Books: The Master Christian

M >> Marie Corelli >> The Master Christian

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50

The Cardinal looked up with a touch of pain and protest.

"Holy Father, I strove to obey the command of Christ--'Forgive that
ye may be forgiven'!--I cannot be sorry that I did so obey it;--for
now the offender is beyond the reach of either punishment or
absolution. He must answer for his deeds to God alone!"

The Pope turned his eyes slowly round in his waxenlike head to
Gherardi--then to Moretti--and seeing confirmation of the news in
their looks, fixed them again as immovably as before upon the
Cardinal. The faint shadow of a cold smile flickered on his long
slit-like mouth.

"Dead!" he murmured, and he nodded slowly, and beat with one finger
on the back of the other hand, as though keeping time mechanically
to some funeral march in his brain. "Dead! A fortunate thing for
him! An escape from worse than death, so far as this life is
concerned! But what of the next?--'where the worm dieth not and the
fire is not quenched!'" And here the representative of St. Peter
smiled pallidly. "Dead!--but his works live after him; and his sin-
begotten son also lives, to spread his pernicious writings through
the world, and incite the already disobedient to further license.
Therefore the Church must still publicly condemn his memory, as a
warning to the faithful. And you, Cardinal Bonpre, must receive from
us a necessary measure of correction, for having pardoned one who in
his last discourse to humanity attacked the Church and slandered it.
To one of your eminence and reputation, the lesson may seem hard,
but a chastening reproof can but purify the spirit, and free it from
that pride which apes humility!"

The Cardinal bent his head patiently and remained silent.

Monsignor Moretti advanced a step towards the Papal throne.

"The boy"--he began.

A slight animation warmed the chill lifelessness of the Pope's
features. "True! I had almost forgotten!" he said. Then to the
Cardinal, "Where is the boy you rescued from the streets, who lives
with you, and who witnessed the miracle at Rouen?"

Manuel had till now stood aside, half hidden in the shadow of the
crimson damask which, falling from ceiling to floor in rich
luxurious folds, draped the corners of the room, but at these words
he advanced at once.

"I am here!" he said.

Fronting the Pope, with his fair head thrown back, and his blue eyes
flashing with all the soul-light of a swift, unwarped intelligence,
he stood,--and the white shrunken figure of the old man in the
gilded chair raised itself as if by some interior electric force,
slowly, slowly--higher and higher--the deep-set old eyes staring
into the brilliant youthful ones--staring--staring till they seemed
to protrude and tremble under their shelving brows, like the last
sparks of a flame about to fall into extinction. Gherardi made a
quick step forward.

"My lord Cardinal!" he said significantly, "Should not your waif and
stray have been taught how to comport himself before he came here?
He does not kneel to the Holy Father!"

The Cardinal opened his lips to speak, but Manuel stayed him by a
slight gesture.

"I may not kneel to any man!" he said, "But to God only! For it is
written,' Call no man your Father upon the earth, for One is your
Father which is in Heaven. Neither be ye called Masters, for One is
your Master, even Christ.' How then," and he came nearer to the
Pope's foot-stool, "can you be called 'Father'? or 'Holy'? For there
is none Holy but God!"

The deep silence which had fallen like a spell upon them all in the
antechamber, fell now with redoubled impressiveness. The Pope,
gripping the arms of his gilded chair, forced himself fully upright,
and his lips trembled.

"Whence came you, and of what parentage are you?" he asked slowly,
enunciating his words with even more than his usual harsh
distinctness.

"That is my own secret!" answered the boy--"The Cardinal accepted me
without question!"

"Which is but a fresh proof of the Cardinal's unwisdom," said the
Pope severely, "And we shall not follow his example in this or in
any other matter!" And turning to Moretti he enquired, "Does this
boy understand he is here as a witness to the miracle effected at
Rouen?"

"As a witness to the Truth--yes! I understand!" said Manuel quickly,
before Moretti could answer. "The miracle was no miracle!"

"No miracle!" exclaimed the Pope, moved at last from his usual
inflexibility, "Do you hear that, Domenico?" turning excitedly to
Gherardi, "No miracle!"

"No miracle!" repeated Manuel, steadily--"Nothing but the law of
Nature working in response to the law of God, which is Love! The
child was healed of his infirmity by the power of unselfish prayer.
Are we not told 'Ask and ye shall receive'? But the asking must be
pure! The prayer must be untainted by self-interest! God does not
answer prayer that is paid for in this world's coin! No miracle was
ever wrought for a fee! Only when perfect love and perfect faith
exist between the creature and the Creator, are all things
possible!"

