Books: The Master Christian

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"Yes, I know! And I know you mean what you say! I could not imagine
you telling an untruth,--not even in making love!" and she laughed,
"Though there are many of your sex who think any amount of lies
permissible under similar circumstances! And it is just because I
have found men such practised liars, that I have the reputation of
being heartless. Did you ever think me heartless?"

Aubrey hesitated a moment.

"Yes," he admitted at last, frankly, "I did till I knew better. I
was told--"

"Stop! I know all you were told!" said Sylvie, drawing her slim
figure up with a pretty dignity as she moved back to her place by
the fire--"You were told that I was the cause of the death of the
Marquis Fontenelle. So I was, unhappily--but not through my own
fault. The actor Miraudin,--known to be one of the most coarse-
minded and brutal of men,--slandered me in public,--the Marquis
defended me. Hence the combat and its fatal end, which no one has
deplored more bitterly than I. Miraudin was never a gentleman,--
Fontenelle could have been one had he chosen. And I confess I cared
very much for him at one time!"

"You loved him," said Aubrey, trying to master a pang of jealousy.

"Yes! I loved him!--till he proved himself unworthy of love."

There was a silence.

"I tell you all this," said Sylvie then slowly and emphatically,
"that you may know me at once as I am. I wish to hide nothing from
you. I have read all your books--I know your views of life--your
hatred of dissimulation--your contempt of a lie! In your love for
me, you must have complete knowledge of my nature, and confidence in
my truth. I would never give my life to any man unless he trusted me
absolutely,--unless I was sure he felt I was a real helpmate for
him. I love you--but I also love your work and your aims; and I go
with all your thoughts and wish to share all your responsibilities.
But I must feel that you will never misjudge me,--never set me down
on the level of mean and small-natured women, who cannot sacrifice
themselves or their personal vanities for another's sake. It is not
for me to say that the calumnies circulated concerning me are
untrue,--it is for my life to show and PROVE they are not! But I
must be trusted--not suspected; and if you give me your life as you
say, I will give mine to help make yours happier, asking from you in
return just your faith--your FAITH as well as your love!"

Like a fair queen she stood, royal in her look, bearing and
attitude, and Aubrey bent his head low in reverence before her as he
once more kissed her hand.

"My wife!" he said simply.

And the silence that followed was as that of God's benediction on
that perfect marriage which is scarcely ever consummated in all the
world,--the marriage of two souls, which like twin flames, unite and
burn upward clear to Heaven, as One.

XXVII.

Society soon learned the news of the Countess Hermenstein's
betrothal to the "eccentric Englishman," Aubrey Leigh,--and with its
million tongues discussed the affair in all tones,--most people
preferring to say, with the usual "society" kindness, that--"Leigh
was not quite such a self-sacrificing idealist as he seemed to be,--
he was going to marry for money." Some few ventured to remark that
Sylvie Hermenstein was charming in herself and well worth winning,--
but the more practical pooh-poohed this view of the case at once.
"Pretty women are to be had by the score," they said, "It is the
money that tells!" Aubrey Leigh caught these rumours, and was in a
manner stung by them,--he said very little however, and to all the
congratulations he received, merely gave coldly civil thanks. And so
the gossips went to work again in their own peculiar way, and said,
"Well! She will have an iceberg for a husband, that is one thing! A
stuck up, insolent sort of chap!--not a bit of go in him!" Which was
true,--Aubrey had no "go." "Go" means, in modern parlance, to drink
oneself stupid, to bet on the most trifling passing events, and to
talk slang that would disgrace a stable-boy, as well as to amuse
oneself with all sorts of mean and vulgar intrigues which are
carried on through the veriest skulk and caddishness;--thus Aubrey
was a sad failure in "tip-top" circles. But the "tip-top" circles
are not a desirable heaven to every man;--and Aubrey did not care
much as to what sort of comments were passed on himself, provided he
could see Sylvie always "queen it" over her inferiors in that
graceful, gracious way of conquest which was her special peculiarity
and charm. Among her friends no one perhaps was happier in Sylvie's
happiness than Angela Sovrani; her nature was of that rare quality
which vibrates like a harp to every touch, and the joy of others
swept over her with a gladness which made her more glad than if she
had received some priceless boon for her own benefit. Florian
Varillo was exceedingly angry at the whole affair,--and whenever
Sylvie's betrothal was spoken of he assumed an expression of pained
and personal offence which was almost grotesque.

