Cardinal R? was one of the most distinguished3 members of the Papal Court. He was nicknamed “le Pape manqué,” because at the last election he had received the greatest number of votes. His pronounced French sympathies, however, had, in the eyes of the other Catholic countries, stood in his way, with the result that, in answer to his election, the Austro-Hungarian Ambassador had announced the “veto” of the Austrian Emperor. The amazed Cardinals4, though[238] they had long forgotten this ancient privilege of the Austrian crown, were obliged to submit, and the next candidate was elected Pope. It is a characteristic fact that Pius X. was so annoyed at his election that, on becoming Pope against his will, his first action was to annul5 for ever the Austrian right of “veto.”
Remembering this episode, Irene involuntarily felt a great respect for the man who had had the courage of his opinions and sympathies to the extent of paying for them by losing the Papacy. Such honesty seemed hardly in keeping with the traditional spirit of intrigue6 and deceit with which the Papal court was supposed to be permeated7, and which Irene had so frequently heard discussed in Russia.
The Cardinal lived in a small detached house, within the precincts of the Vatican, and Irene was struck, by no means for the first time, by the resemblance between these Vatican houses and courtyards, and the inner courts and arch-priest’s dwellings8 of Russian monasteries9. There was in both the same sense of chill and isolation10 and lifelessness.[239] Even the waiting-room into which a slow old servant led Irene was exactly like the room of a Russian monastic priest. The same clumsy wooden furniture upholstered in red velvet11, the same religious pictures. The only things that were missing were the typical and inevitable12 strip of canvas that runs like a pathway right across the floors of all our Russian priestly houses, and the extraordinary variety of worsted cushions, with their wonderful patterns of fantastic animals and flowers, embroidered13 for our priests by pious14 Russian parishioners.
A young secretary twice passed through the waiting-room, throwing, each time, a quick but scrutinizing15 glance at Irene. Finally, unable to restrain himself any longer, he approached her, with a charming smile:
“Voudriez vous me dire16, Mademoiselle,” he inquired, “le motif17 pour lequel vous désirez voir Son Eminence18?”
Irene did not know how to answer. She really could not say that she had come simply to pacify19 a troublesome friend!
“J’ai entendu parler de la sympathie que[240] Son Eminence éprouve pour les Russes,” she stammered20 vaguely21.
“Oh oui! Oh oui!” said the secretary, nodding his head. “Les sympathies de Son Eminence pour la Russie sont bien connues. Cependant, Mademoiselle, il me semble que vous devez avoir une raison plus … plus …”
The secretary was evidently at a loss to find the right word. Noticing that he was regarding her enormous muff with interest, Irene remembered that an attempt to assassinate22 a highly-placed personage, had recently been made in Rome.
“I understand your anxiety,” she remarked. “There are visitors who arrive with a bomb in their muffs!” With these words, as though accidentally, she made a movement with her muff, bringing it close to the secretary’s eyes. He glanced sharply into it, and was evidently appeased23.
“Oh! certes, Son Eminence sera très satisfaite de vous voir, Mademoiselle,” he said. “Veuillez attendre quelques instants au salon24; Son Eminence ne tardera pas à rentrer.”
[241]
The waiting-room, in the meantime, was filling with people. An old Monsignor entered, and Irene bowed to him. To her surprise, however, he not only did not reply, but never even glanced in her direction. Another priest entered, and again the same thing happened. Then came three Capuchin monks25 who made obvious efforts to look at anything but Irene, and sat down at the furthest possible point from her. The proud, sensitive woman felt deeply offended and annoyed.
“Do they take me for a leper?” she thought angrily, “or am I so hideous26 that it disgusts them to look at me?” Suddenly, however, a humorous idea flashed through her mind. Irene had so long ago left off thinking of herself as in any sense an attractive woman, that the sudden idea of being regarded by anyone in the light of a possible temptation, caused her, quite unexpectedly, to burst into a loud peal27 of laughter. The monks frowned, and Irene hastened to hide her laughing face in the muff that had so alarmed the young secretary.