A nervous twitching of the Pope's features showed his suppressed
irritation at this reply.

"The boy jests with us!" he said angrily, "He defends his
benefactor, but he either does not understand, or else is regardless
of our authority!"

"What, do you not also believe?" asked Manuel, placing one foot on
the first step of the Pope's throne, and looking him straightly in
the face, "Do you not even affirm that God answers prayers? Do YOU
not pray? Do you not assert that you yourself are benefited and
helped--nay, even kept alive by the prayers of the faithful? Then
why should you doubt that Cardinal Bonpre has, by his prayer,
rescued one life--the life of a little child? Is not your Church
built up for prayer? Do you not command it? Do you not even insist
upon the 'vain repetitions' which Christ forbade? Do you not summon
the people to pray in public?--though Christ bade all who truly
sought to follow Him to pray in secret? And amid all the false
prayers, the unthinking, selfish petitions, the blasphemous demands
for curses and confusion to fall upon enemies and contradictors, the
cowardly cryings for pardon from sinners who do not repent, that are
sent up to the throne of the Most High,--is it marvellous that one
prayer, pure of all self and sophistry, ascending to God, simply to
ask for the life of a child should be heard and granted?"

His voice rang through the silence with a pure intonation, unlike
any human voice in the world--and as he spoke, the Pope slowly drew
back in his chair, further and further away from the young,
beautiful face that confronted his own so steadily. The dumb sense
of stupefaction that had before possessed Gherardi and Moretti in
the presence of this child, seized them again now,--and slow tears
welled up into the Cardinal's eyes, as, clasping his withered hands,
he waited in fear and awe, listening and wondering,--overwhelmed by
the strangeness of the scene. Like a shrunken white mummy set in a
gilded sarcophagus, the representative of St. Peter huddled himself
together, reflections of the daylight on the crimson hangings around
him casting occasional gleams of crimson athwart his bony hands and
cadaverous features;--while on the first step of his throne the
aerial form of the beautiful boy, with his fair face, full flashing
eyes, and radiant hair, stood like an Angel suddenly descended at
the portal of the mummy's tomb.

"Faith must surely be weaker in these days than in the days of
Christ," continued Manuel, "The disciples were not always wise or
brave; but they believed in the power of their Master! You,--with so
many centuries of prayer behind you,--will surely not say as John
did--'Master, we saw one casting out devils in Thy name, and he
followeth not us!' Because this miracle is unexpected and
exceptional, do you say of your good Cardinal, 'He followeth not
us'? Remember how Christ answered,--'Forbid him not, for there is no
man which shall do a miracle in my name that can speak evil of me!'"

Still the same silence reigned. A shaft of sunlight falling through
the high oriel window, touched the boy's hair with a Pentecostal
flame of glory.

"You sent for me," he went on, "and I have come! They say I must be
taught. Will you teach me? I would know many things! Tell me for
one, why are You here, shut away from the cities, and the people?
Should you not be among them? Why do you stay here all alone? You
must be very unhappy!"

A sudden quivering light illumined the jewel-like dark eyes of the
seeming mummy in the chair--its lips moved--but no sound came from
them.

"To be here all alone!" went on Manuel, "And a whole world outside
waiting to be comforted! To have vast wealth lying about you unused-
-with millions and millions of poor, starving, struggling, dying
creatures, near at hand, cursing the God whom they have never been
taught to know or to bless! To be safely sheltered while others are
in danger! To know that even kings and emperors are trembling on
their thrones because of the evil days that are drawing near in
punishment for evil deeds!--to feel the great pulsating ache of the
world's heart beating through every hour of time, and never to
stretch forth a hand of consolation! Surely this must make you very
sad! WILL YOU NOT COME OUT WITH ME?"

With a strong effort the Pope raised himself and looked into the
pleading Angel-face. With his sudden movement, Gherardi and Moretti
also stirred from their frozen attitudes of speechless amazement,
and would have approached, but that the Pope signed them away with
so fierce and impatient a gesture that they shrank back appalled.
And still he gazed at Manuel as if his very soul were passing
through his eyes.

"Come out with you!" he said, in a hoarse, faint whisper--"Come out
with you!"