"Such a marriage is ridiculous!" he declared,--"Everyone can see how
utterly unsuited the two are in tastes, habits and opinions! They
will rue the day they ever met!"

And not all the gentle remonstrances of his own fiancee Angela,
could soothe his ruffled humour, or make him accept the inevitable
with grace. Angela was exceedingly troubled and puzzled by his
almost childish waywardness,--she did not yet understand the nature
of a man who was to himself all in all, and who could not endure the
idea that any woman whom he personally condescended to admire should
become the possession of another, no matter how completely that
woman might be beyond his own reach. Poor Angela! She was very
simple--very foolish indeed;--she never imagined it could be
possible for a man to carry on five or six love-affairs at once, and
never be found out. Yet this was the kind of life her "ideal" found
the most suitable to his habit and temperament,--and he had made a
mental note of Sylvie Hermenstein as one whom he proposed to add to
his little list of conquests. So that her engagement of marriage to
one who, though reserved in manner and without "go," was yet every
inch a gentleman, and a determined opposer of sophistry and humbug,
had considerably disturbed his little plans, and the unsettlement of
anything he had set his heart upon greatly displeased him. He
generally had his own way in most things, and could not at all
comprehend why he was not to have it now. But among all the people
who discussed the intended marriage there were two who were so well
satisfied as to be almost jubilant, and these were the Monsignori
Moretti and Gherardi. These worthies met together in one of the
private chambers set apart for the use of the Papal court in the
Vatican, and heartily congratulated each other on the subjugation
and enthralment of Aubrey Leigh, which meant, as they considered,
the consequent removal of a fierce opponent to the Roman Catholic
movement in England.

"Did I not tell you," said Moretti, as he untied some papers he had
been carrying, and sat down at a table to glance over them, "Did I
not tell you that when all other arguments fail, the unanswerable
one of woman can be brought in to clinch every business?"

Gherardi, though in a way contented, was not altogether so sure of
his goal. He remembered, with an uncomfortable thrill of doubt, the
little skirmish of words he had had with the fair Sylvie in the
Pamphili woods.

"You take your thoughts for deeds, and judge them as fully
accomplished while they are still in embryo!" he said, "It is true
that the engagement of marriage is settled,--but can you be certain
that in religious matters the wife may not go with her husband?"

"What!" exclaimed Moretti, opening his dark eyes quickly, as a flash
of hell-fire illumined them at the very idea, "Do you suggest that
Sylvie Hermenstein,--the last of her race--a race which, back to its
earliest source, has been distinguished for its faithful allegiance
to Mother-Church, and has moreover added largely to the Papal
revenues--could be otherwise than our obedient and docile daughter?
Per la Santissima Madonna!--if I thought she could turn against us
her marriage should never take place!"

And he brought his fist down with a fierce blow on the papers before
him.

"The marriage should never take place!" echoed Gherardi, "How could
you prevent it?"

"The Pope himself should intervene!" said Moretti, with increasing
fury, losing a little of his self-control, "Gran Dio! Conceive for a
moment the wealth of the Hermensteins being used to promulgate the
reformer Leigh's threadbare theories, and feed his rascal poor! Do
you know what Sylvie Hermenstein's fortune is? No, I suppose you do
not! But I do! She tries to keep it a secret, but I have made it my
business to find out! It is enormous!--and it is ever increasing.
With all the fanciful creature's clothes and jewels and unthinking
way of living her life, she spends not a quarter, nor half a quarter
of her income,--and yet you actually venture to suggest that her
power is so slight over the man who is now her promised husband,
that she would voluntarily allow him to use all that huge amount of
money as he pleased, OUTSIDE the Church?"

Moretti spoke with such passionate insistence that Gherardi thought
it prudent not to irritate him further by argument. So he merely
said,

"You expect her to persuade him to embrace our faith?"

"Naturally!" answered Moretti, "And she can, and will do so. If she
cannot or will not, she must be MADE to do so!"

He bent over his papers again and rustled them impatiently, but his
hand trembled. The pale December sunlight glittered through a
stained-glass window above him, and cast deep violet rays about his
chair,--Gherardi stood where the same luminance touched his pale
face with a crimson glow as of fire.

