Books: The Master Christian

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"Brother, here is a matter which I cannot possibly understand," he
said, "Monsignor Gherardi writes here to congratulate me upon a
miracle I have worked in Rouen!--and summons me at once to the
presence of His Holiness! What can it mean? I have performed no
miracle! Surely some jest is being played with me,--and one most
unbecoming to a man of Gherardi's position and influence!"

Prince Sovrani took the letter from Bonpre's hand and read it in
silence.

"Yes--I have heard about it already," he said, "And if you indeed
know nothing, it is strange! But can you not remember--is there no
clue to such a report? Were there no sick children brought to
you . . . ?"

"Oh, for that," answered the Cardinal quickly, "a little boy named
Fabien Doucet, was brought to me by the children of an inn-keeper of
the Hotel Poitiers where I stayed two nights, and to grant their
wishes, (and also because it is my duty to do what I can for the
suffering and the afflicted), I laid my hands upon him and prayed to
our Lord that he might be healed."

"Ebbene! Our Lord has then healed him," said Sovrani drily, "It is
remarkable!--but if the cure is truly accomplished, we shall have to
admit that the Deity does sometimes pay attention to our many
prayers, though for the most part they appear to fall upon a deaf,
dumb, and irresponsive Silence."

The Cardinal sat down, wearily resting his head on his hand.

"I do not like it!" he said, "It is altogether amazing to me; it
seems like a snare set to catch my soul! For I have no power to
perform miracles . . . I can only pray."

"And why should not your prayer be answered?" asked Manuel suddenly.

They had all forgotten the boy's presence in the room, and his voice
startled them. His young face was pale, yet tranquil--and the deep
tenderness that always dwelt in his eyes seemed deeper and softer at
this moment than ever.

"Truly I do not see why," said Prince Sovrani, bending his fierce
regard full on the lad as he spoke, and beginning to wonder like the
rest at his fairness and beauty, "Only as a rule, fanciuollo mio--
prayer is mere waste of breath--a demand without supply."

"Is that not perhaps the fault of the person who prays?" said
Manuel, "May that person not lack faith and pure intention? May he
not even be too self-absorbed to lift his soul high enough for an
approach to God? When the disciples were vexed that they could not
cure a child that was afflicted, and saw that their Master healed
that child at once, they asked why they were unable to do what He
did. And He told them plainly, 'Because of your unbelief. For verily
I say unto you, if ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed ye shall
say unto this mountain, remove from yonder place, and it shall
remove, and nothing shall be impossible to you.' And I am sure that
my lord the Cardinal's faith is greater than a grain of mustard
seed!"

They were all silent. Cardinal Bonpre turned his eyes thoughtfully
on the young speaker

"You were with me, child, when the little cripple sat on my knee and
held my crucifix," he said in a low tone, "You saw--you heard all.
What did I do?--what did I say?"

"You held him in your arms, even as Christ took little children in
His arms and blessed them," replied Manuel, "And you prayed--and in
your prayer you said--'King and Master of all such children, even as
Thou wert a child Thyself, be pleased to heal him of his sad
infirmity. For if Thou wilt, Thou canst make this bent body
straight, and these withered muscles strong,--from death itself Thou
canst ordain life, and nothing is impossible unto Thee!'"

There was a pause. Then Manuel added,--

"That is what you said, my lord Cardinal;--and when the child went
away, you told him that if the giving of your own life could make
him strong, he should have that life willingly. Some people might
say that without meaning it,--but you meant what you said,--every
word came straight from your heart. And should it then surprise you
that God has granted your prayer?"

Prince Sovrani listened to the dulcet young voice with a strange
emotion. Something holy and convincing seemed to emanate from the
boy's very presence, and though he, as became a modern Italian, was
thoroughly sceptical and atheistical, and would have willingly
argued against the very words of Christ as written in the Gospel,
some curious hesitation that was almost shamefacedness held him
silent. But the Cardinal was even more strongly moved. The earnest
spirit of truth with which Manuel appeared always to be environed,--
his simple and straight enunciation of the old, oft-quoted phrases
used by the Divine Saviour of the world,--and then his unfaltering
memory of the simple prayer that had been said for the comfort of
the unfortunate little Fabien Doucet, together with this strange and
unexpected announcement of the child's miraculous cure,--these
things rushed over the mind of the good Bonpre like an overwhelming
flood, and confused his brain--strange half-formed thoughts occurred
to him that he dared not express, chief among which was a vague, a
terrifying idea that the young boy beside him who spoke so sweetly,
and almost so commandingly, must surely be an Angel! Strange legends
of the Church began to recur to him;--legends of old-time when
angels had descended to walk with priests in their monastic
seclusion, and instruct them as to the value of time, as in the
"Legend Beautiful," when the monk Felix, being perplexed by the
phrase "a day with God is as a thousand years," went to sleep in a
garden, soothed by the singing of the birds at sunset, and woke up
to find that in his slumber a century had rolled away! All manner of
fantastic notions swept in upon him, and he grew suddenly blind and
dizzy--rising from his chair totteringly he extended his hands--then
suddenly sank back again in a dead faint. Sovrani caught him as he
fell--and Angela ran for water, and tenderly bathed his forehead
while Manuel took his hand and held it fast.