At this moment there burst into the room, noisily, and talking in strident tones, two[242] lean and yellow English old maids with scant28 greyish hair, and enormous fashionable hats. Chattering29 fast and animatedly30, they sat down exactly opposite the Capuchins, and robbed these victims of the only blank wall at which they could safely gaze without jeopardizing31 the salvation32 of their souls.
What were the poor monks to do? The devil evidently had awful designs on them that evening, and terrible temptation peered at them from every corner of the Cardinal’s waiting-room. As though by order, they all lowered their eyelids33, and remained, as though turned into stone, with their gaze riveted34 on the floor.
The door opened, and Irene was asked to pass into the Cardinal’s presence.
A dimly illuminated35 ante-room led into the drawing-room. Here, the furniture was a little more comfortable, and there were pictures and flowers. The cardinal stood at his writing-table, not in his red robes, as Irene had expected, but in black with narrow red edgings. A somewhat worn red cardinal’s cap lay on the table. The great priest looked[243] at Irene in silence, and with a questioning expression. She approached, kissed the ring on his left hand, and thanked him for the honour he was conferring on her by receiving her. He smiled, and the man of the world awoke in him. Asking Irene to sit down on a small sofa, he began to question her about Russia, his words revealing a great knowledge of Russian Church matters. He seemed specially37 interested in a certain small group of Russian priests, who had recently been sent by the Synod to do penance38 in far-distant monasteries.
“Mais enfin, que veulent-ils? Que demandent-ils? Quel est le but de leur révolte?” asked the Cardinal.
“I think,” answered Irene simply, “that they wanted to convoke39 a council, with the object of reinstating the Patriarchy.”
The Cardinal frowned, and a shadow passed over his face. “Totally unnecessary,” he muttered somewhat hurriedly. “Totally unnecessary.” And he changed the subject, asking Irene what she had seen in Rome, and how she liked the Catacombs.
[244]
“I like the Russian catacombs much better,” she answered.
“Yes—I know—you mean the Kieff ones. But they date only from the ninth century. Remember,” exclaimed the Cardinal rapturously, “that here, in Rome, the earliest Christian40 martyrs41 are buried.”
Irene asked where the remains42 of the Apostle Andrew were preserved.
“Andrew?” repeated the Cardinal, stopping to think a moment. “Yes—the head is in the shrine43 of St. Peter’s, and the rest of the remains are distributed among various churches.”
“I ask this,” explained Irene, in answer to the Cardinal’s questioning glance, “because the Apostle Andrew is particularly dear to Russians, having been the first to teach us Christianity.”
“Of course—I know! Andrew, the brother of Saint Peter,” said the Cardinal with a subtle smile, as though wishing to underline the fact that Rome and Russia had received Christianity from two brothers. “Well, and what churches have you seen in Rome?”
[245]
Irene mentioned several of the most famous.
“Have you been to the church of Saint Cecilia?” asked the Cardinal a little uncertainly. “No?”—he was clearly disappointed. “You should go there without fail. It is my church—it has some very interesting subterranean45 passages.”
A tender smile suddenly illuminated the stern features of this old and serious man. Irene afterwards ascertained46 that Cardinal R? had spent his whole fortune on the restoration and preservation47 of the church of Saint Cecilia. She went to see this church on the following day. The ancient shrine gleamed with cleanliness and freshness. Small electric lamps burned before the marble statue of Saint Cecilia, and flowers stood before each of her images. Irene visited the underground sepulchre that holds the remains of the Saint, and was charmed with the elegant new chapel48, its small, slim columns, and its exquisite49 mosaics50 in the Byzantine style. Thus might one decorate and beautify the tomb of a beloved daughter. On entering this chapel[246] Irene understood the true character of Cardinal R?, and knew that his stern exterior51 concealed52 a tender, loving heart, which, in the absence of personal family ties, had ardently53 attached itself to a poetical54 shadow, to someone’s pure and lovely image, to someone’s spotless and sacred memory.
