all me Antichrist if you please)." A visible shudder
passed over the poor cavaliere; his eyes closed altogether, and his
lips moved. (He was repeating an Ave Maria Sanctissima). "I abhor, I
renounce this slavery!--I rebel against it!--I will have none of it.
Who shall control the immortality of thought?--a Pius, a Gregory?
Ignorant dreamers, perjured priests!--never!"

As he spoke, the count raised his right arm, and circled it in the
air. In imagination he was waving the flag of liberty over a prostrate
world.

"But, alas! this slavery is riveted by the grasp of centuries; it
requires measures as firm and uncompromising as its own to dislodge
it. Now the pope "--Trenta did not this time attempt to correct
Marescotti--"the pope is theoretically of no nation, but in reality
he is of all nations; and he is surrounded by a court of celibate
priests, also without nation. Observe, cavaliere--this absolute
dominion is attained by celibates only--men with no family ties--no
household influences." (This was spoken, as it were, _en parenthese_,
as a comment on the earlier portion of the conversation that had taken
place between them.) "Each of these celibate priests is the pope's
courtier--his courtier and his slave; his slave because he is subject
to a higher law than the law of his own conscience, and the law of his
own country. Without home or family, nationality or worldly interest,
the priest is a living machine, to be used in whatever direction his
tyrant dictates. Every priest, therefore, be he cardinal or deacon,
moves and acts the slave of an abstract idea; an idea incompatible
with patriotism, humanity, or freedom."

An audible and deep groan escaped from the suffering cavaliere as the
count's voice ceased.

"Now, Cavaliere Trenta, mark the application." As the count proceeded
with his argument, his dark eyes, lit up with the enthusiasm of
his own oratory, riveted themselves on the arm-chair. (It could not
properly be said that his eyes riveted themselves on Trenta, for
he was stooping down, his face covered with his hands, altogether
insensible to any possible appeal that might be addressed to him.) "I,
Manfredi Marescotti, consecrated priest of the people"--and the count
drew himself up to the full height of his lofty figure--"I am as
devoted to my cause--God is my witness"--and he raised his right
hand as though to seal a solemn pledge of truth--"as that consecrated
renegade, the pope! My followers--and their n