Lord of the World
Page 38
II
The same night Oliver Brand came home about an hour before midnight.
For himself, what he had heard and seen that day was still too vivid andtoo imminent for him to judge of it coolly. He had seen, from hiswindows in Whitehall, Parliament Square filled with a mob the like ofwhich had not been known in England since the days of Christianity--amob full of a fury that could scarcely draw its origin except fromsources beyond the reach of sense. Thrice during the hours that followedthe publication of the Catholic plot and the outbreak of mob-law he hadcommunicated with the Prime Minister asking whether nothing could bedone to allay the tumult; and on both occasions he had received thedoubtful answer that what could be done would be done, that force wasinadmissible at present; but that the police were doing all that waspossible.
As regarded the despatch of the volors to Rome, he had assented bysilence, as had the rest of the Council. That was, Snowford had said, ajudicial punitive act, regrettable but necessary. Peace, in thisinstance, could not be secured except on terms of war--or rather, sincewar was obsolete--by the sternness of justice. These Catholics had shownthemselves the avowed enemies of society; very well, then society mustdefend itself, at least this once. Man was still human. And Oliver hadlistened and said nothing.
As he passed in one of the Government volors over London on his wayhome, he had caught more than one glimpse of what was proceeding beneathhim. The streets were as bright as day, shadowless and clear in thewhite light, and every roadway was a crawling serpent. From beneath roseup a steady roar of voices, soft and woolly, punctuated by cries. Fromhere and there ascended the smoke of burning; and once, as he flittedover one of the great squares to the south of Battersea, he had seen asit were a scattered squadron of ants running as if in fear orpursuit.... He knew what was happening.... Well, after all, man was notyet perfectly civilised.
He did not like to think of what awaited him at home. Once, about fivehours earlier, he had listened to his wife's voice through thetelephone, and what he had heard had nearly caused him to leave all andgo to her. Yet he was scarcely prepared for what he found.
As he came into the sitting-room, there was no sound, except thatfar-away hum from the seething streets below. The room seemed strangelydark and cold; the only light that entered was through one of thewindows from which the curtains were withdrawn, and, silhouetted againstthe luminous sky beyond, was the upright figure of a woman, looking andlistening....
He pressed the knob of the electric light; and Mabel turned slowlytowards him. She was in her day-dress, with a cloak thrown over hershoulders, and her face was almost as that of a stranger. It wasperfectly colourless, her lips were compressed and her eyes full of anemotion which he could not interpret. It might equally have been anger,terror or misery.
She stood there in the steady light, motionless, looking at him.
For a moment he did not trust himself to speak. He passed across to thewindow, closed it and drew the curtains. Then he took that rigid figuregently by the arm.
"Mabel," he said, "Mabel."
She submitted to be drawn towards the sofa, but there was no response tohis touch. He sat down and looked up at her with a kind of despairingapprehension.
"My dear, I am tired out," he said.
Still she looked at him. There was in her pose that rigidity that actorssimulate; yet he knew it for the real thing. He had seen that silenceonce or twice before in the presence of a horror--once at any rate, atthe sight of a splash of blood on her shoe.
"Well, my darling, sit down, at least," he said.
She obeyed him mechanically--sat, and still stared at him. In thesilence once more that soft roar rose and died from the invisible worldof tumult outside the windows. Within here all was quiet. He knewperfectly that two things strove within her, her loyalty to her faithand her hatred of those crimes in the name of justice. As he looked onher he saw that these two were at death grips, that hatred wasprevailing, and that she herself was little more than a passivebattlefield. Then, as with a long-drawn howl of a wolf, there surged andsank the voices of the mob a mile away, the tension broke.... She threwherself forward towards him, he caught her by the wrists, and so sherested, clasped in his arms, her face and bosom on his knees, and herwhole body torn by emotion.
For a full minute neither spoke. Oliver understood well enough, yet atpresent he had no words. He only drew her a little closer to himself,kissed her hair two or three times, and settled himself to hold her. Hebegan to rehearse what he must say presently.
Then she raised her flushed face for an instant, looked at himpassionately, dropped her head again and began to sob out broken words.
He could only catch a sentence here and there, yet he knew what she wassaying....