"This is a busy morning with us," said Moretti, without looking up,
"The excommunication of Denis Vergniaud will be pronounced to-day,--
and, what is even more important,--Cardinal Bonpre is summoned by
His Holiness's command to wait upon him this afternoon, bringing the
boy,--that boy who is always with him--"

"Ah, there is a history there!" interrupted Gherardi, "It should be
remembered that this boy was a witness of the miracle in Rouen, and
he was also present at the Vergniaud scandal in Paris--he should
have been sent for ere now. He, more than anyone, must surely know
how the miracle was accomplished,--for the worthy Felix tells me he
is 'wise beyond his years'!"

"So! His wisdom will be put to the test to-day!" said Moretti
coldly, "Do you not think it strange"--here he raised his eyes from
his papers, "and somewhat incriminating too--always supposing the
miracle is a case of conspiracy--that no trace has been discovered
of the man Claude Cazeau?"

Gherardi had moved to a book-case, and was standing close to it,
turning over a vellum-bound manuscript.

"Yes--the whole business looks as black as murder!" he said.

Moretti looked at him sharply.

"Murder? You suppose--"

"That Claude Cazeau has been murdered? Certainly I suppose it! It is
more than a week now since we heard that he had mysteriously
disappeared, and still there is no news. What can it be but murder?
But I do not for a moment suppose that our good Saint Felix is
concerned in it!"

And he smiled, turning over the vellum volume carelessly.

Moretti knitted his dark brows.

"No--no!" he said musingly, "That would not be possible! Cardinal
Bonpre is not that kind of man--he would rather bear the heaviest
weight of punishment for himself than allow another to suffer. That
I KNOW of him;--and though I do not admire his extreme views on this
point, and do not think them politic, I give him full credit for
this particular and uncommon form of--eccentricity!"

"Or Christianity!" said Gherardi, still smiling.

Moretti pushed aside his papers, and leaning his head on one hand
frowned meditatively at the amethyst light which streamed radiantly
through the jewel-like window above him. "Yes--or Christianity, if
you like!" he said, "For Christianity pur et simple, WOULD be
eccentricity. In its primitive simplicity it is an impossible creed.
Founded by the Divine it needs divine beings to comprehend and
follow it,--beings not of this world nor addicted to the things of
this world. And to exist in the world, made of the world's clay, and
the world's inherited associations, and yet not be of it, is to be
judged crazed! True, there have been saints and martyrs,--there are
saints and martyrs now, unknown and unheard of, but nevertheless
consumed by flames more cruel perhaps than those which physically
burn the flesh;--idealists, thinkers, dreamers, heralds of future
progress,--and how are they estimated? As madmen all! To be human,
and yet above humanity, is the supreme sin! For that very affront
the multitude cried out, 'Not this man, but Barabbas!' And to this
day we all prefer Barabbas to Christ. Hence the power of the
Church!"

Gherardi put back the volume he had been glancing at, on its shelf,
and looked at his confrere with a certain amount of admiring
respect. He had been long an interested student of the various
psychological workings of Moretti's mind,--and he knew that
Moretti's scheming brain was ever hard at work designing bold and
almost martial plans for securing such conversions to the Church as
would seriously trouble the peace of two or three great nations.
Moretti was in close personal touch with every crowned head in
Europe; he was acquainted more closely than anyone alive with the
timidities, the nervous horrors, the sudden scruples, the sickening
qualms of conscience, and the overwhelming fears of death which
troubled the minds of certain powerful personages apparently
presenting a brave front to the world,--and he held such personages
in awe by the very secrets which they had, in weak moments,
entrusted to him. Gherardi even was not without his own fears,--he
instinctively felt that Moretti knew more about himself than was
either safe or convenient.

"We all live for Barabbas," pursued Moretti, an ironical smile
playing on his thin lips, "Not for Christ! Barabbas, in the shape of
the unscrupulous millionaire, robs the world!--and we share the
spoils, pardon his robberies, and set him free. But whosoever lives
outside Dogma, serving God purely and preaching truth,--him we
crucify!--but our Robber,--our murderer of Truth, we set at liberty!
Hence, as I said before, the power of the Church!"

Carried away by his thoughts, he rose, and pacing the room, talked
more to himself than to Gherardi.

"The Church supports the robber, because he is always a coward and
cannot stand alone. The murderer of his fellow-men's good name is
naturally a liar, and fears lest his lies should find him out. Fear!
That is the keynote on which we of Rome play our invincible march of
triumph! The Church appeals to the ignorant, the base, the sensual,
the false, and the timorous; and knowing that they never repent, but
are only afraid, retains them by fear!--fear, not love! Christ
taught love--but hate is the more popular virtue! Hence again, the
power of the Church!"

