"Ah, Carl, he will soon return, he will at last relieve me of the care of the Van Huyden estate! See how hopefully he speaks of the cause of humanity in Europe,—in February, the people of France cast off their chains,—now Italy is awake, and men with the soul of Rienzi and the sword of Washington, direct her destinies,—the Pope, soon to be stripped of his temporal power, will be no longer the tool of brutal tyrants, the prisoner of atheist cardinals, but simply the Head of a regenerated people, simply the first Priest of a redeemed church. Glorious news, Carl; glorious news for us, in this free land; for say what we will, Rome is a heart which never throbs, but that its pulsations are felt throughout the world."
"How can Rome directly affect us, Doctor?"
"If the absolutist party in that church,—the party who regard Christ but as their stepping-stone to unrestrained and brutal power,—obtain the mastery, then, Carl, the last battle between that party and humanity, will be fought not in Europe, but in this New World. Is there a hill in this land, but is trod by a soldier of Rome? But if the party of Progress in that church,—the party who believe in Christ, and hold the Gospels as the inspired text-book of Democratic truth,—obtain the ascendancy, then, instead of having to battle with the Catholic Church, in this New World, the friends of humanity will find in it, their strongest ally. Good news, Carl! The Pope, the Washington of Italy!"
To which Carl,—happy in that little world of his own, where he lived with his wife and child, afar from the great world,—said simply:—
"Martin, let us wait and see."
Some months after the conversation just recorded, a very brief scene, but full of interest took place in Rome.
Let us pass for a little while from the Empire City to the Eternal City.
In one of the chambers of the Vatican, late at night, a lamp was faintly burning, its rays struggling among the thick shadows which hung about the lofty walls. Through an open window came a dim, ominous murmur,—the voice of the arisen people of Rome.
A man of some fifty years, whose black hair was plentifully sprinkled with gray, paced up and down the marble floor, pausing every now and then before a door, in the center of the chamber, to which he directed his earnest gaze. Behind that door was the majesty of the Roman Church, 'the representative of God on earth'—the Pope of Rome.