“Hear you that?” said the friar. “Show me the whip that can whip the vanity out of man's heart! The young monkey; how knoweth he that stranger is a sinner more than he?”
“Father,” said Gerard, “surely this is not to our Lord's mind. He was so pitiful.”
“Our Lord?” said the friar, crossing himself. “What has He to do with this? This was a custom in Rome six hundred years before He was born. The boys used to go through the streets, at the Lupercalia flogging themselves. And the married women used to shove in, and try and get a blow from the monkeys' scourges; for these blows conferred fruitfulness in those days. A foolish trick this flagellation; but interesting to the bystander; reminds him of the grand old heathen. We are so prone to forget all we owe them.”
Next they got into one of the seven churches, and saw the Pope give the mass. The ceremony was imposing, but again—spoiled by the inconsistent conduct of the cardinals and other prelates, who sat about the altar with their hats on, chattering all through the mass like a flock of geese.
The eucharist in both kinds was tasted by an official before the Pope would venture on it; and this surprised Gerard beyond measure. “Who is that base man? and what doth he there?”
“Oh, that is 'the Preguste,' and he tastes the eucharist by way of precaution. This is the country for poison; and none fall oftener by it than the poor Popes.”
“Alas! so I have heard; but after the miraculous change of the bread and wine to Christ His body and blood, poison cannot remain; gone is the bread with all its properties and accidents; gone is the wine.”
“So says Faith; but experience tells another tale. Scores have died in Italy poisoned in the host.”
“And I tell you, father, that were both bread and wine charged with direst poison before his holiness had consecrated them, yet after consecration I would take them both withouten fear.”
“So would I, but for the fine arts.”