Books: The Master Christian

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"It does not matter to me," said Angela, "what they reject or
accept. You admit it is a masterpiece--that is enough for me. It is
my own work, and you know it is!"

"Dear little one!" he said, laughing forcedly, "How do I know? You
have never admitted me into the studio once while you were at work!"

"Florian!"

The exclamation broke from her lips like a cry of physical pain.

"That was a mistake of yours!" he went on recklessly, his eyes
beginning to glitter with the fever raging in his mind, "You should
not have shut the doors against your lover, my beloved! Nor would
you admit your father either! That looks very strange!"

White as a snowflake, yet with blazing eyes, Angela turned upon him.

"Florian!" she said, "Do you--you of all people in the world--you to
whom I have given all my love and confidence--mean to suggest that
my work is not my own?"

He looked at her, smiling easily.

"Sweet Angela, not I! I know your genius--I worship it! See!" and
with a light grace he dropped on one knee, and snatching her hand,
kissed it--then springing up again, he said, "You are a great
creature, my Angela!--the greatest artist in the world,--IF WE CAN
ONLY MAKE THE WORLD BELIEVE IT!"

Something in his voice, his manner, moved her to a vague touch of
dread. Earnestly she looked at him,--wonderingly, and with a
passionate reproach in her pure, true eyes. And still he smiled,
while the fiends of envy and malice made havoc in his soul.

"My glorious Angela!" he said, "My bride, my beautiful one! A
veritable queen, to whom nations shall pay homage!" He threw one arm
round her waist and drew her somewhat roughly to him. "You must not
be vexed with me, sweetheart!--the world is a cruel world, and
always doubts great ability in woman! I only prepare you for what
most people will say. But _I_ do not doubt!--I know your power, and
triumph in it!" He paused a moment, breathing quickly,--his eyes
were fixed on the picture,--then he said, "If I may venture to
criticise--there is a shadow--there, at the left hand side of the
canvas--do you not see?"

She disengaged herself from his clasp.

"Where?" she asked, in a voice from which all spirit and hopefulness
had fled.

"You are sad? My Angela, have I discouraged you? Forgive me! I do
not find fault,--this is a mere nothing,--you may not agree with
me,--but does not that dark cloud make somewhat too deep a line near
the faded roses? It may be only an effect of this waning light,--but
I do think that line is heavy and might be improved. Be patient with
me!--I only criticise to make perfection still more perfect!"

Listlessly she moved closer to the picture, turning away from him as
she did so.

"Just the slightest softening of the tone--the finishing touch!" he
murmured in caressing accents; while to himself he muttered--"It
shall not be! It shall never be!" Then with a swift movement his
hand snatched at the thing he always carried concealed near his
breast--a flash of pointed steel glittered in the light,--and with
one stealthy spring and pitiless blow, he stabbed her full and
furiously in the back as she stood looking at the fault he had
pretended to discover in her picture! One choking cry escaped her
lips--

"Florian--you! YOU--Florian!" Then reeling, she threw up her arms
and fell, face forwards on the floor, insensible.

He stood above her, dagger in hand,--and studied the weapon with
strange curiosity. It was crimson and wet with blood. Then he stared
at the picture. A faint horror began to creep over him. The great
Christ in the centre of the painting seemed to live and move, and
float towards him on clouds of blinding glory. His breath came and
went in uneasy gasps.

"Angela!" he muttered thickly,--"Angela!" She lay prone and horribly
still. He was afraid to touch her. What had he done? Murdered her?
Oh no!--he had done nothing--nothing at all,--she had merely
fainted--she would be well presently! He smiled foolishly at this,
still gazing straight at the picture, and holding the sharp blood-
stained blade in his hand.

"My love!" he said aloud,--then listened--as though waiting for an
answer. And still he stared persistently at the glorious figure of
the Christ, till the Divine eyes seemed to flash the fire of an
everlasting wrath upon his treacherous soul.

"To destroy the work? Or claim it?" he mused, "Either would be easy!
That is, if she were dead!--." he paused,--amazed at his own
thought. "If she were dead, it would be easy to swear _I_ had
painted the picture! If she were dead!" Again he listened. "Angela!"
he whispered.

A door banging in the house startled him from his semi-stupor. His
eyes wandered from the picture to the inanimate form lying at his
feet.

"Sweet Angela!" he said, a cold smile flickering on his lips, "You
were always unselfish! You wished me to be the greatest artist of my
time!--and perhaps I shall be!--now YOU are dead! My love!"

