The freemason’s conversion could not be kept secret for long. Before the end of the day Julius de Baraglioul had passed on the news to Cardinal André, who immediately broadcast it to conservative circles and the upper reaches of the French clergy. At the same time Véronique informed Father Anselmo, so that the news very quickly came to the ears of the Vatican.
Anthime Armand-Dubois had without doubt been the recipient of some special blessing. It was possibly unwise to claim that the Virgin had appeared to him in person, but even if he had really only seen her in a dream, the fact that he was cured was there for all to see, demonstrable, undeniable, assuredly a miracle.
However, although it might have been enough for Anthime to feel he was cured, it was not enough for the Church, which demanded a clear and full recantation from him, to be made in circumstances of unusual magnificence.
‘Oh! Oh! I do beg your pardon!’ Father Anselmo said to him a few days later. ‘In the error of your ways you spent your whole life spreading heresy by every means – and now you’re trying to wriggle out of your part in the lofty teaching that Heaven would like to draw from your example? How many souls have the false lights of your vain science managed to drive away from the one true Light! It’s up to you to bring them back, and you would hesitate to do it? What am I saying: it’s up to you? No, it’s your absolute duty, and I shall not insult you by supposing that you don’t feel it too.’
Anthime was not wriggling out of his duty. All the same, he could not help fearing the consequences. The substantial interests he possessed in Egypt were, as we have said, in the hands of the freemasons. What could he do without the Lodge’s assistance? And how could he hope that it would continue to support someone who turned his back on it? Having once trusted the Lodge to restore his fortune, he now saw himself staring ruin in the face.
He confided his apprehension to Father Anselmo. The priest, who had not previously known about his status, was gleeful at the prospect of his recantation being even more newsworthy. Two days later Anthime’s high rank in the Lodge was known to every reader of the Osservatore and the Santa Croce.
‘You’re going to ruin me,’ Anthime said.
‘Oh, on the contrary, my son,’ Father Anselmo replied, ‘we’re bringing you salvation. As for your material needs, do not let them concern you: the Church will provide. I have talked at length about your case to Cardinal Pazzi, who is going to refer it to Rampolla. I may as well tell you that your recantation has already come to the Holy Father’s attention. The Church will know how to compensate you for what you have sacrificed for her. She does not intend you to lose out. And while we’re on the subject, don’t you think you’re overstating’ – he smiled – ‘the freemasons’ influence in this business? I’m not saying I don’t know that they’re a force to be reckoned with – all too often! What I mean is, have you actually calculated what you fear their hostility might lose you? Let us have the figure, more or less, and …’ – his left index finger hovered near his nose with roguish good-naturedness – ‘and have no fear.’
Ten days after the jubilee was celebrated, Anthime’s recantation took place at the Gesù in circumstances of excessive pomp. There is no need for me to recount this ceremony, which was covered by all the Italian newspapers of the day. Father T––—, the Jesuit Superior General’s socius, made it the occasion of one of his most remarkable addresses. There was no doubt that the freemason’s soul had been tormented to the point of madness, and the very excess of his hatred was a foretaste of love. The holy orator reminded his audience of Saul of Tarsus and discerned surprising similarities between Anthime’s iconoclastic gesture and the stoning of St Stephen. And as the reverend father’s eloquence swelled and rumbled down the nave like waves breaking and crashing into a sea cave, Anthime thought of his niece’s girlish voice and in his secret heart thanked little Julie for having drawn to her unbelieving uncle’s sins the merciful attention of Her whom he would serve in future, forsaking all others.
From that day forward, engrossed in these more lofty preoccupations, Anthime was scarcely aware of the commotion that surrounded his name. Julius de Baraglioul made sure that he suffered on his brother-in-law’s behalf, and opened every newspaper with a pounding heart. The Catholic press’s initial jubilation was soon followed by catcalls from the liberal papers: a substantial article in the Osservatore, ‘A new victory for the Church’, was answered by a diatribe in the Tempo Felice entitled ‘Yet another fool’. Even the Dépêche de Toulouse prefaced Anthime’s column, sent in the day before his cure, with a mocking introductory note. Julius responded in Anthime’s name, with a letter both dignified and curt, to inform the Dépêche that the so-called ‘convert’ would no longer be among its contributors. The Zukunft pre-empted a similar exchange by writing Anthime a polite letter of thanks for his services. He accepted these developments with the serenity of expression which is a sign of the truly devout soul.
‘Fortunately you’ll be welcome at the Correspondant. I’ll vouch for that,’ Julius said drily.
‘But, my dear fellow, what on earth would I write for it?’ Anthime objected mildly. ‘None of the things that kept me busy yesterday holds any interest for me today.’
Gradually silence fell on the affair. Julius had to return to Paris. Anthime, under pressure from Father Anselmo, meekly left Rome. Material ruin had followed hard on the heels of the Lodge’s withdrawal of support, and with the visits that Véronique – confident in the Church’s succour – had persuaded him to make having only resulted in wearying and finally exasperating the Vatican’s higher officials, he had followed the priest’s friendly advice to go and wait in Milan for the compensation he had been promised, plus whatever scraps of heavenly largesse might come his way, though these were growing rather stale in the waiting.