"I cannot help it!" she said, "Florian is my very life! I should have
no ambition--no joy in anything if he did not love me!"
Over the Cardinal's fine open face there came an expression of great
pain.
"That is idolatry, Angela!" he said gravely, "We make a grievous
mistake when we love human beings too deeply,--for they are not the
gods we would make of them. Like ourselves, they are subject to sin,
and their sins often create more unhappiness for us than our own!"
"Ah! But we can save our beloved ones from sin!" answered Angela, with
a beautiful upward look of exaltation,--"That is love's greatest
mission!"
"It is a mission that cannot always be fulfilled"--said the Cardinal
sorrowfully,--then, after a pause he added--"The Abbe Vergniaud is
dead."
"Dead!" And Angela turned very pale. "His son--"
"His son sends the message--" and he handed her the telegram he had
received. She read it, and returned it to him,--then made the sign of
the cross.
"May he rest in peace!" He died true!"
"Yes, he died true. But remember, child, neither Truth nor Love are
spared their crown of thorns. Love cannot save--would that it could! It
may warn--it may pray--it may watch--it may hope,--but if despite its
tenderness, the sinner sins, what can love do then?"
"It can pardon!" said Angela softly.
Deeply moved, the good Felix took her hand and patted it gently.
"Dear child, God grant your powers of forgiveness may never be put to
the test!" he ejaculated fervently. "The one unforgivable sin according
to our Lord, is treachery;--may THAT never come your way!"
"It can never come my way through Florian!" answered Angela
smiling,--"and for the rest--I do not care!"
Manuel stood by silently, with thoughtful, downcast eyes--but at these
last words of hers he raised his head and looked full at her with a
touch of melancholy in his straight regard.
"Ah, that is wrong!" he said, "You SHOULD care!--you MUST care for the
rest of the world. We must all learn to care for others more than
ourselves. And if we will not learn, God sometimes takes a hard way of
teaching us!"
Angela's head drooped a little. Then she said,
"I DO care for others,--I think perhaps my picture will prove that for
me. But the tenderness I have for the sorrows of the world is
impersonal; and perhaps if I analysed myself honestly, I feel even that
through my love for Florian. If he were not in the world, I am afraid I
should not love the world so much!"
The Cardinal said no more, for just then a servant entered and
announced that His Eminence's carriage was in waiting. Angela bending
low once more before her uncle, kissed his apostolic ring, and said
softly--"To-morrow!"
And Manuel echoed the word, "To-morrow!" as she bade them both a
smiling "addio" and left the apartment. When she had gone, and he was
left alone with his foundling, the Cardinal stood for a few minutes
absorbed in silent meditation, mechanically gathering his robes about
him. After a pause of evident hesitancy and trouble, he approached the
boy and gently laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"Manuel," he said, "Do you understand whom it is that you are going to
see?"
"Yes," replied Manuel quickly, "The Head of the Church. One who holds
an office constituted by man long after Christ. It was founded upon the
name and memory of the Apostle Peter, who publicly denied all knowledge
of His Master. That is how I understand the person I am to see to-day!"
Cardinal Bonpre's face was a study of varying expressions as he heard
these words.
"My child, you must not say these things in the Pope's presence!"
Manuel lifted his radiant eyes with a look of calm confidence.
"Dear friend, you must trust me!" he said, "They have sent for me, have
they not, to this place you call the Vatican? They desire to see me,
and to question me. That being so, whatever God bids me say, I will
say; fearing nothing!"
A strong tremour shook the Cardinal's nerves,--he essayed to find words
of wisdom and instruction, but somehow language failed him,--he felt
blinded and strengthless, and warned by this impending sense of
feebleness, made an instant effort to brace himself up and master the
strange fainting that threatened to overwhelm him as it had frequently
done before. He succeeded, and without speaking again to Manuel, but
only bending one earnest look upon him, he quitted his rooms and
proceeded slowly down the great marble staircase of the Palazzo
Sovrani,--a staircase famous even in Rome for its architectural
beauty--Manuel stepping lightly at his side--and reaching his carriage,
entered it with his foundling, and was rapidly driven away.