"Too long a journey, and too much excitement!" said the Prince,--
"Our Felix is growing old,--he cannot stand fatigue. He is failing
fast!"

"Oh, no," said Manuel brightly, "He is not failing! He is younger by
far than he seems! He is too strong to fail!"

And as he spoke the Cardinal opened his eyes and smiled with an
expression of perfect rapture.

"Why, what has ailed me?" he enquired, looking at Angela's anxious
face, "I had but gone for a moment into the presence of my Lord!"
Here he paused, and then gradually recovering himself entirely, sat
upright.

"All is well with me!" he said, pressing the hand of Manuel in his
own, and releasing it again, "Do not fret, Angela,--it was the
merest passing faintness. Forgive me, brother, for alarming you thus
foolishly! As for the letter from the Vatican concerning this
miracle, I must needs present myself before His Holiness and assure
him that I know nothing of it,--that I did no more than pray--that I
left the crippled child still crippled--and that if indeed it be
true he is healed, it is by the merciful act of God and--the
intervention of our Lord and Saviour Christ, to Whom be all the
praise and glory!"

He rose up again from his chair and stood full height,--a grand and
beautiful figure of noble old age, transfigured by the light of some
never-aging thought, some glorious inspiration. And Angela, who had
been startled and alarmed by his sudden fainting fit, was even more
overcome by the sight of him thus radiant and selfpossessed, and
dropping on her knees she caught his hand and kissed it, her tears
falling fast. He stooped and raised her.

"Child, why are you weeping?" he said tenderly, "Nay, I am not so
ill as you think me! I am well--strong!--ready for the doing of many
things in my Master's service! Pietro, take this dear girl and
comfort her!" and he put her gently into her father's arms,--"For
myself, I have work to do--work to do!--" he repeated musingly,--"I
see trouble ahead!--but I shall face it--and if God please--overcome
it!" His, eyes flashed, and after a moment he resumed, "I will write
to Gherardi now--and to-morrow--to-morrow I will speak!"

"Can I help you, brother?" asked the Prince, taken out of himself by
the air of splendour and sovereignty which seemed to surround the
Cardinal as with a divine halo, "You are fatigued with your
journey,--let me write for you!"

"No, Pietro! I must do this myself, and think well of all I should
say." He paused, then added, "They tell me Claude Cazeau, secretary
to the Archbishop of Rouen brought the news of this so-called
miracle to Rome. I should have liked to have seen that man to-
night."

"You will see him at the Vatican," said Sovrani. with a touch of
irony, "That will be time enough! Oh, innocent Felix! Do you not see
you will be confronted with Cazeau? And that Gherardi and his set
will be there to note your every look and gesture, and privately
judge as to whether you and the Archbishop of Rouen concocted the
miracle between you! And that if you were to see this Cazeau to-
night, that very meeting would be taken as a sign of conspiracy!"

Over the pale features of the Cardinal rushed a warm glow of
indignation, but it died away as rapidly as it had come.

"True!" he said simply, "I forgot! If a good deed is done in the
world by the force of the undefined Spirit of Christ, it is judged
as trickery,--and we must never forget that even the Resurrection of
our Blessed Lord from the dead is believed by some to be a mere
matter of conspiracy among His disciples. True--I forgot the
blindness,--the melancholy blindness of the world! But we must
always say, 'Father forgive them, for they know not what they do!' I
will write to Gherardi,--and,--if you will permit me, I will remain
in my own rooms tonight for I must think and pray,--I must be
alone . . ."

"Without me, my lord Cardinal?" asked Manuel softly.

"No, not without you!" and Bonpre looked at him with a smile, "Not
without you! I have no wish to be so much alone as your absence
would make me. Come!"

And lifting the heavy velvet portiere at the door, he held it back
for his "foundling" to pass,--and then slowly followed.

XX.

