THE AMERICAN
I did, punctiliously, and received an apostolic flesh-wound at Castelfidardo. It did neither the Holy Father nor me any good that I could make out. Rome was doubtless a very amusing place in the days of Heliogabalus, but it has sadly fallen off since. I was immured for three years, like some of the choicest scoundrels in history, in the castle of Saint Angelo, and then I came back to secular life."
Newman followed very much as he had followed ciceroni through museums. "So you've no active interest?—you do absolutely nothing?"
"As hard as ever I can. I'm supposed to amuse myself and to pass my time, and, to tell the truth, I've had some good moments. They come somehow, in spite of one, and the thing is then to recognise them. But you can't keep on the watch for them for ever. I'm good for three or four years more perhaps, but I foresee that after that I shall spring a leak and begin to sink. I shan't float any more, I shall go straight to the bottom. Then, at the bottom, what shall I do? I think I shall turn monk. Seriously, I think I shall tie a rope round my waist and go into a monastery. It was an old custom and the old customs were very good. People understood life quite as well as we do. They kept the pot boiling till it cracked, and then put it on the shelf altogether."
"Do you attend church regularly?" asked Newman in a tone which gave the enquiry a quaint effect.
His friend evidently appreciated this element, yet looked at him with due decorum. "I'm a very good Catholic. I cherish the Faith. I adore the blessed Virgin. I fear the Father of Lies."
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