Arrived at the Vatican, the largest palace in the world, which
contains, so historians agree in saying, no less than eleven thousand
different apartments with their courts and halls and corridors, they
descended at the Portone di Bronzo,--the Swiss Guard on duty saluting
as the Cardinal passed in. On they went into the vestibule, chilly and
comfortless, of the Scala Pia;--and so up the stone stairs to the
Cortile do San Damaso, and thence towards the steps which lead to the
Pope's private apartments. Another Guard met them here and likewise
saluted,--in fact, almost at every step of the way, and on every
landing, guards were on duty, either standing motionless, or marching
wearily up and down, the clank, clank of their footsteps waking dismal
echoes from the high vaulted roofs and uncarpeted stone corridors. At
last they reached the Sala Clementina, a vast unfurnished hall, rich
only with mural decorations and gilding, and here another Guard met
them who, without words, escorted the Cardinal and his young companion
through a number of waiting-rooms, made more or less magnificent by
glorious paintings, wonderful Gobelin tapestries, and unique
sculptures, till they reached at last what is called the anti-camera
segreto, where none but Cardinals are permitted to enter and wait for
an audience with the Supreme Pontiff. At the door of this "Holy of
Holies" stood a Guarda Nobile on sentry duty,--but he might have been a
figure of painted marble for all the notice he took of their approach.
As they passed into the room, which was exceedingly high and narrow,
Monsignor Gherardi rose from a table near the window, and received the
Cardinal with a kind of stately gravity which suitably agreed with the
coldness and silence of the general surroundings. A small lean man,
habited in black, also came forward, exchanging a few low whispered
words with Gherardi as he did so, and this individual, after saluting
the Cardinal, mysteriously disappeared through a little door to the
right. He was the Pope's confidential valet,--a personage who was
perhaps more in the secrets of everybody and everything than even
Gherardi himself.
"I am afraid we shall have to keep you waiting a little while," said
Gherardi, in his smooth rich voice, which despite its mellow ring had
something false about it, like the tone produced by an invisible crack
in a fine bell, "Your young friend," and here he swept a keen,
inquisitive glance over Manuel from face to feet, and from feet to face
again, "will perhaps be tired?"
"I am never tired!" answered Manuel.
"Nor impatient?" asked Gherardi with a patronising air.
"Nor impatient!"
"Wonderful boy! If you are never tired or impatient, you will be
eminently fitted for the priesthood," said Gherardi, his lip curling
with a faint touch of derision, "For even the best of us grow sometimes
weary in well-doing!"
And turning from him with a movement which implied both hauteur and
indifference, he addressed himself to Bonpre, whose face was clouded,
and whose eyes were troubled.
"The unfortunate affair of our friend Vergniaud will be settled
to-day," he began, when the Cardinal raised one hand with a gentle
solemnity.
"It is settled!" he returned, "Not even the Church can intervene
between Vergniaud and his Maker now!"
Gherardi uttered an exclamation of undisguised annoyance.
"Dead!" he ejaculated, his forehead growing crimson with the anger he
inwardly repressed--"Since when?"
"Last night he passed away," replied the Cardinal. "according to the
telegram I have just received from--his son. But he has been dying for
some time, and what he told me in Paris was no lie. I explained his
exact position to you quite recently, on the day you visited my niece
at her studio. He had a serious valvular disease of the heart,--he
might, as the doctors said, have lived, at the utmost, two years--but
the excitement of recent events has evidently proved too much for him.
As I told you, he felt that his death might occur at any moment, and he
did not wish to leave the world under a false impression of his
character. I trust that now the Holy Father may be inclined to pardon
him, in death, if not in life!"
Gherardi walked up and down the narrow room impatiently.
"I doubt it!" he said at last, "I very much doubt it! The man may be
dead, but the scandal he caused remains. And his death has made the
whole position very much more difficult for you, my lord Cardinal! For
as Vergniaud is not alive to endure the penalty of his offence, it is
probable YOU may have to suffer for having condoned it!"
Felix Bonpre bent his head gently.
"I shall be ready and willing to suffer whatever God commands!" he
answered, "For I most faithfully believe that nothing can injure my
soul while it rests, as I humbly place it, in His Holy keeping!"
Gherardi paused in his pacing to and fro, and gazed at the frail
figure, and fine old face before him, with mingled compassion and
curiosity.
"You should have lived in the early days of the Faith," he said, "You
are too literal--too exact in your following of Christian ethics. That
sort of thing does not work nowadays. Dogma must be maintained!"
"What is dogma?" asked Manuel suddenly.
Gherardi gave him a careless glance.
"Cardinal Bonpre must teach you that in extenso!" he replied, with a
little smile--"But briefly,--dogma is an opinion or theory derived from
the Gospels, and formulated as doctrine, by the Church."
"An opinion or theory of man, founded on the words of Christ?" said
Manuel.
"Just so!"
"But if Christ was divine, should any man presume to formulate a theory
on what He Himself said?" asked Manuel. "Are not his own plain words
enough?"
Gherardi stared at the young speaker half angrily.
"His own plain words enough?" he repeated mechanically. "What do you
mean, boy?"
"I mean," answered Manuel simply, "that if He were truly a
Manifestation of God in Himself, as the Church declares Him to be, _I_
WONDER THAT MAN CAN DARE TO FORMULATE MERE DOGMA ON GOD'S OWN
UTTERANCE!"