A sudden clatter of horses' hoofs and rolling wheels wakened hollow
echoes from the great stone courtyard below. It was the Cardinal
returning from the Vatican. A panic seized him--his teeth chattered
as with icy cold. He sprang swiftly to the door by which Angela had
admitted him, and opened it cautiously,--then slinking out, locked
it carefully behind him, took the key,--and fled. Once in the
street, he never paused till he reached the corner of a dark
projecting wall over-looking the Tiber, and here, glancing nervously
round lest he should be observed, he flung his murderer's dagger and
the key of the studio both into the water. Again he paused and
listened--looking up at the frowning windows of the Palazzo Sovrani
which could be dimly seen from where he stood. He had not meant to
kill Angela. Oh no! He had come to the studio, full of love,
prepared to chide her tenderly for the faults in her work,--till he
saw that it was faultless; to make a jest of her ambition,--till he
realized her triumph! And then,--then the devil had seized him--
then--! A scarlet slit in the western horizon showed where the sun
had sunk,--a soft and beautiful after-glow trembled over the sky in
token of its farewell. A boy came strolling lazily down the street
eating a slice of melon, and paused to fling the rind over the wall.
The innocent, unconscious glance of the stripling's eyes was
sufficient to set up a cowardly trembling in his body,--and turning
round abruptly so that even this stray youth might not observe him
too closely, he hurried away. And the boy, never regarding him at
all, strolled on with the mellow taste of the fruit he had just
enjoyed in his mouth, and presently, as if inspired thereby, awoke
the slumbering echoes of the street with his high, fluting young
treble, singing, "Che faro senza Eurydice!"

XXX.

Meanwhile Cardinal Bonpre had once more reached his own apartments,
thankful enough to be there after his difficult experience at the
Vatican. But he was neither fatigued nor depressed by what had
occurred,--on the contrary he was conscious of an extraordinary
vigour and lightness of heart, as though he had suddenly grown young
again. Changing his scarlet robes of office for his every-day
cassock, he seated himself restfully, and with a deep sigh of
relief, in his easy chair near the writing-table, and first of all
closing his eyes for a moment, while he silently prayed for guidance
to the Supreme Judge of all secret intentions, he called Manuel to
his side.

"My child," he said gently, "I want you to listen to me very
attentively. I do not think you quite understand what you have done
to-day, do you?"

Manuel raised his eyes with a clear look of confidence.

"Yes. I have spoken to the Head of the Church of Rome," he
answered,--"That is all. I have said to him, as Christ once said to
the very Peter whom he represents, 'Thou savourest not the things
that be of God, but those that be of men.'"

The Cardinal regarded him straightly.

"True! But for you, a mere child, to say to the Head of the Church
what Christ said to St. Peter, will be judged as blasphemy. I have
never urged you, as you know, to tell me who you are, or where you
came from. I do not urge you now. For I feel that you have been sent
to me for some special purpose--that young as you are, you have been
entrusted by a Higher Power with some mission to me--for you possess
the spirit of inspiration, prophecy and truth. I dare not question
that spirit! Wherever I find it, in the young, in the old, in the
wise or the ignorant I give it welcome. For you have uttered not
only what I have myself thought, but what half the world is
thinking, though you are only one of those 'babes and sucklings out
of whose mouth the Lord hath ordained wisdom.' But what you have
said at the Vatican will be judged as heresy--and I shall be counted
heretic for having permitted you to speak thus boldly."

"Your permission was not asked," said Manuel simply, "I was summoned
to the Vatican, but I was not told what to say to the Pope. I spoke
as I felt. No one interrupted me. The Pope listened to all my words.
And I said no more than is true."

"Truth is judged as libel nowadays in the world," answered the
Cardinal, "And we have to confront the fact that we have incurred
the displeasure, and have also invited the vengeance of the
Sovereign Pontiff. Thus we must expect to suffer."

"Then he who is called the visible Head of Christianity objects to
the truth, and is capable of vengeance!" said Manuel, "That is a
strange contradiction! But I will suffer whatever he pleases to
inflict upon me. You shall suffer nothing!"

The Cardinal smiled gravely.

"My child, I am old, and whatever trouble is in store for me cannot
last long. But I must guard you from harm with all the remaining
powers of my life. Having constituted myself your protector and
defender, I must continue to protect and defend. And so, Manuel,
tomorrow or the next day I shall take you away to England. So far,
at least, I will defy the powers of Rome!"

His eyes flashed, and his whole person seemed to be invested with
sudden strength, dignity and command. He pointed to the crucifix on
the table before him.

"He, the Holy One of the Heavens, was crucified for speaking the
truth,--I can do no better than follow His divine example! If my
soul is stretched on the crossbeams of injustice--if every tender
emotion of my heart is tortured and slain--if I am stripped of
honour and exposed to contempt, what matter! My glorious Master
suffered likewise."