"Yes!--come out with me!" repeated Manuel, his accents vibrating
with a strange compelling sweetness, "Come out and see the poor
lying at the great gates of St. Peter's--the lame, the halt, the
blind--come and heal them by a touch, a prayer! You can, you must,
you shall heal them!--if you WILL! Pour money into the thin hands of
the starving!--come with me into the miserable places of the world,-
-come and give comfort! Come freely into the courts of kings, and
see how the brows ache under the crowns!--and the hearts break
beneath the folds of velvet and ermine! Why stand in the way of
happiness, or deny even emperors peace when they crave it? Your
mission is to comfort, not to condemn! You need no throne! You want
no kingdom!--no settled place--no temporal power! Enough for you to
work and live as the poorest of all Christ's ministers,--without
pomp, without ostentation or public ceremonial, but simply clothed
in pure holiness! So shall God love you more! So shall you pass
unscathed through the thick of battle, and command Brotherhood in
place of Murder! Go out and welcome Progress!--take Science by the
hand!--encourage Intellect!--for all these things are of God, and
are God's gifts divine! Live as Christ lived, teaching the people
personally and openly;--loving them, pitying them, sharing their
joys and sorrows, blessing their little children! Deny yourself to
no man;--and make of this cold temple in which you now dwell
selfimprisoned, a home and refuge for the friendless and the poor!
COME OUT WITH ME!"

As he thus spoke, with a living, breathing enthusiasm of entreaty,
which might have moved even the dry bones in the valley of the
prophet's vision to rise up and become a great standing army, the
Pope's figure seemed to grow more and more attenuated,--his worn
white hands grasping the gilt arms of his chair, looked like the
claws of a dead bird--and his face, shrunken and withered, like a
Chinese ivory carving of some forgotten idol.

"Come out with me and minister with your own hands to the aged and
dying!" pursued Manuel, "And so shall you grow young! Command that
the great pictures, the tapestries, the jewels, the world's trash of
St. Peter's, be sold to the rich, who can afford to set them in free
and open places where all the poorest may possess them! But do not
You retain them! You do not need them--your treasure must be
sympathy for all the world! Not ONE section of the world,--not ONE
form of creed,--but for all!--if you are truly the Dispenser of
Christ's Message to the earth! Come--unprotected, save by the Cross!
Come with no weapon of defence--'heal the sick, cleanse the lepers,
raise the dead, cast out devils! Freely ye have received, freely
give! Provide neither gold nor silver nor brass in your purse,'--
come, and by your patience--your gentleness--your pardon--your love
to all men, show that 'the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand!' Walk
fearless in the thick of battles, and your very presence shall
engender peace! For the Holy Spirit shall surround and encompass
you; the fiercest warriors shall bend before you, as they never
would if you assumed a world's throne or a world's sovereignty!
Come, uncrowned, defenceless;--but strong in the Spirit of God!
Think of all the evil which has served as the foundation for this
palace in which you dwell! Can you not hear in the silence of the
night, the shrieks of the tortured and dying of the Inquisition? Do
you never think of those dark days, ten and twelve hundred years
after Christ, when no virtue seemed left upon the earth?--when the
way to this very throne was paved by poison and cold steel?--when
those who then reigned here, and occupied Your place, led such
infamous lives that the very dogs might have been ashamed to follow
in their footsteps!--when they professed to be able to sell the
Power of the Holy Ghost for so much gold and silver? Remember the
words, 'Whoso shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost it shall not be
forgiven him, either in this world or in the world to come.' Look
back upon the Past--and look out upon the Present! Try to understand
the sufferings of the forsaken people!--the pain--the bewilderment--
the groping for life in death!--and come out with me! Come and
preach Christ as He lived and died, and WAS, and IS! COME OUT WITH
ME!"

The dreadful, dumb spell remained unbroken. The loom seemed invested
with a strange solemnity--the figures of the human beings in it were
like images frozen into rigidity--even Cardinal Bonpre appeared
stricken by this mental paralysis, and not a fold of his rich attire
stirred with so much as a pulsation of natural breath. Only Manuel
seemed truly alive--his slight boyish figure was instinct with
ardour--his face was radiant, and his eyes brilliant as stars. And
now, withdrawing himself a little from the motionless creature
seated stiffly on the Papal throne, with its deep, dark eyes alone
giving sign of life by their unwearied stare and feverish glitter,
he raised his head with a royal gesture of mingled appeal and
warning.

