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."