. A general rising against Rome--a wide schism--the sacred
college divided into three parties. One approves--the other blames--the
third trembles. The Sick Man, still more frightened than he is now at
having allowed the destruction of Poland, will shrink from the clamors,
reproaches, threats, and violent ruptures that he has occasioned.

"That is well--and goes far.

"Then, set the Pope to shaking the conscience of the Sick Man, to disturb
his mind, and terrify his soul.

"To sum up. Make everything bitter to him--divide his council--isolate
him--frighten him--redouble the ferocious ardor of good Albini--revive
the appetite of the Sanfedists[25]--give them a gulf of liberals--let there
be pillage, rape, massacre, as at Cesena--a downright river of Carbonaro
blood--the Sick Man will have a surfeit of it. So many butcheries in his
name--he will shrink, be sure he will shrink--every day will have its
remorse, every night its terror, every minute its anguish; and the
abdication he already threatens will come at last--perhaps too soon. That
is now the only danger; you must provide against it.

"In case of an abdication, the grand penitentiary has understood me.
Instead of confiding to a general the direction of our Order, the best
militia of the Holy See, I should command it myself. Thenceforward this
militia would give me no uneasiness. For instance: the Janissaries and
the Praetorian Guards were always fatal to authority--why?--because they
were able to organize themselves as defenders of the government,
independently of the government; hence their power of intimidation.

"Clement XIV. was a fool. To brand and abolish our Company was an absurd
fault. To protect and make it harmless, by declaring himself the General
of the Order, is what he should have done. The Company, then at his
mercy, would have consented to anything. He would have absorbed us, made
us vassals of the Holy See, and would no longer have had to fear our
services. Clement XIV. died of the cholic. Let him heed who hears. In a
similar case, I should not die the same death."

Just then, the clear and liquid voice of Rose-Pompon was again heard.
Rodin bounded with rage upon his seat; but soon, as he listened to the
following verse, new to him (for, unlike Philemon's widow, he had not his
Beranger at his fingers' ends), the Jesuit, accessible to certain odd,
superstitious notions, was confused and almost frightened at so singular
a coincidence. It is Beran