"Your argument is perfectly orthodox!" said Gherardi, with a smile.

"Hate is a grand, a strong quality!" went on Moretti, "It makes
nations, it builds up creeds! If men loved one another what should
they need of a Church? But Hate!--the subtle sense which makes the
ultra-respectable thank God that he is not as other men are!--the
fierce emotion which almost touches ecstacy when the wronged
individual thinks his enemy will go to hell!--the fine fever which
sets father against son, creed against creed, nation against
nation!--hate is the chief mainspring of human motives! From hate
and envy spring emulation and conquest--and we of the Church
encourage the haters to hate on! They make Us!--they emulate each
other in the greed of their gifts to us, which give them notoriety
and advertise their generosity,--WE fan the flame and encourage the
fury! For the world must have a religion--it crucified Christ, but
the Church, built up in His name, takes just and daily revenge for
His murder! We do not save--we kill! We do not rescue--we trample
down! We humiliate,--we crush wherever we can, and it is well and
fitting we should do so! For Humanity is a brute beast, and serves
us best under the lash. Rome made many a blunder in the old days of
barbarity and ignorance--but now we have a thousand forces put into
our hands instead of one or two,--forces to terrorise--forces to
compel!--and the power of Rome wielded by the Popes of the days to
come, shall be indeed a power irresistible!"

He stood enrapt,--his hand upraised, his eyes flashing, then
recalling himself, turned abruptly on Gherardi with an impatient
gesture.

"You can repeat all this," he said sarcastically, "in your next
eloquent discourse with Aubrey Leigh! It will save you the trouble
of thinking! His influence with the English masses will be but a
brief phenomenon,--the blind and brutal stupidity of the people he
seeks to serve will soon dishearten and discourage him, and then he
will come to us through his wife, and his conversion will be a
triumph worth winning,--a step in the right direction. And now to
other matters. These papers," and he sat down at the table once
more, "are, I think, sufficiently in order to be placed before His
Holiness. But you may as well look through them with me first. Later
on, the affair of Cardinal Bonpre will occupy all our time . . ."

"It is an 'affair' then?" asked Gherardi, "The 'saint' is in
trouble?"

"All 'saints' get into trouble!" answered Moretti, "It is only
sinners who receive honour! Cardinal Bonpre has made the fatal
mistake of reading Jesus Christ's Gospel instead of Church Doctrine!
His creed is Love,--his duty, as I have just explained to you, if he
would be a faithful son of the Church, is Hate!"

"Love forms no part of your nature then?" asked Gherardi, hardly
knowing why he put the question, yet curious as to the answer.

"I am of the world!" replied Moretti coldly, "And I hate
accordingly. I hate, and in my hate, aspire to crush those who in
turn hate me! That is the human code, and one that must be strictly
practised by all who would rule mankind. Never do anything for those
who can do nothing for you! Firmly oppose those who oppose you!
Revenge yourself on those who despitefully use you! We do revenge
ourselves,--and we reward all who help us to our revenge! For
example, Denis Vergniaud has cast opprobrium on his calling, and
made a scandal and a shame of the Church before his congregation in
Paris;--we excommunicate him! It is no use, but we do it on
principle. And we are still unable to explain away, or offer any
excuse for Cardinal Bonpre's mistake in condoning and pardoning his
offence. Therefore it follows as you say, that the 'saint' is in
trouble!"

"Notwithstanding the miracle?"

"Notwithstanding the miracle!" echoed Moretti, "For the miracle is
doubtful. The Holy Father is not satisfied of its truth. Yes--there
is no doubt about it, Saint Felix is in trouble! It would be better
for him had he never come out of his long retirement. But perhaps he
was compelled to look after his Rouen foundling!"

A smile flickered faintly over Gherardi's face, but he said not a
word in answer. Discovering an error in one of the documents he was
examining, he called Moretti's attention to it, and the conversation
drifted to everyday trivial subjects. But the thoughts of both men
were elsewhere, and not even the news received that morning of the
bequest of one hundred thousand pounds to the Shrine of Lourdes from
a deluded believer in the miraculous Virgin there, absorbed so much
of their reflective brain powers as the imminent trial--for it was
little else--of Cardinal Bonpre, in the presence of the boy to whom
he so openly gave his confidence and protection.

