mountain-range, half hidden in white
haze, and nearby one could see the trees in the Protestant cemetery and
the pyramid of Caius Cestius close to them.

Caesar felt a sort of deep repugnance for the people shut up here,
remote from life and protected from it by a lot of things.

"The man who is playing the harmonium in this church with its opaque
light, is a coward," he said to himself. "One must live and struggle in
the open air, among men, in the midst of their passions and hatreds,
even though one's miserable nerves quiver and tremble."

After showing them the monastery, the abbot Hildebrand took them to his
study, where he worked at revising ancient translations of the Bible. He
had photographic copies of all the Latin texts and he was collating them
with the original.

They talked of the progress of the Church, and the abbot commented with
some contempt on the worldly success of the Jesuit churches, with their
saints who serve as well to get husbands and rich wives as to bring
winning numbers in the lottery.

Before going out, they went to a window, at the other end of the
corridor from where they had looked out before. Below them they could
see the Tiber as far as the Ripa harbour; opposite, the heights of the
Janiculum, and further, Saint Peter's.

When they went out, Kennedy said to Caesar:

"What devilish effect has the abbey produced in you, that you are so
much gayer than when we went in?"

"It has confirmed me in my idea, which I had lost for a few days."

"What idea is that?"

"That we must not defend ourselves in this life, but attack, always
attack."

"And now you are contented at having found it again?"

"Yes."

_PIRANESI'S GARDEN_

"I am glad, because you have such a pitiable air when you are sad. Would
you like to go to the Priory of Malta, which is only a step from here?"

"Good."

They went down in the carriage to the Priory of Malta. They knocked at
the gate and a woman came out who knew Kennedy, and who told them to
wait a moment and she would open the church.

"Here," said Kennedy, "you have all that remains of the famous Order of
Saint John of Jerusalem. That anti-historic man Bonaparte rooted it
out of Malta. The Order attempted to establish itself in Catania, and
afterwards at Ferrara, and finally took refuge here. Now it has no
property left, and all that remains are its memories and its archives."

"That is how our descendants will see our Holy Mother the Church. I