“That is exactly what I cannot understand,” exclaimed Irene. “The longer I live in Rome, the more I come to the conclusion that the two churches have really never been separated. No one but theologians is interested in dogmas. Ordinary mortals, orthodox and Catholic alike, believe in the same legends and superstitions, the same saints and martyrs, the same prayers, the same gospel, the same services. It is even astonishing that two churches, having so long ago severed all connection with each other, should have remained so astonishingly similar. Russian pilgrims, who go to Bari to pray at the shrine of Saint Nicholas, the worker of miracles, proceed from there to the shrines of Saint Peter and Saint Paul in Rome, where they feel perfectly at home. What is the use of worrying about the re-union of two churches that actually have never been disunited at all?” “You forget the political standpoint,” said Gzhatski. “Russia is growing daily and hourly, and with each year her might increases. Some day, in the not too far-distant future, her support may be of enormous importance to the Pope. What with the spread of Atheism and Freemasonry, there is nothing to ensure that the Vatican will not one fine day suddenly be turned into a National museum, and some out-of-the-way monastery in the Apennines be offered to the Pope as a residence! The Catholic nations of Europe would, in such a case, probably limit themselves, as they did on the occasion of the taking of Rome, to the sending of deputations and expressions of sympathy. It is at that moment that the Pope, like King Lear, will turn away from his proud elder daughters Regan and Goneril, on whom he has lavished so much love and care, and will remember the far-away Cordelia, whom, though she has received nothing from him, he has never ceased to regard as his daughter. There is no doubt that the Vatican has some hopes in connection with the Northern Cordelia, and—who knows?—perhaps even these hopes are not quite without foundation. In any case, a persecuted and friendless Pope would certainly appeal far more strongly to the sympathies of the Russian people than the present magnificent and triumphant Pontiff!” XVII The Catholic and the Orthodox Easter fell that year on the same date. It was already Passion Week, and for some days Irene saw nothing of Gzhatski. He was preparing for Easter Communion, and went every day to the Russian Church. Irene, on her side, was anxious not to miss even the least of the Catholic services and ceremonies. A spell of cold, windy weather had broken in upon the sunny springtime, and, perhaps on this account, perhaps also through the fatigue of constant long standing in church (there are no chairs in the great Roman cathedrals), Irene’s nerves were in an unbearable state of tension and restlessness. With a great effort, she turned her steps, on the Thursday evening, towards St. Peter’s, where the annual ceremony of the washing of the altar was to take place.