There was a dead pause. After a few minutes of chill silence Gherardi
addressed the Cardinal.
"Your young friend has a dangerous tongue!" he said sternly, "You had
best warn or command him that he set a guard upon it in the Holy
Father's presence!"
"There is no need to either warn or command me!" said Manuel, a smile
irradiating his fair face as he met the angry eyes of Gherardi with the
full calmness of his own--"I have been sent for, and I am here. Had I
not been sent for I should not have come. Now that I have been called
to answer for myself I will answer,--with truth and without fear. For
what can any man cause me to suffer if I am to myself true?"
Another heavy pause ensued. An invisible something was in the air,--a
sense of that vast supernatural which is deeply centered at the core of
the natural universe,--a grave mystery which seemed to envelop all
visible things with a sudden shadow of premonitory fear. The silence
prevailing was painful--almost terrible. A great ormolu clock in the
room, one of the Holy Father's "Jubilee" gifts, ticked the minutes
slowly away with a jewel-studded pendulum, which in its regular
movements to and fro sounded insolently obtrusive in such a stillness.
Gherardi abstractedly raised his eyes to a great ivory crucifix which
was displayed upon the wall against a background of rich purple
velvet,--Manuel was standing immediately in front of it, and the
tortured head of the carven Christ drooped over him as though in a
sorrow-stricken benediction. A dull anger began to irritate Gherardi's
usually well-tempered nerves, and he was searching in his mind for some
scathing sentence wherewith to overwhelm and reprove the confident ease
of the boy, when the door leading to the Pope's apartments was slowly
pushed open to admit the entrance of Monsignor Moretti. Cardinal Bonpre
had not seen him since the day of the Vergniaud scandal in Paris,--and
a faint colour came into his pale cheeks as he noted the air of
overbearing condescension and authority with which Moretti, here on his
own ground, as one of the favorites of the Pope, greeted him.
"The Holy Father is ready to receive you," he said, "But I regret to
inform your Eminence that His Holiness can see no way to excuse or
condone the grave offence of the Abbe Vergniaud,--moreover, the fact of
the sin-begotten son being known to the world as Gys Grandit, makes it
more than ever necessary that the ban of excommunication should be
passed upon him. Especially, as those uninstructed in the Faith, are
under the delusion that the penalty of excommunication has become more
or less obsolete, and we have now an opportunity for making publicly
known the truth that it still exists, and may be used by the Church in
extreme situations, when judged politic and fitting."
"Then in this case the Church must excommunicate the dead!" said the
Cardinal quietly.
Moretti's face turned livid.
"Dead?" he exclaimed, "I do not believe it!"
Silently Bonpre handed him the telegram received that morning. Moretti
read it, his eyes sparkling with rage.
"How do I know this is not a trick?" he said, "The accursed atheist of
a son may have telegraphed a lie!"
"I hardly think he would condescend to that!" returned the Cardinal
calmly, "It would not be worth his while. You must remember, that to
one of his particular views, Church excommunication, either for his
father or himself, would mean nothing. He makes himself responsible for
his conduct to God only. And whatever his faults he certainly believes
in God!"
Moretti read through the telegram again.
"We must place this before His Holiness," he said, "And it will very
seriously annoy him! I fear your Eminence," here he gave a quick
meaning look at Bonpre, "will be all the more severely censured for
having pardoned the Abbe's sins."
"Is it wrong to forgive sinners?" asked Manuel, his clear young voice
breaking through the air like a silver bell rung suddenly,--"And when
one cannot reach the guilty, should one punish the innocent?"
Moretti scowled fiercely at the fair candid face turned enquiringly
near his own.
"You are too young to ask questions!" he said roughly--"Wait to be
questioned yourself--and think twice--aye three times before you
answer!"
The bright expression of the boy's countenance seemed to become
intensified as he heard.
"'Take no thought how or what ye shall speak, for it shall be given you
in that same hour what ye shall speak!'" he said softly--"'For it is
not ye that speak, but the Spirit of your Father which speaketh in
you!'"
Moretti flushed angrily, and his hand involuntarily clenched.
"Those words were addressed by our Lord to His Apostles," he
retorted--"Apostles, of whom our Holy Father the Pope is the one
infallible representative. They were not spoken to an ignorant lad who
barely knows his catechism!"
"Yet were not the Apostles themselves told," went on Manuel steadily,
"to be humble as ignorant children if they would enter the Kingdom of
Heaven? And did not Christ say, 'Whoso offendeth one of these little
ones which believe in Me, it were better for him that a millstone were
hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depths of the
sea!' I am sure there are many such little ones who believe in
Christ,--perhaps too, without knowing any catechism,--and even Apostles
must beware of offending them!"