"Come out with me!" he exclaimed, "For there are wonderful things in
the world to-day!--wonderful, beautiful, and terrible! Take your
share in them, and find God in every glory! For with all the wisdom
and the splendour,--with all the flashing light of Heaven poured out
upon the darkness of the Sorrowful Star, its people are weary,--they
are lost in the confusion and clamour of their own desires--they
would fain serve God, but know not where to find Him, because a
thousand, aye a million churches stand in the way!--churches, which
are like a forest of dark trees, blocking out the radiance of the
Sun! God, who manifests His power and tenderness in the making of
the simplest leaf, the smallest bird, is lost to the understanding
and affection of humanity in the multitude of Creeds! Come out with
me,--simple and pure, gentle and strong! Tell all the lost and the
wandering that there never was, and never will be but one God
supreme and perfect, whose name is Love, whose work is Love!--and
whose Messenger, Christ, pronounced the New Commandment Love instead
of Hate! Come out with me while it is yet day, for the night cometh
when no man can work! Come and lift up the world by your very
coming! Stretch out your hands in benediction over kings and beggars
alike!--there are other roses to give than Golden ones to Queens!
There are poor women who share half they earn with those still
poorer--there are obscure lives which in their very obscurity, are
forming the angel-nature, and weaving the angel's crown!--look for
these in the world--give THEM your Golden Roses! Leave rulers and
governments alone, for you should be above and beyond all rulers and
governments! You should be the Herald of peace,--the Pardoner of
sin, the Rescuer of the fallen, and the Refuge of the distressed!
Come out with me, and be all this to the world, so that when the
Master comes He may truly find you working in His vineyard!"

Another dead pause ensued. Not a sound, not a breath disturbed the
heavy silence which seemed to have grown deeper than before. And
Manuel, looking eagerly again and closely into the Pope's face, went
on with increasing ardour and passion.

"Come out with me!" he said, "Or if you will not come,--then beware
of the evil days which are at hand! The people are wandering to and
fro, crossing all lands, struggling one against the other, hoarding
up useless gold, and fighting for supremacy!--but 'the day of the
Lord shall come like a thief in the night, and blessed is he who
shall be found watching!' Watch! The hour is growing dark and full
of menace!--the nations are as frightened children, losing faith,
losing hope, losing strength! Put away,--put away from you the toys
of time!--quench in your soul the thirst for gold, for of this shall
come nothing but corruption! Why trifle with the Spirit of holy
things? Why let your servants use the Name of the Most High to cover
hypocrisy? Why crave for the power of temporal things which passes
away in the dust of destroyed kingdoms? For the Power of the Spirit
is greater than all! And so it shall be proved! The Spirit shall
work in ways where it has never been found before!--it shall depart
from the Churches which are unworthy of its Divine inspiration!--it
shall invest the oaths of Science!--it shall open the doors of the
locked stars! It shall display the worlds invisible;--the secrets of
men's hearts, and of closed graves!--there will be terror and loss
and confusion and shame to mankind,--and this world shall keep
nothing of all its treasures but the Cross of Christ! Rome, like
Babylon, shall fall!--and the Powers of the Church shall be judged
as the Powers of Darkness rather than of Light, because they have
rejected the Word of their Master, and 'teach for doctrine the
commandments of men!' Disaster shall follow swift upon disaster, and
the cup of trembling shall be drained again to its last dregs, as in
the olden days, unless,--unless perchance--you will come out with
me!"

With the last words a sort of galvanic shock seemed to be imparted
to the rigid figure in the chair. Springing upright suddenly, his
voice rang out like a clarion, discordantly yet clearly.

"In the name of God," he cried, "Who and what is this boy! How came
he with Cardinal Bonpre? And you, Domenico!--do you stand by and
permit this affront to me!--the living Head of the Church! From a
child!--a tramp of the streets!--who dares to speak to me!--who
dares to reproach, to prophesy--aye, to blaspheme! and teach Me,--"

"As One having authority,--and not as the Scribes!" said Manuel,
with one swift flashing glance, which like a shaft of lightning
seemed to pierce through flesh and bone,--for, as he met that
radiant and commanding look, the jewel-like eyes of the Pope lost
their lustre and became fixed and glassy,--he put his hand to his
throat with a choking gasp for breath,--and like a dead body which
had only been kept in place by some secret mechanical action, he
fell back in his chair senseless, his limbs stretching themselves
out with a convulsive shudder into stark immovability.