Meanwhile, the good Felix himself was very sorely troubled. During
his sojourn in Rome, he had grown thinner and paler, and the fine,
spiritual delicacy of his features had become more intensified,
while his clear blue eyes shone from under their deeply arched brows
with a flashing luminance that was almost unearthly. Often, when
about to enter his room with unthinking haste, his brother-in-law,
Prince Pietro, would see him kneeling before his crucifix absorbed,
one might almost say entranced, in prayer. And he would softly move
away again with a deep sense of awe, and a feeling that some higher
power than any on earth, sustained the venerable prelate, and
inspired both his words and actions. But with all his patient,
sometimes passionate prayer, earnest meditations, and constant study
of the Gospels, the Cardinal himself was more or less heavy-
hearted,--and his Master's phrase--"My soul is exceeding sorrowful
even unto death!" was one which he often breathed in the solitude
and extremity of his own position. The news of the disappearance of
Claude Cazeau had materially added to his difficulties--and now he
had been commanded, with a certain peremptoriness in the summons, to
wait upon the Sovereign Pontiff in a private audience, bringing with
him the boy who could, or would give no further account of himself
than that of a world's waif and stray. Prepared for this visit and
arrayed in all the splendour befitting his rank in the Church, the
gentle old man looked paler and more fragile than ever, and the
vague trouble he felt at the express injunction laid upon him
concerning Manuel, showed itself in the deep furrows of anxiety
marked upon his brow, and the pain in his thoughtful eyes. Prince
Pietro's own man-servant had assisted him to dress for the impending
ceremonial, and just as the last folds of his regal attire were
being set in place a knock was heard at the door of his apartment,
and Prince Pietro himself entered.

"A telegram for you, brother Felix," he said, "I have brought it
myself, thinking it may perhaps immediately concern your visit to
the Pope to-day."

The Cardinal, with a gentle word of thanks, opened the envelope
handed to him.

"Praise be to God!" he said simply, as he read its contents,
"Vergniaud has passed to the Higher tribunal!"

And he crossed himself reverently on brow and breast.

"Dead?" exclaimed Sovrani.

"To this world, yes!" answered Bonpre, "He died peacefully last
night. This message is from his son."

A faint ironical smile flickered over Sovrani's dark features.

"The ban of excommunication has not been declared!" he said, "It
will be a somewhat belated announcement!"

Cardinal Bonpre folded the telegram, ready to take with him to the
Vatican.

"The Church can excommunicate even the dead!" he said sorrowfully,
"If such an extreme measure is judged politic it will doubtless be
carried out!"

"Wonderful Christian charity," murmured Sovrani under his breath,
"to excommunicate a corpse! For that is all they can do. The Soul of
the man is God's affair!"

Cardinal Bonpre answered nothing, for just then the young Manuel
entered the room, in readiness to accompany his venerable protector
and friend to the Vatican, and the old man's eyes rested upon him
with a wistful, wondering trouble and anxiety which he could not
conceal. Manuel smiled up at him--that rare and beautiful smile
which was like sunshine in darkness--but the Cardinal's sad
expression did not alter.

"The Abbe Vergniaud is no more," he said gently, as the boy drew
near, "His sins and sufferings are ended!"

"And his joys have begun!" answered Manuel, "For he set his life
right with the world before he left it!"

"Child, you talk as a very wise man might!" said Prince Sovrani, his
rugged brows smoothing into a kindly smile. "But the unfortunate
Abbe is not likely to be judged in that way. It will be said of him
that he scandalized the world before he left it!"

"When truth is made scandal, and right is made wrong," said Manuel,
"It will surely be a God-forgotten world!"

"WILL be? I think it is already!" said Prince Pietro. "It is said
that the patience of the Almighty is unwearied,--but I do not feel
sure of that in my own mind. Science teaches us that many a world
has been destroyed before now,--and sometimes I feel as if our turn
were soon coming!"

Here the man-servant having completely finished arranging the
Cardinal's attire, made respectful obeisance and left the room, and
the Cardinal himself proceeded into the adjoining salon, where he
found his niece Angela waiting to see him.

"Dearest uncle," she said, making her pretty genuflection as he
approached her, "I must ask you to forgive me for coming to your
rooms just now when your time is so much taken up, and when I know
you have to go to the Vatican,--but I want to tell you one thing
that may perhaps please you,--my picture is finished!"

"Finished!" echoed the Cardinal--then tenderly taking her hands, he
added, "I congratulate you, dear child, with all my heart!--and I
pray that the reward of your long and patient toil may be worthy of
you. And when are we to see your work?"