his enemies, who were none the worse for it. At last, feeling
himself nigh to death, and fearing lest the schism die with him,
he elected his two vicars cardinals on the condition that after
his death one of the two would elect the other pope. The election
was made. The new pope, supported by the cardinal who made him,
continued the schism for awhile. Finally both entered into
negotiations with Rome, made honorable amends, and returned to
the fold of Holy Church, one with the title of Arch bishop of
Seville, the other as Archbishop of Toledo.

From this time until 1790 Avignon, widowed of her popes, was
governed by legates and vice-legates. Seven sovereign pontiffs
had resided within her walls some seven decades; she had seven
hospitals, seven fraternities of penitents, seven monasteries,
seven convents, seven parishes, and seven cemeteries.

To those who know Avignon there was at that epoch--there is yet--two
cities within a city: the city of the priests, that is to say,
the Roman city, and the city of the merchants, that is to say,
the, French city. The city of the priests, with its papal palace,
its hundred churches, its innumerable bell-towers, ever ready
to sound the tocsin of conflagration, the knell of slaughter.
The town of the merchants, with its Rhone, its silk-workers, its
crossroads, extending north, east, south and west, from Lyons
to Marseilles, from Nimes to Turin. The French city, the accursed
city, longing for a king, jealous of its liberties, shuddering
beneath its yoke of vassalage, a vassalage of the priests with
the clergy for its lord.

The clergy--not the pious clergy, tolerantly austere in the practice