On the first floor of an ancient mansion, in a street which slopes
down towards the Tiber, there is a suite of dreary old rooms which
must evidently have once belonged to some great "Prince of the
Church", (to use the term which Cardinal Bonpre held so much in
aversion,) if one may form any opinion from the ecclesiastical
designs on the faded green hangings, which cling like moss to the
damp walls, and give an additional melancholy to the general gloom
The "salon" or audience-chamber is perhaps the best in repair, and
possesses a gorgeous, painted ceiling, bordered by a frieze of red
and gold, together with one or two large pictures, which perhaps if
cleaned might show the touch of some great Master, but which in
their sad condition of long neglect, present nothing to the view but
a dark blur of indistinct outlines. The rooms in their entirety
composed the business, or town dwelling of Monsignor Gherardi, one
of the cleverest, most astute, and most unscrupulous of men, to whom
Religion was nothing more than a means of making money and gaining
power. There was scarcely a Roman Catholic "community" in the world,
in which Gherardi had not a share,--and he was particularly
concerned in "miraculous shrines", which were to him exactly in the
same category as "companies" are to the speculator on the Stock
Exchange. He had been cautious, prudent, and calculating from his
earliest years,--from the time when, as the last male scion of the
house of Gherardi he had been educated for the Ecclesiastical career
at the "College of Nobles". He had read widely, and no religious or
social movement took place anywhere without his knowing of it and
admitting it into his calculations as a sort of new figure in his
barking sum. He was an extensive shareholder in the "Lourdes"
business; and a careful speculator in all the religious frenzies of
the uneducated and superstitious. His career had been very
successful so far. He had amassed a considerable fortune; and away
out towards Frascati he had a superb Villa, furnished with every
modern luxury and convenience, (not rented in his own name, but in
that of a man whom he paid heavily to serve him as his tool and
menial,)--where a beautiful Neapolitan danseuse condescended to live
as his mistress;--he was a diplomat for himself if not for his
country, and kept his finger on the pulse of European politics as
well as on the fluctuating fevers of new creeds. But he never
troubled himself seriously as to the possible growth of any
"movement", or "society", or "crusade"; as experience had taught him
that no matter how ardently thinkers may propound theories, and
enthusiasts support them, there is always a dense and steady wave of
opposition surging against everything new,--and that few can be
found whose patience will hold out sufficiently long to enable them
to meet and ride over that wet wall of dull resistance.

Monsignor Gherardi was a most useful man at the Vatican, as he never
failed to comfort the Pope whenever that Holy Personage was cast
down or afraid of brooding disasters. When the Representative of the
ever-merciful Christ ventured to give it out as his Christian
opinion that the unhappy and maltreated Dreyfus would be found
guilty Monsignor Gherardi smilingly agreed with him. When His
Holiness denounced Freemasonry as a wicked association, formed for
atheistical and revolutionary purposes, Gherardi, though he knew
well enough that it was a fraternity formed for the mutual help and
sustainment of its members, denounced it too;--in the gardens of the
Vatican, but not elsewhere. There was nothing really either in the
way of Freemasonry or other sort of "society", that he was afraid
of;--no anxiety whatever troubled his mind, except the possibility
of losing money by some incautious speculation. In appearance he was
an exceedingly handsome man,--tall, with a fine figure and
commanding features,--physical advantages which greatly helped him
to enforce his spiritual authority. As he sat in his high-backed,
gilded chair, turning over papers on his desk, docketing this and
marking that for reference, his dark eyes sparkling with avidity as
he counted up certain dividends obtained from mysterious shares in
"miracle" health resorts, and a smile of satisfaction playing on the
firm, well-shaped curve of his intellectual but hard mouth, he
looked an imposing personage enough, of the very type to awe the
weak and timorous. He was much entertained on this particular
morning,--one might almost say he was greatly amused. Quite a
humorous little comedy was being played at the Vatican,--a mock-
solemn farce, which had the possibility of ending in serious
disaster to the innocent,--and he, as a student of the wily and
treacherous side of human nature, was rather interested in its
development. Cardinal Felix Bonpre, a man living far away in an
obscure cathedral-town of France, where he had become renowned for
good works and saintly living, had now, after many years, come out
of his long voluntary retirement, and had performed a miracle!