Manuel was silent. He stood near the great chimney where the wood
fire burned and crackled, casting a ruddy glow through the room.
After a few minutes he turned his fair head towards the Cardinal
with an earnest, scrutinising gaze in his expressive eyes.

"Then, dear friend, you are not angry? You do not reproach me for
what I have done?"

"Reproach you? I reproach no one!" said Bonpre,--"Least of all, a
child! For you speak unconsciously--as genius speaks;--you cannot
weigh the meaning of your words, or the effect of what you say on
the worldly or callous minds which have learned to balance motives
and meanings before coining them into more or less ambiguous
language. No!--I have nothing to reproach you with, Manuel,--I am
thankful to have you by my side!"

His eyes rested again upon the crucifix for a moment, and he went
on, more to himself than to the boy,--

"In the early days of our Lord, He spoke to the wise men in the
Temple, and they were 'astonished at his understanding and answers.'
But they did not reprove Him,--not then,--on the contrary, they
listened. How often in our own days do young children ask us
questions to which we cannot reply, and which they themselves
perchance could easily answer if they but knew how to clothe their
thoughts with speech! For the Spirit of God is made manifest in many
ways, and through many methods;--sometimes it whispers a hint or a
warning to us in the petals of the rose, sometimes in the radiance
of the sunset on the sea, sometimes in the simple talk of a child
younger even than you are,--'Except ye become as little children--!"

He paused in his dreamy utterance, and turned in his chair
listening. "What is that?" There was a noise of hurrying footsteps
and murmuring voices,--that sort of half-muffled confusion in a
household which bodes something wrong,--and all at once Prince
Sovrani threw open the door of the Cardinal's apartments without
ceremony, crying out as he entered,--

"Where is Angela?"

The Cardinal rose out of his chair, startled and alarmed.

"Angela?" he echoed, "She is not here!"

"Not here!" Prince Sovrani drew a sharp breath, and his face visibly
paled,--"It is very strange! Her studio is locked at both entrances-
-yet the servants swear she has not passed out of the house! Besides
she never goes out without leaving word as to where she has gone and
when she is coming back!"

"Her studio is locked on both sides!" repeated the Cardinal, "But
that is quite easy to understand--her picture is unveiled, and no
one is to be permitted to see it until to-morrow."

"Yes--yes--" said the Prince Pietro impatiently, "I know all that,--
but where is Angela herself? There is no sign of her anywhere! She
cannot have gone out. Her maid tells me she was not dressed to go
out. She was in her white working gown when last seen. Santissima
Madonna!"--and old Sovrani gave a wild gesture of despair--"If any
harm has happened to the child . . ."

"Harm? Why what harm could happen? What harm could happen?" said the
Cardinal soothingly,--"My dear brother, do not alarm yourself
needlessly--"

"Let us go to the studio," interposed Manuel suddenly--"She may not
have heard you call her."

He moved in his gentle light way out of the room, and without
another word they followed. Outside the studio door they paused, and
Prince Sovrani tried again and again to open it, calling "Angela!"
now loudly, now softly, now entreatingly, now commandingly, all to
no purpose. The servants had gathered on the landing, afraid of they
knew not what, and one old man, the Prince's valet, shook his head
dolefully at the continued silence.

"Why not break open the door, Eccellenza?" he asked anxiously, "I
know the trick of those old locks--if the Eccellenza will permit I
can push back the catch with a strong chisel."

"Do so then," replied his master, "I cannot wait--there is something
horrible in the atmosphere!--something that chokes me! Quick! This
suspense will kill me!"

The old valet hurried away, and in two or three minutes, during
which time both Prince Sovrani and the Cardinal knocked and called
again outside the door quite uselessly, he returned with a strong
iron chisel which he forced against the lock. For some time it
resisted all efforts--then with appalling suddenness gave way and
flew back, the door bursting wide open with the shock. For one
instant the falling shadows of evening made the interior of the room
too dim to see distinctly--there was a confused blur of objects,--
the carved summit of a great easel,--a gold picture-frame shining
round a wonderful mass of colouring on canvas--then gradually they
discerned the outline of a small figure lying prone at the foot of
the easel, stiff and motionless. With a dreadful cry of despair
Sovrani dashed into the room.

"Angela! Angela!"

Falling on his knees he raised the delicate figure in his arms,--the
little head drooped inanimate on his shoulder, and with the movement
a coil of golden hair became unbound, and fell in soft waves over
his trembling hands--the fair face was calm and tranquil--the eyes
were closed,--but as the distracted man clasped that inert, beloved
form closer, he saw what caused him to spring erect with a terrible
oath, and cry for vengeance.