"Does this boy follow your teaching in the quoting of Scripture with so
glib a tongue?" asked Moretti, turning sharply round upon the Cardinal.
Bonpre returned his angry look with one of undisturbed serenity.
"My son, I have taught him nothing!" he replied, "I have no time as
yet--and I may add--no inclination, to become his instructor. He speaks
from his own nature."
"It is a nature that needs training!" said Gherardi, smiling blandly,
and silencing by a gesture Moretti's threatening outburst of wrath, "To
quote Scripture rashly, without due consideration for the purpose to
which it is to be applied, does not actually constitute an offence, but
it displays a reprehensible disregard and ignorance of theology.
However, theology," here he smiled still more broadly, "is a hard word
for the comprehension of the young! This poor little lad cannot be
expected to grasp its meaning."
Manuel raised his bright eyes and fixed them steadily on the priest's
countenance.
"Oh, yes!" he said quietly, "I understand it perfectly! Originally it
meant the Word or Discourse of God,--it has now come to mean the words
or discourses, or quarrels and differences of men on the things of God!
But God's Word remains God's Word--eternally, invincibly! No man can
alter it, and Christ preached it so plainly that the most simple child
cannot fail to understand it!"
Moretti was about to speak when again Gherardi interrupted him.
"Patience! Patience!" he said soothingly, "Perchance we must say"--this
with a flash of derision from his dark crafty eyes, "that a prophet
hath arisen in Israel! Listen to me, boy! If Christ spoke as plainly as
you say, and if all He preached could be understood by the people, why
should He have founded a Church to teach His doctrine?"
"He did not found a Church," answered Manuel, "He tried to make a Human
Brotherhood. He trusted twelve men. They all forsook Him in His hour of
need, and one betrayed Him! When He died and arose again from the dead,
they sought to give themselves a Divine standing on His Divinity. They
preached His Word to the world--true!--but they preached their own as
well! Hence the Church!"
Moretti's angry eyes rolled in his head with an excess of wrath and
amazement.
"Surely some evil spirit possesses this boy!" he exclaimed irately,
"Retro me Sathanas! He is a rank heretic--a heathen! And yet he lives
in the companionship of Cardinal Felix Bonpre!"
Both priests looked at the Cardinal in angry astonishment, but he stood
silent, one wrinkled hand holding up the trailing folds of his scarlet
robe,--his head slightly bent, and his whole attitude expressive of
profound patience and resignation. Manuel turned his eyes upon him and
smiled tenderly.
"It is not the fault of Cardinal Bonpre that I think my own thoughts,"
he said, "or that I speak as I have spoken from the beginning. He found
me lost and alone in the world,--and he sheltered me, knowing not whom
he sheltered! Let what blame there is in me therefore be mine alone,
and not his or another's!"
His young voice, so full of sweetness, seemed to melt the cold and
heavy silence into vibrations of warm feeling, and a sudden sense of
confusion and shame swept over the callous and calculating minds of the
two men, miscalled priests, as they listened. But before they could
determine or contrive an answer, the door was thrown open, and the lean
man in black entered, and pausing on the threshold bowed
slightly,--then raising his hand with a gesture which invited all to
follow him, turned again and walked on in front,--then crossing a small
antechamber, he drew aside a long curtain of purple damask heavily
fringed with gold, and opened a farther door. Here he stood back, and
allowed Cardinal Bonpre to pass in first, attended by
Manuel,--Monsignori Gherardi and Moretti followed. And then the valet,
closing the door behind them, and pulling the rich curtain across, sat
down himself close outside it to be within call when the Holy Father
should summon his attendance by means of a bell which hung immediately
over his head. And to while away the time he pulled from his pocket
that day's issue of a well-known Republican paper,--one of the most
anti-Papal tendency, thereby showing that his constant humble
attendance upon the Head of the Church had not made him otherwise than
purely human, or eradicated from his nature that peculiar quality with
which most of us are endowed, namely, the perversity of spirit which
leads us often to say and do things which are least expected of us. The
Pope's confidential valet was not exempt from this failing. He like the
Monsignori, enjoyed the exciting rush and secret risk of money
speculation,--he also had his little schemes of self-advancement; and,
as is natural to all who are engaged in a certain kind of service, he
took care to read everything that could be said by outsiders against
the person or persons whom he served. Thus, despite the important
capacity he filled, he was not a grade higher than the ordinary butler,
who makes it his business to know all the peccadilloes and failings of
his master. "No man is a hero to his valet" is a very true axiom,--and
even the Head of the Church, the Manifestation of the Divine, the
"Infallible in Council," was a mere Nothing to the little man in black
who had the power to insist on His Holiness changing a soiled cassock
for a clean one.