"And very well done too!" murmured Monsignor Gherardi, smiling to
himself, "Well prepared, well thought out, and successfully
accomplished! Our good Felix is much cleverer than I gave him credit
for. First, he wins a renown for good works,--then he starts
travelling toward Rome, the Mother of our Faith,--and on his way to
the sacred city performs a miraculous cure! An excellent move! I see
a possibility of making the Cathedral of Rouen a popular shrine for
healing. Yes, much can be done there! Only I am sorry that Felix has
made a little mistake in Paris--just a little mistake!--in that
matter of Vergniaud. And it is exceedingly unfortunate that the son
should turn out to be Gys Grandit. No wonder the Holy Father is
troubled;--no wonder! It is a little drama of the age, and will no
doubt prove complex in its movement, and worth watching." Here his
smile broadened,--and his eyes glittered more keenly than ever
"Yes!--it will be an excitement; and one wants a little excitement
now and then in the general monotony. Since Agostino preached,--"
here he paused, and a dark contraction knitted his brows,--"Let me
see!--this morning, yes!--this morning I receive the English
socialist Aubrey Leigh."

He turned in his chair, and glanced at the dial of a huge ticking
clock behind him, and saw that the hands were close on the appointed
hour of eleven. His smile slowly disappeared, and vanished
altogether in a heavy frown. "A dangerous man! I do not like his
book--it is written in melodramatic style, with heat and with
enthusiasm, and will attract the vulgar. He must be suppressed--but
how?"

He rose and paced the room slowly, his long white hands clasped
behind his back, and the frown on his brows deepened;--how suppress
a man who had announced himself as free of every Church and Creed,
and who was resolved to stand by the moral ethics of Christ only? A
man who desired nothing for himself, not even money;--"But stop!"
thought Gherardi,--"that is absurd! Every man wants money! Every man
must have it, and the more he has, the more he seeks. There is no
one in the world who cannot be bought or bribed!"

At that moment the green hangings of the door were lifted, and the
Italian man-servant announced,--

"Il Signor Aubri Lee!"

Gherardi, who in his pacing to and fro had reached the window,
wheeled round abruptly and faced his entering visitor. The light
fell aslant upon his stately figure as he drew himself up to his
full height, and greeted Leigh with a suavely condescending bow and
smile, while Aubrey in turn glanced him up and down with a
pleasurable consciousness of his intellectual appearance, and
evident combative temperament.

"You are welcome, Mr. Leigh," said Gherardi, speaking English with a
fluency of which he was pardonably proud, "Your letter from Florence
received my instant attention, and as you see, I have made it a
point to receive you at once--in spite of pressing business. Yes,--
in spite of pressing business! I confess I have been curious to see
the writer who has made himself so obnoxious to our dear friends and
brothers, the English clergy!"

A smile that was brilliant, but which conveyed no meaning whatever,
illumined his features; but for all reply to these words Aubrey
simply bowed and remained silent. Gherardi glanced at him sharply.
Was he intimidated already?--overawed at being in the presence of
one who was known to be a friend and confidant of the Pope? No--
there was nothing of fear or embarrassment in the composed attitude,
proud manner, and reserved expression of this slim, muscular man,
with the bright hair and keen eyes,--and Gherardi dropped his tone
of patronage for one of courtesy.

"Pray sit down!" he said, "I understand that you wish to obtain a
private audience of the Holy Father. That of course is impossible!"

Aubrey drew a chair slowly towards the desk where Gherardi had
resumed his own usual seat, and raised his eyes with a curious look
of half satirical questioning.

"Impossible!" he said, "And why?"

Gherardi almost laughed.

"Why? My dear sir, is it necessary to ask? Your name is sufficiently
well-known! and--I am sorry to tell you so,--but it is quite as
unpleasant at the Vatican as that of Gys Grandit!"

"Gys Grandit is a friend of mine," responded Aubrey composedly, "In
fact, I may almost say he is my disciple. I found him working in the
fields as a little peasant lad,--the love child, or 'bastard,' to
put it roughly, of some priest whose name he never told me. He was
helping to earn daily bread for his deserted mother whose maiden
name he then bore; and I helped to train his evident genius in the
way it has since developed."

"I cannot congratulate you on your pupil!" said Gherardi, smiling
coldly, "The offspring of a priest's sin is not likely to do the
world any credit. The son of the renegade Abbe Vergniaud may become
notorious, but never famous!"

Aubrey Leigh started up from his chair doubting whether he had heard
aright.

"The son of Abbe Vergniaud!" he exclaimed, "Is it possible! No, you
must surely be mistaken!--I know the Abbe,--I saw him in Paris but a
fortnight ago!"