Gzhatski was much pleased with the impression produced upon Irene by Cardinal R?, and announced that she must now make the acquaintance of Monsignor Lefrène, of whom all Rome was talking.
Monsignor Lefrène, a clever and highly intellectual Frenchman, had written a history of the Christian Church. The book had been published, sold, and widely read, when suddenly the Jesuit Fathers, who always play the part of defenders55 of Catholic purity, announced that Lefrène’s history was dangerous to the faithful.
“It contains nothing contrary to Catholic dogmas,” they wrote, “but its whole tone and tendency is offensive, and likely to do much harm.”
The book was put on the Index, and the[247] author had to do penance. Needless to say, this excess of zeal56 on the part of the Jesuit Fathers did much more harm than could ever have been done by poor Monsignor Lefrène. Few people, indeed, took the trouble to read the condemned57 book; but everyone talked about it, and the idea became prevalent that Lefrène held the same views as those for which the Orthodox Church had excommunicated Tolstoi, which probability proved that heresies58 had stolen into the fold of Rome. Believers spoke59 of Lefrène with horror, and demanded that he should be expelled from the priesthood. Atheists, on the contrary, rubbed their hands in triumph. And all this storm in a teacup had been raised by nothing more serious than Monsignor Lefrène’s sense of humour. Minds such as his, indeed, are comparatively rare, and are of true and deep value to society. A witty60, well-aimed pleasantry may often point out to us very clearly the absurdity61 or grotesqueness62 of some pet idea or enthusiasm, and by so doing may bring us sharply back to reason. Thousands of people owe their[248] abandonment of some baneful63 caprice to a chance word of ridicule64; yet it is a strange fact that a satirical mind always renders its owner unpopular. The public may perhaps sometimes forgive a satirical writer of short stories, but a satirical priest—never! People will not understand that when Nature endows her children with talent, she cannot foresee what uniform they will wear later on.
Monsignor Lefrène’s sparkling epigrams were repeated all over Rome, and cost him, according to rumour65, the Cardinal’s hat. Not that the witty Monsignor was very anxious for this honour. Truly talented people always value God’s gift to them above all earthly honours, and a successful epigram gives as much personal satisfaction to a wit, as a successful novel to a writer. Both, indeed, are on the same level. It is, however, undoubted that popular malice66, animosity, and failure to understand or recognize their genius, can deeply wound a talented nature; and it is strange that these carping tongues often distinguish themselves, in their own immediate67 circles, by delicacy68 and charity.
[249]
Monsignor Lefrène occupied the second floor of one of Rome’s most splendid palaces. The magnificent antique ceilings and walls, the beautiful furniture, the wealth of sunlight that filled this luxurious69 abode70, seemed more suited to the tastes of a scientist philosopher than to those of a priest. In a line with the reception-rooms was a covered terrace, full of tropical plants, among which strayed a number of tame pigeons. Irene loved pigeons, and stepped out on the terrace to observe them more closely. It was here that Monsignor Lefrène found her, and greeted her with his always humorous smile, and a quick glance from his keen, intelligent eyes.
“I am admiring your birds, Monsignor,” said Irene as they shook hands.
“Are you?” he answered. “But have you seen my Tiber? Look how beautiful it is through this window.” And the Monsignor pointed44 to the yellow muddy waters that always filled Irene with disgust, when comparing it with the clear, blue rivers of Russia.
The conversation turned to the Orthodoxy,[250] and Lefrène showed himself to be like most Catholic priests, closely acquainted with Russian Church matters. In addition, he had many friends among the higher Russian clergy71. Irene purposely began to speak of the suggested Orthodox Church Council, which she had discussed also with Cardinal R?. Monsignor looked displeased72.
