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, abbe 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 abbe 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'abbe, 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 abbe 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 abbe pisoni, and who undid what the other had done. yes, a handsome man he is, but a fine bungler all the same, a perfect 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 abbe paparelli, who stood in the next ante-room, the door of which was wide open, doubtless restrained him, for he did not cease to watch the train-bearer. at last the latter was compelled to absent himself for a moment, and the secretary thereupon approached the young frenchman.

"you saw his holiness last night," he said; and as pierre gazed at him in stupefaction he added: "oh! everything gets known, i told you so before. well, and you purely and simply withdrew your book, did you not?" the young priest's increasing stupor was sufficient answer, and without leaving him time to reply, don vigilio went on: "i suspected it, but i wished to make certain. ah! that's just the way they work! do you believe me now, have you realised that they stifle those whom they don't poison?"

he was no doubt referring to the jesuits. however, after glancing into the adjoining room to make sure that abbe paparelli had not returned thither, he resumed: "and what has monsignor nani just told you?"

"but i have not yet seen monsignor nani," was pierre's reply.

"oh! i thought you had. he passed through before you arrived. if you did not see him in the throne-room he must have gone to pay his respects to donna serafina and his eminence. however, he will certainly pass this way again; you will see him by and by." then with the bitterness of one who was weak, ever terror-smitten and vanquished, don vigilio added: "i told you that you would end by doing what monsignor nani desired."

with these words, fancying that he heard the light footfall of abbe paparelli, he hastily returned to his place and bowed to two old ladies who just then walked in. and pierre, still seated, overcome, his eyes wearily closing, at last saw the figure of nani arise before him in all its reality so typical of sovereign intelligence and address. he remembered what don vigilio, on the famous night of his revelations, had told him of this man who was far too shrewd to have labelled himself, so to say, with an unpopular robe, and who, withal, was a charming prelate with thorough knowledge of the world, acquired by long experience at different nunciatures and at the holy office, mixed up in everything, informed with regard to everything, one of the heads, one of the chief minds in fact of that modern black army, which by dint of opportunism hopes to bring this century back to the church. and all at once, full enlightenment fell on pierre, he realised by what supple, clever strategy that man had led him to the act which he desired of him, the pure and simple withdrawal of his book, accomplished with every appearance of free will. first there had been great annoyance on nani's part on learning that the book was being prosecuted, for he feared lest its excitable author might be prompted to some dangerous revolt; then plans had at once been formed, information had been collected concerning this young priest who seemed so capable of schism, he had been urged to come to rome, invited to stay in an ancient mansion whose very walls would chill and enlighten him. and afterwards had come the ever recurring obstacles, the system of prolonging his sojourn in rome by preventing him from seeing the pope, but promising him the much-desired interview when the proper time should come, that is after he had been sent hither and thither and brought into collision with one and all. and finally, when every one and everything had shaken, wearied, and disgusted him, and he was restored once more to his old doubts, there had come the audience for which he had undergone all this preparation, that visit to the pope which was destined to shatter whatever remained to him of his dream. pierre could picture nani smiling at him and speaking to him, declaring that the repeated delays were a favour of providence, which would enable him to visit rome, study and understand things, reflect, and avoid blunders. how delicate and how profound had been the prelate's diplomacy in thus crushing his feelings beneath his reason, appealing to his intelligence to suppress his work without any scandalous struggle as soon as his knowledge of the real rome should have shown him how supremely ridiculous it was to dream of a new one!

at that moment pierre perceived nani in person just coming from the throne-room, and did not feel the irritation and rancour which he had anticipated. on the contrary he was glad when the prelate, in his turn seeing him, drew near and held out his hand. nani, however, did not wear his wonted smile, but looked very grave, quite grief-stricken. "ah! my dear son," he said, "what a frightful catastrophe! i have just left his eminence, he is in tears. it is horrible, horrible!"

he seated himself on one of the chairs, inviting the young priest, who had risen, to do the same; and for a moment he remained silent, weary with emotion no doubt, and needing a brief rest to free himself of the weight of thoughts which visibly darkened his usually bright face. then, with a gesture, he strove to dismiss that gloom, and recover his amiable cordiality. "well, my dear son," he began, "you saw his holiness?"

"yes, monseigneur, yesterday evening; and i thank you for your great kindness in satisfying my desire."

nani looked at him fixedly, and his invincible smile again returned to his lips. "you thank me. . . . i can well see that you behaved sensibly and laid your full submission at his holiness's feet. i was certain of it, i did not expect less of your fine intelligence. but, all the same, you render me very happy, for i am delighted to find that i was not mistaken concerning you." and then, setting aside his reserve, the prelate went on: "i never discussed things with you. what would have been the good of it, since facts were there to convince you? and now that you have withdrawn your book a discussion would be still more futile. however, just reflect that if it were possible for you to bring the church back to her early period, to that christian community which you have sketched so delightfully, she could only again follow the same evolutions as those in which god the first time guided her; so that, at the end of a similar number of centuries, she would find herself exactly in the position which she occupies to-day. no, what god has done has been well done, the church such as she is must govern the world, such as it is; it is for her alone to know how she will end by firmly establishing her reign here below. and this is why your attack upon the temporal power was an unpardonable fault, a crime even, for by dispossessing the papacy of her domains you hand her over to the mercy of the nations. your new religion is but the final downfall of all religion, moral anarchy, the liberty of schism, in a word, the destruction of the divine edifice, that ancient catholicism which has shown such prodigious wisdom and solidity, which has sufficed for the salvation of mankind till now, and will alone be able to save it to-morrow and always."

pierre felt that nani was sincere, pious even, and really unshakable in his faith, loving the church like a grateful son, and convinced that she was the only social organisation which could render mankind happy. and if he were bent on governing the world, it was doubtless for the pleasure of governing, but also in the conviction that no one could do so better than himself.

"oh! certainly," said he, "methods are open to discussion. i desire them to be as affable and humane as possible, as conciliatory as can be with this present century, which seems to be escaping us, precisely because there is a misunderstanding between us. but we shall bring it back, i am sure of it. and that is why, my dear son, i am so pleased to see you return to the fold, thinking as we think, and ready to battle on our side, is that not so?"

in nani's words the young priest once more found the arguments of leo xiii. desiring to avoid a direct reply, for although he now felt no anger the wrenching away of his dream had left him a smarting wound, he bowed, and replied slowly in order to conceal the bitter tremble of his voice: "i repeat, monseigneur, that i deeply thank you for having amputated my vain illusions with the skill of an accomplished surgeon. a little later, when i shall have ceased to suffer, i shall think of you with eternal gratitude."

monsignor nani still looked at him with a smile. he fully understood that this young priest would remain on one side, that as an element of strength he was lost to the church. what would he do now? something foolish no doubt. however, the prelate had to content himself with having helped him to repair his first folly; he could not foresee the future. and he gracefully waved his hand as if to say that sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof.

"will you allow me to conclude, my dear son?" he at last exclaimed. "be 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 abbe 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 abbe 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.

abbe 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.