"Murdered!" he exclaimed hoarsely--"Murdered! Brother, come close!--
see here! Will you talk to me of God NOW! My last comfort in life--
the last gift of my Gita, murdered!"

The affrighted Cardinal tottered forward, and looking, saw that a
deep stain of blood oozed over the soft white garments of the
lifeless girl, and he wrung his hands in despair.

"My God! My God!" he moaned, "In what have we offended Thee that
Thou shouldst visit us with such heavy affliction? Angela, my
child!--my little girl!--Angela!"

The servants had by this time clustered round, a pale and terrified
group, sobbing and crying loudly,--only the old valet retained
sufficient presence of mind to light two or three of the lamps in
the studio. As this was done, and the sudden luminance dispersed
some of the darker shadows in the room, the grand picture on the
easel was thrown into full prominence,--and the magnificent Christ,
descending in clouds of glory, seemed to start from the painted
canvas and move towards them all. And even while he wrung his hands
and wept, the Cardinal's glance was suddenly caught and transfixed
by this splendour,--he staggered back amazed, and murmured feebly--
"Angela! THIS is her work!--this her great picture, and she--she is
dead!"

Sovrani suddenly clutched him by the arm, and drew him close to the
couch where he had just laid the body of his daughter down.

"Now, where was this God you serve, think you, when this happened?"
he demanded, in a hoarse whisper, while his aged eyes glittered
feverishly, and his stern dark face under the tossed white hair was
as a frowning mask of vengeance,--"Is the world so rich in sweet
women that SHE should be slain?"

Half paralysed with grief, the unhappy Cardinal sank on his knees
beside the murdered girl,--taking the passive hand he kissed it, the
tears flowing down his furrowed cheeks. Her magnificent picture
shone forth, a living presence in the room, but the thoughts of all
were for the dead only, and the distracted Sovrani saw nothing but
his child's pale, set face, closed eyes, and delicate figure, lying
still with the red stain of blood spreading through the whiteness of
her garments. None of them thought of Manuel--and it was with a
shock of surprise that the Cardinal became aware of him, and saw him
approaching the couch, raising his hand as he came, warningly.

"Hush, hush!" he said, very gently, "It may be that she is not dead!
She will be frightened when she wakes if she sees you weeping!"

Prince Sovrani caught the words.

"When she wakes!" he cried, "Poor boy, you do not know what you say!
She will never wake! She is dead!"

But Manuel was bending closely over the couch, and looking earnestly
into Angela's quiet face. Cardinal Bonpre watched him wonderingly.
And the old Prince stood, arrested as it were in the very midst of
his wrath and sorrow by some force more potent than even the spirit
of vengeance. The sobbing servants held their breath--and all stared
as if fascinated at the young boy, as after a pause, he took
Angela's hand that hung so inertly down, in one of his own, and with
the other felt her heart. Then he spoke.

"She is not dead!" he said simply,--"She has only swooned. Let
someone fetch a physician to attend her--see!--she breathes!"

With a wild, half-smothered cry Prince Sovrani sprang forward to see
for himself if this blessed news was true. He and the Cardinal both,
seized with a passionate anxiety, gazed and gazed at the fair
beloved face in hope, in fear and longing,--and still Manuel stood
beside the couch, stroking the small hand he held with thoughtful
care and tenderness. All at once a faint sigh parted the sweet
lips,--the bosom heaved with a struggle for breath. Her father fell
on his knees, overcome, and hiding his face in his hands sobbed
aloud in the intensity of his relief and joy, while the Cardinal
murmured a devout 'Thank God!' A few minutes passed, and still the
fluttering uncertain breathings came and went, and still Manuel
stood by the couch, quietly watchful. Presently the closed eyelids
quivered and lifted,--and the beautiful true eyes shone star-like
out upon the world again! She stirred, and tried to raise herself,
but sank back exhausted in the effort. Then seeing the Cardinal, she
smiled,--and her gaze wandered slowly to the bent, white-haired
figure crouching beside her, whose whole frame was shaken by sobs.

"Father!" she murmured--"Dearest father! What is it?"

He lifted his tear-stained, agonised face, and seeing that the
tender eyes regarding him were full of fear and wonder as well as
love, he instantly controlled himself, and rising from his knees,
kissed her gently.

"I thought you were dead, my darling!" he said softly--"Hush now--do
not speak! Lie quite still! You are hurt a little,--you must rest!--
you will be better,--much better presently!"