“But why do you want a council?” he asked.
“Why?” exclaimed Irene. “One of our great writers has said that the Orthodox Church has been paralyzed since the days of Peter the Great. With the election of a patriarch, she may perhaps recover, and pronounce some new word.”
Lefrène shook his head.
“Oh! La nouvelle vérité ne sortira jamais de l’église,” he remarked with conviction.
Irene was amazed.
“I don’t understand,” she stammered questioningly.
Monsignor smiled. “Comment voulez vous qu’un prêtre émette une idée nouvelle,” he said, “quand la coupole de Saint Pierre pèse sur des épaules?”
[251]
“Yes, but we Russians have no ‘Saint Peter’s,’” observed Irene quietly.
“Eh bien, vous avez la coupole de Moscou! Dans chaque religion, toujours une coupole quelconque pesera sur le prêtre et lui fermera la bouche”—and a deep sadness trembled in poor Lefrène’s voice.
“But even if so,” said Irene, “the council might improve the education of our clergy, and teach them to cultivate warmer relations with their flocks.” And in her turn she could not restrain the note of personal sorrow and regret that echoed in her words.
“Oh, I have heard all those complaints before, especially from your late philosopher, Vladimir Solovyof,” replied Monsignor. “He once related me a very characteristic legend in this connection,” and, with his subtle smile, Lefrène repeated the legend of Saint Nicholas, supposed to be of Russian origin.
Saint Nicholas, accompanied by the Reverend Cassian, once came down from heaven, on a visit to earth. On the great highway they met a poor peasant, the wheels[252] of whose cart had become embedded73 in the mud of the roadside, and he was vainly exerting himself almost beyond his strength to extricate74 them.
“Let us help him,” said the charitable Saint Nicholas.
“No, that is impossible,” replied the Reverend Cassian scornfully. “We should soil our white robes.”
But Saint Nicholas paid no attention to him, and set to work to help the peasant. Both horse and cart were soon standing75 safely in the dry roadway, but several splashes of mud had stained the snowy whiteness of the Saint’s raiment.
When God heard of this occurrence, He ordered that from thenceforward the memory of Saint Nicholas was to be honoured twice a year, but that of the Rev36. Cassian only once in four years. (The festival of Saint Cassian falls on the 29th of February!)
“Vladimir Solovyof,” added Monsignor Lefrène, “told me this legend in that half-mocking tone which is nearly always assumed by Frenchmen when speaking of le bon Dieu,[253] but which, in Russian, is quite inadmissible.” He explained the legend as follows: Saint Nicholas represents the Catholic Church, always warmly attached and interested in its followers76 and never afraid of touching77 dirt when there is a chance of saving a sinner. Cassian, on the other hand, is the Orthodox Church, cold and haughty78, indifferent to her people, and only anxious to retain her outer immaculacy.
Irene was greatly drawn79 to Monsignor Lefrène and with her usual impulsiveness80, feeling a profound confidence in him, she made him a confession81 of her own personal credo, that same credo that Père Etienne had once waved away with a smile. Lefrène listened with his customary half-satirical smile, and answered quietly:
“Your faith has nothing whatever in common with Christianity. If anything it is Biblical, of the Old Testament82. We Christians83 abandoned all such ideas nineteen centuries ago.”
Irene blushed. “It is as if they had talked it over between them,” she thought. “Père[254] Etienne said my faith suited the Samoyedes, and this man says it is of the Old Testament.”
“True Christians,” explained Lefrène, noticing Irene’s perplexity, “never expect rewards or justice in this world, because they realize that such results are only possible beyond the grave. To pagans and Old Testament Jews, the idea of a future life had not presented itself—hence, in the book of Job, for instance, Job, having patiently borne all his sufferings, expects God, in justice, to cure him of his leprosy, give him new wealth, new children, a new wife. No, for that matter, he kept his old, former wife, and this very circumstance makes me think that Job was not nearly as happy as the Bible would have us believe.”
