The boy’s eyes shot a mischievous gleam.
“Our great ancestor on my father’s side was a baker, on my mother’s side they added a letter to it, and it became banker. Now if it is true that the third generation goes back, I think I’d rather make cakes than money.”
The Cardinal laughed; the boy’s merriment was contagious. Then he grew grave again.
“My son, there is something in each generation which belongs neither to the Past nor the Present, but to the Future; it is God’s will working in us. The time has come to tell you of my wishes for you. I want you to continue my work, to take up the staff of Divine Duty, to lay upon the altar of renunciation the great gifts bestowed upon you by an All-Seeing God; you will give your youth, your manhood, your old age, to save those helpless souls who need your intercession, your spiritual support. You will one day succeed me in Rome; it has been my only earthly dream, ever since I held you as an infant in my arms. My time is short; I want to see you enter upon the path before I die.”
The boy was on his feet, his face quivering with grief, the tears streaming from his eyes.
“No, no; you must not die! I love you! I love you! If I could prolong your life for one hour I would give my right hand.”
He held it up, firm, strong, beautiful. The Cardinal’s imagination played him a trick again. He saw another white hand held up, old, feeble, trembling; the light shone through it.
The boy’s heart was heavy—that beloved face before him, with the pallor of death on it. How could he say what he must?...
“I have thought long and deeply of your wishes for me. I cannot! I cannot! There is something in me that rebels against the chastisement of the flesh. I don’t want to think always of death, to pray always; I want to work, I want to live. No one can intercede for me; I can intercede for no one. Each must work out his own salvation. The old world is spiritually decaying; the young must be the pioneers of a new world. We must tear down and dig and set the stones of a new foundation, and those who come after us will build. The Future will see miracles; the human being will awaken to the truth, that he himself is God.”
“Stop! Blasphemer!” The old man broke into choking sobs. “Joseph! Joseph! I am responsible for your soul’s salvation; this is all madness! You will repent when it is too late.”