Gherardi started from his stupor, and rushed to his assistance,
ringing the bell violently which summoned the valet from the
antechamber,--and Moretti, with a fierce oath, pushing Manuel aside,
rushed to the chair in which the Pope's fainting figure lay,--all
was confusion;--and in the excitement and terror which had
overwhelmed Cardinal Bonpre at the unprecedented scene, Manuel
suddenly touched him on the arm.

"Follow me!" he said, "We are no longer needed here! Come!--let us
go hence!"

Hardly knowing what he did the old man obeyed, trembling in every
limb as Manuel, grasping him firmly by the hand, led him from the
apartment, and on through the winding corridors of the huge
building, out into the open air. No one questioned them,--no one
interfered with their progress. Benediction was being sung in one of
the many chapels of St. Peter's, and the solemn sound of the organ
reached them, softened and mellowed by distance, as they stood on
the steps of the Vatican, where the Cardinal, pausing to recover
breath and equanimity, gazed at his strange foundling in alarm and
bewilderment.

"Manuel!" he murmured feebly, "Child!--what have you done!"

"Only what I am bound to do!" replied Manuel simply, "I have said no
more than it is right to say, if Christ's words are true! Dear
friend, be at peace! You will not suffer misjudgment long!"

The music stealing out from the distant chapel, floated round them
in large circles of solemn melody,--and the glow of sunset lit the
clear sky with a warm red radiance, flecked with golden clouds of
glory.

"He would not come with me!" said Manuel, with a slight gesture
backward to the sombre portals they had just passed, "And he will
never come! But YOU will!"

And smiling,--with his fair face turned to the radiant sky,--he
rested his hand lightly on the Cardinal's arm as they descended the
broad marble steps, and left the great Palace of the Popes together.

XXIX.

While the foregoing scene was taking place at the Vatican, Angela
Sovrani, left to herself for some hours, took the opportunity to set
her great picture "on view" for the coming morrow. Locking both
doors of her studio, she began to arrange the room; her huge canvas
was already on a movable easel supplied with wheels, which ran
lightly and easily over the polished floor without making any sound.
At its summit a brass rod was attached, and on this a curtain of
golden-coloured silk was hung, the folds of which at present
concealed the painting from view. The top-light of the studio was
particularly good on this special afternoon, as the weather was
clear, and the Roman sky translucent and bright as an opal, and
Angela, as she wheeled her "great work" into position, sang for pure
lightness of heart and thankfulness that all was done. In her soul
she had the consciousness that what she had produced from her brain
and hand was not altogether unworthy. For, though to the true
artist, no actual result can ever attain to the beauty of the first
thought or ideal of the thing to be performed, there is always the
consolation that if one's best and truest feeling has been earnestly
put into the work, some touch, however slight, of that ideal beauty
must remain. The poet's poem is never so fine as the poet's thought.
The thought is from the immortal and invincible soul,--the poem has
to be conveyed through the grosser body, clothed in language which
must always be narrow and inadequate. Hence the artist's many and
grievous limitations. To the eyes of the spirit all things appear
transfigured, because lifted out of the sphere of material vision.
But when we try to put these "beautiful things made new, for the
delight of the sky-children" on paper or canvas, in motionless
marble or flexible rhyme,--we are weighted by grosser air and the
density of bodily feeling. So it was with Angela Sovrani, iwhose
compact little head were folded the splendid dreams of genius like
sleeping fairies in a magic cave;--and thoughtful and brilliant
though she was, she could not, in her great tenderness for her
affianced lover Florian Varillo, foresee that daily contact with his
weaker and smaller nature, would kill those dreams as surely as a
frost-wind kills the buds of the rose,--and that gradually, very
gradually, the coarser fibre of his intelligence mingling with hers,
would make a paltry and rough weaving of the web of life, instead of
a free and gracious pattern. She never thought of such
possibilities--she would have rejected the very idea of them with
scorn and indignation. She would have declared that her love for
Florian was the very root and source of her art,--that for him she
worked--for him she lived. So indeed she believed, in her finely-
fervent self-delusion,--but it was not ordained that this glamour
should last,--for hers was a nature too rare and valuable to be
sacrificed, and the Higher destinies had begun to approve her as
precious. Therefore, as is the case with all precious things, the
furnace was preparing for the shaping of the gold,--the appointed
Angel of her Fate was already hovering near, holding ready the cup
of bitterness which all must drain to the dregs, before knowing what
it is to drink of "the new wine in the Kingdom of God."