But Angela's looks had again wandered, and now they were fixed on
Manuel. Over her whole face there came a sudden life and radiance.

"Manuel!" she said eagerly--"Manuel, stay with me! Do not leave me!"

Manuel smiled in answer to her appealing eyes, and came nearer.

"Do not fear!" he said--"I will stay!"

She closed her eyes again restfully, and her breathing grew lighter
and easier. Just then one of the servants entered with the physician
who was accustomed to attend the Sovrani household. His arrival
roused Angela completely,--she became quite conscious, and evidently
began to remember something of what had happened. The doctor raised
her to see where she was injured, and quickly cutting away her
blood-stained vesture, tenderly and carefully examined the wound.

"I cannot understand how it is that she is not dead!" he said at
last--"It is a miracle! This is a stab inflicted with some sharply
pointed instrument,--probably a dagger--and was no doubt intended to
be mortal. As it is, it is dangerous--but there is a chance of
life." Then he addressed himself to Angela, who was looking at him
with wide-open eyes and a most piteous expression. "Do you know me,
my child?"

"Oh, yes, doctor!" she murmured faintly.

"Do you suffer much pain?"

"No."

"Then can you tell me how this happened? Who stabbed you?"

She shuddered and sighed.

"No one!--that I can remember!"

Her eyes closed--she moved her hands about restlessly as though
seeking for something she had lost.

"Manuel!"

"I am here!" answered the boy gently.

"Stay with me! I am so tired!"

Again a convulsive trembling shook her fragile body from head to
foot, and again she sighed as though her heart were breaking,--then
she lay passively still, though one or two tears crept down her
cheeks as they carried her tenderly up to her own room and laid her
down on her simple little white bed, softly curtained, and guarded
by a statue of the Virgin bending over it. There, when her cruel
wound was dressed and bandaged, and the physician had given her a
composing draught, she fell into a deep, refreshing slumber, and
only Manuel stayed beside her as she slept.

Meanwhile, down in the studio, Prince Sovrani and the Cardinal
stayed together, talking softly, and gazing in fascinated wonder,
bewilderment, admiration and awe at Angela's work unveiled. All the
lamps in the room were now lit, and the great picture--a sublime
Dream resolved into sublime Reality--shone out as much as the
artificial light would permit,--a jewel of art that seemed to
contain within itself all the colour and radiance of a heaven
unknown, unseen yet surely near at hand. The figure and face of the
approaching Saviour, instinct with life, expressed almost in
positive speech the words, "Then shall ye see the Son of Man coming
in the clouds with great power and glory"!--and if Cardinal Bonpre
had given way to the innermost emotions of his soul, he could have
knelt before the exalted purity of such a conception of the Christ,-
-a god-like ideal, brought into realization by the exalted
imagination, the holy thoughts, and the faithful patient work of a
mere woman!

"This--" he said, in hushed accents--"This must be the cause of the
dastardly attempt made to murder the child! Some one who knew her
secret,--some one who was aware of the wonderful power and
magnificence of her work,--perhaps the very man who made the frame
for it,--who can tell?"

Prince Pietro meditated deeply, a frown puckering his brows,--his
countenance was still pale and drawn with the stress of the mingled
agony and relief he had just passed through, and the anxiety he felt
concerning Angela's immediate critical condition.

"I cannot hold the position yet!--" he said, at last--"That is to
say, I am too numb and stricken with fear to realize what has
happened! See you! That picture is marvellous!--a wonder of the
world!--it will crown my girl with all the laurels of a lasting
fame,--but what matter is it to me,--this shouting of the public,--
if she dies? Will it console me for her loss, to call her a
Raffaelle?"

"Nay, but we must not give up hope!"--said the Cardinal soothingly--
"Please God, you will not lose her! Be glad that she is not dead,--
and remember that it is almost by a miracle that she lives!"

"That is true--that is true!" murmured old Sovrani, ruffling his
white hair with one hand, while he still stared abstractedly at his
daughter's picture--"You are very patient with me, brother!--you
have all the kindness as well as all the faithfulness of your
sister,--the sweetest woman the sun was ever privileged to shine on!
Well, well! What did you say to me? That this picture must have been
the cause of the attempted murder? Maybe,--but the poor hard-working
fellow who made the frame for it, could not have done such a deed,--
he has been a pensioner of Angela's for many a long day, and she has
given him employment when he could not obtain it from others.
Besides, he never saw the picture. Angela gave him her measurements,
and when the frame was finished he brought it to her here. But he
had nothing whatever to do with setting the canvas in it,--that I
know, for Angela herself told me. No, no!--let us not blame the
innocent; rather let us try to find the guilty."