The same evening, telling Gzhatski about her visit to Lefrène, Irene mentioned the shade of displeasure that had crossed the face of the Monsignor, and similarly, a few days previously84, that of Cardinal R?, at the mention of the suggested Orthodox Council.
“I am not at all surprised,” replied Gzhatski. “The Catholics know very well that a body[255] without a head must, sooner or latter, decay and fall to pieces. They foresee the moment when Russia, to save her religion, will have to choose a head for her Church, and they hope to be able, at that moment, to persuade her to accept the Pope as this head. The election of a Patriarch would be a great blow to their designs, and would indefinitely postpone85 all idea of a union between the two churches. I say postpone because all Catholics are completely convinced that ultimately this union must come to pass.”
“That is exactly what I cannot understand,” exclaimed Irene. “The longer I live in Rome, the more I come to the conclusion that the two churches have really never been separated. No one but theologians is interested in dogmas. Ordinary mortals, orthodox and Catholic alike, believe in the same legends and superstitions86, the same saints and martyrs, the same prayers, the same gospel, the same services. It is even astonishing that two churches, having so long ago severed87 all connection with each other, should have remained so astonishingly similar. Russian pilgrims,[256] who go to Bari to pray at the shrine of Saint Nicholas, the worker of miracles, proceed from there to the shrines88 of Saint Peter and Saint Paul in Rome, where they feel perfectly89 at home. What is the use of worrying about the re-union of two churches that actually have never been disunited at all?”
“You forget the political standpoint,” said Gzhatski. “Russia is growing daily and hourly, and with each year her might increases. Some day, in the not too far-distant future, her support may be of enormous importance to the Pope. What with the spread of Atheism90 and Freemasonry, there is nothing to ensure that the Vatican will not one fine day suddenly be turned into a National museum, and some out-of-the-way monastery91 in the Apennines be offered to the Pope as a residence! The Catholic nations of Europe would, in such a case, probably limit themselves, as they did on the occasion of the taking of Rome, to the sending of deputations and expressions of sympathy. It is at that moment that the Pope, like King Lear, will turn away from his proud[257] elder daughters Regan and Goneril, on whom he has lavished92 so much love and care, and will remember the far-away Cordelia, whom, though she has received nothing from him, he has never ceased to regard as his daughter. There is no doubt that the Vatican has some hopes in connection with the Northern Cordelia, and—who knows?—perhaps even these hopes are not quite without foundation. In any case, a persecuted93 and friendless Pope would certainly appeal far more strongly to the sympathies of the Russian people than the present magnificent and triumphant94 Pontiff!”
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1
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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cardinals
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| 红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 )； 红衣凤头鸟（见于北美，雄鸟为鲜红色）； 基数 | |
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annul
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| v.宣告…无效，取消，废止 | |
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intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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monasteries
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| 修道院( monastery的名词复数 ) | |
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isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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motif
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| n.(图案的)基本花纹，(衣服的)花边；主题 | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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pacify
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| vt.使(某人)平静(或息怒)；抚慰 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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assassinate
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| vt.暗杀，行刺，中伤 | |
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appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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animatedly
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| adv.栩栩如生地，活跃地 | |
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jeopardizing
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| 危及，损害( jeopardize的现在分词 ) | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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convoke
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| v.召集会议 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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44
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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mosaics
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| n.马赛克( mosaic的名词复数 )；镶嵌；镶嵌工艺；镶嵌图案 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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defenders
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| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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heresies
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| n.异端邪说，异教( heresy的名词复数 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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grotesqueness
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baneful
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| adj.有害的 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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embedded
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| a.扎牢的 | |
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extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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impulsiveness
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| n.冲动 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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shrines
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| 圣地，圣坛，神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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atheism
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| n.无神论，不信神 | |
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monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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