"Indeed! Well, since that time strange things have happened," said
Gherardi, still preserving his calm inscrutability of demeanour, "We
have had our news from Monsignor Moretti, an envoy of ours in Paris,
on secret service. To put it briefly,--Vergniaud, for no particular
cause whatever, save perhaps the idea--(which may be only an idea)--
that he is going to die soon, has made a public confession of his
twenty-five-year-old crime and hypocrisy, in a blasphemous address
preached from the pulpit of Notre Dame de Lorette. The son, known to
the world as Gys Grandit, was present in the church, and fired a
pistol shot at his father, hoping to murder him,--then came the
theatrical denouement of the whole scene;--the Abbe ordered the
gendarmes to release the assassin, pronouncing him to be his son.
And finally--the saddest incident of all--there took place the
mutual pardon and reconciliation of both parties in the presence of
one of our most respected and beloved Princes of the Church,
Cardinal Felix Bonpre, whose grave error in this matter is causing
poignant and loving sorrow to the Holy Father!"

A curious expression began to appear in the delicate lines of
Aubrey's face--an expression which some of his London audiences knew
so well, and which generally meant war.

"You surprise me, Monsignor," he said in quiet accents,--"Events
move quickly, I know, in a quickly moving age,--still your news is
entirely unexpected. I never knew till now who the father of my
friend Gys Grandit was;--but now that I do know I think the public
confession you tell me of, was the only fitting reparation such a
man as the Abbe could make to the dead woman who was his wife in the
sight of God, as well as to his living son, and the public
generally. I never quite liked or trusted the Abbe; but if all this
be true, he has risen a hundred per cent, in my opinion! As for
Cardinal Bonpre, one of the noblest and purest of men, you surely
cannot be in earnest when you speak of his having committed a grave
error!"

"You know the Cardinal?" asked Gherardi evading the question.

"I was presented to him in Paris the day before I left for
Florence," replied Aubrey, "at the studio of his niece, Donna Angela
Sovrani."

"Ah!" and Gherardi balanced a paper-knife lightly on the point of
his long forefinger, "An unpleasant woman that! One of the female
'geniuses' who presume nowadays to compete with men in art and
literature."

"In Donna Sovrani's case there can be no question of competition,"
answered Leigh quietly, "She is by far and away the best artist of
her time."

"You think so? Very good, very good!" and Gherardi laughed a little,
"You are very chivalrous! You have a touch of the American in you,
have you not?--there is a tendency in the men of the New World to be
always on their knees before women. Strange, very strange!"

"We begin our lives in that way," replied Leigh, "We kneel to our
mothers!"

A slight flush reddened Gherardi's yellow paleness, but he kept his
smile well in evidence.

"Charmingly expressed--very charmingly!" he said suavely, "And so
you have met our dear St. Felix! Well, well! And did he tell you all
about the wonderful miracle he performed at Rouen?"

A cloud of surprise intermingled with contempt darkened Leigh's
intellectual brows.

"Never!" he said emphatically, "I should not have thought so much of
him if he had laid any claim to such a pretence!"

Gherardi laughed again softly.

"What a pity," he observed, "What a pity you clever heretics are so
violent! You think the power of the Church is a decaying one, and
that our Lord has ceased to supply its ministers with the Spirit of
Grace and the powers of healing? But this is where you are mistaken!
The Church--the Roman Church--remains as it always was and always
will be; impregnable!--the source of inspiration, the seat of
miracle, the only clue and road to everlasting life! And as for its
power--" here he closed his hand and dropped it on the table with a
silent force which was strangely expressive, "its power is
immeasurable! It reaches out in every direction--it grasps--it
holds,--it keeps! Why will you and your co-workers 'kick' like St.
Paul 'against the pricks'? It is quite useless! The Church is too
strong for any one of you--aye, and for any army of you! Do you not
hear the divine Voice from heaven calling daily in your ears, 'Why
persecutest thou Me?'"

"Yes," answered Aubrey deliberately, "I hear that every time I enter
a church! I hear it every time I see an ordained priest or minister
of the Gospel misusing his time in construing to his own purposes
the classic simplicity of Christ's doctrine. In some places of
worship, such as the tawdry church of the 'Annunziata' in Florence
that protest seems to reach its climax. When one sees the unwashen
priests expectorating every five minutes or so [Footnote: A fact] on
the very altars where they perform Mass;--when one notes the dirt,
the neglect, the gim-crackery;--the sickening and barbarous
superstition everywhere offered as being representative of sublime
Deity,--the Force which has raised the heaven above us with its
endless star-patterns of living universe,--then the cry of 'Why
persecutest thou Me?' seems to roll through the arches like the
thunder which sometimes precedes a general earthquake!"