“What an exaggeration!” said Don Calixto.
“No, it is the truth. He is glad that these things, which he considers accursed, sell, because after all, he is a liberal and a Jew; the only thing he does, if he can, to ease his conscience, is to get ten per cent. profit on everything, and he says to himself: ‘Let the Catholics worry!’”
“What tales! If the Canon should hear you!”
“No, but all this is true. As my friend says: Business is business. And he has made me take notice that when the Garibaldini come here, they spend the price of a few bottles of Chianti, and then they sleep in any dog-kennel, and spend nothing more. On the contrary, the rich Catholics buy and buy... and off go his kilos of rosaries and of medals, his tons of veils for visiting the Pope, his reams of indulgences for eating meat, and for eating fish and meat, and even for blowing your nose on pages of the Bible if you like.”
“Do not be so disrespectful.”
When the Canon had made sure of all the square metres of marble there are in Saint Peter’s they went out into the square again. Cæsar indicated the heap of irregular edifices that form the Vatican.
“That ought to be the Pope’s room,” said Cæsar, pointing to a window, at random. “You must have been there, Don Calixto?” “I don’t know. Really,” he said, “I haven’t much idea where I was.”
“Nor has he any idea how he went,” thought Cæsar, and added: “That is the Library; over there is the Secretary of State’s apartment; there is where the Holy Office meets”; and he said whatsoever occurred to him, perfectly tranquilly.
They took their carriage, and as they passed a shop for objects of religion, Don Calixto said to the Canon:
“What do you say to this, Don Justo? According to Don Cæsar, the proprietors of the shops where they sell medals, are Jews.”