The City and the World | Page 6

right to existence
at all. There is only one royalty that may live in Rome. We, who are of
the true city, know that.
"And you, too, might have been of the city. The power of saving
thousands was given to you. I prayed only for the power of saving one.
I had to send you away, for you were not a Philip Neri. Only a saint
may live to be praised and save himself--in Rome.
"When you went away, my son, you went away with a sacrifice as your
merit, your salvation. Of that sacrifice the Church in Marqua was born.
It will grow on another sacrifice. Ask your heart if you could make it?
Alas, you can not! Then it will have to grow on Pietro's pain.

"I have not seen you, for I am blind, but I have heard you. You want to
go back an Archbishop to finish what you say is 'your work.' You think
that your people are waiting. You want to bring the splendor of the city
to the world. My son, the work is not yours. The people are not yours.
The city, the true city, does not know you, for you have forgotten the
spirit of sacrifice. You went out to the world an apostle, and you came
back to the city a conqueror, but no longer an apostle. Can't you see
that God does not need conquerors?"
The old priest pressed the crucifix tightly against his breast. "What
would you take back to Marqua?" he demanded. "Nothing but your
purple and your eloquence. How could you, who have forgotten to pray
in the midst of affliction, teach your people how to pray in the midst of
their sorrows? Marqua does not need you, for Marqua needs the man
you might have been, but which you are not. The city does not need
you, for the city needs no man; but it is you who need the city, that you
may learn again the lesson that once made you the missionary of a
people."
Faintly, through the silence that fell the deeper as the old man's words
died away, there came the sound of footsteps pacing in another room.
Once more the old man took up his speech.
"They are Pietro's steps," he said. "All night long I have heard you both.
He has been sobbing under the burden he believes he is unworthy to
bear, while you have been raging that you were not permitted to bear it.
Pietro was only your servant. He would be your servant again if he
could. He loves you. I, too, love you. Perhaps I was selfish in loving
you, but I wanted for God your soul and the souls you were leading to
Him."
The old man arose. He put out his hand to grope his way back to the
door. It touched Ramoni, sitting rigid. He did not stir. The hand reached
over him, caught the lintel of the door and guided the blind man to the
hall. Then Ramoni stood up. Without a word he followed the other.
When he had overtaken him he laid his hand gently on the blind man's
arm and led him back to his cell.

When he came back the door of the chapel was open. Ramoni, going
within, found Pietro there, prostrate at the foot of the altar. Ramoni
knelt at the door, his eyes brimming with tears. He did not pray. He
only gazed upon the far-off tabernacle. And while he knelt the Great
Plan unfolded itself to him. He looked back on Marqua as a man who
has traveled up the hills looks down on the valleys. And, looking back,
he could see that Pietro's had been the labor that had won Marqua.
There came back to him all the memories of his servant's love of souls,
his ceaseless teaching, his long journeys to distant villages, his zeal, his
solicitude to save his superior for the more serious work of preaching.
Pietro had been jealous of the slightest infringement on his right to
suffer. Pietro had been the apostle. Before God the conquest of Marqua
had been Pietro's first, since he it was who had toiled and claimed no
reward.
A great peace suddenly mantled the troubled soul of Father Ramoni,
and with it a great love for the old General whose hand had struck him.
He thought of the painting hanging near where he knelt--"Moses
Striking the Rock." The features of Father Denfili merged into the
features of the Law Giver, and Father Ramoni knew himself for the
rock, barren and unprofitable. He fell on his face, and then his prayer
came:
"Christ, humble and meek, soften me, and if there be aught of living
water within, let me give one drop for thirsty