It was the ruin of all her hopes, she sobbed, the end of her religion.Let her die, die and have done with it! It was all gone, gone, sweptaway in this murderous passion of the people of her faith ... they wereno better than Christians, after all, as fierce as the men on whom theyavenged themselves, as dark as though the Saviour, Julian, had nevercome; it was all lost ... War and Passion and Murder had returned to thebody from which she had thought them gone forever.... The burningchurches, the hunted Catholics, the raging of the streets on which shehad looked that day, the bodies of the child and the priest carried onpoles, the burning churches and convents. ... All streamed out,incoherent, broken by sobs, details of horror, lamentations, reproaches,interpreted by the writhing of her head and hands upon his knees. Thecollapse was complete.
He put his hands again beneath her arms and raised her. He was worn outby his work, yet he knew he must quiet her. This was more serious thanany previous crisis. Yet he knew her power of recovery.
"Sit down, my darling," he said. "There ... give me your hands. Nowlisten to me."
* * * * *
He made really an admirable defence, for it was what he had beenrepeating to himself all day. Men were not yet perfect, he said; thereran in their veins the blood of men who for twenty centuries had beenChristians.... There must be no despair; faith in man was of the veryessence of religion, faith in man's best self, in what he would become,not in what at present he actually was. They were at the beginning ofthe new religion, not in its maturity; there must be sourness in theyoung fruit. ... Consider, too, the provocation! Remember the appallingcrime that these Catholics had contemplated; they had set themselves tostrike the new Faith in its very heart....
"My darling," he said, "men are not changed in an instant. What if thoseChristians had succeeded!... I condemn it all as strongly as you. I sawa couple of newspapers this afternoon that are as wicked as anythingthat the Christians have ever done. They exulted in all these crimes. Itwill throw the movement back ten years.... Do you think that there arenot thousands like yourself who hate and detest this violence?... Butwhat does faith mean, except that we know that mercy will prevail?Faith, patience and hope--these are our weapons."
He spoke with passionate conviction, his eyes fixed on hers, in a fierceendeavour to give her his own confidence, and to reassure the remnantsof his own doubtfulness. It was true that he too hated what she hated,yet he saw things that she did not.... Well, well, he told himself, hemust remember that she was a woman.
The look of frantic horror passed slowly out of her eyes, giving way toacute misery as he talked, and as his personality once more began todominate her own. But it was not yet over.
"But the volors," she cried, "the volors! That is deliberate; that isnot the work of the mob."
"My darling, it is no more deliberate than the other. We are all human,we are all immature. Yes, the Council permitted it, ... permitted it,remember. The German Government, too, had to yield. We must tame natureslowly, we must not break it."
He talked again for a few minutes, repeating his arguments, soothing,reassuring, encouraging; and he saw that he was beginning to prevail.But she returned to one of his words.
"Permitted it! And you permitted it."
"Dear; I said nothing, either for
it or against. I tell you that if wehad forbidden it there would have been yet more murder, and the peoplewould have lost their rulers. We were passive, since we could donothing."
"Ah! but it would have been better to die.... Oh, Oliver, let me die atleast! I cannot bear it."
By her hands which he still held he drew her nearer yet to himself.
"Sweetheart," he said gravely, "cannot you trust me a little? If I couldtell you all that passed to-day, you would understand. But trust me thatI am not heartless. And what of Julian Felsenburgh?"
For a moment he saw hesitation in her eyes; her loyalty to him and herloathing of all that had happened strove within her. Then once againloyalty prevailed, the name of Felsenburgh weighed down the balance, andtrust came back with a flood of tears.
"Oh, Oliver," she said, "I know I trust you. But I am so weak, and allis so terrible. And He so strong and merciful. And will He be with usto-morrow?"
* * * * *
It struck midnight from the clock-tower a mile away as they yet sat andtalked. She was still tremulous from the struggle; but she looked at himsmiling, still holding his hands. He saw that the reaction was upon herin full force at last.
"The New Year, my husband," she said, and rose as she said it, drawinghim after her.
"I wish you a happy New Year," she said. "Oh help me, Oliver."
She kissed him, and drew back, still holding his hands, looking at himwith bright tearful eyes.
"Oliver," she cried again, "I must tell you this.... Do you know what Ithought before you came?"
He shook his head, staring at her greedily. How sweet she was! He felther grip tighten on his hands.
"I thought I could not bear it," she whispered--"that I must end itall--ah! you know what I mean."
His heart flinched as he heard her; and he drew her closer again tohimself.
"It is all over! it is all over," she cried. "Ah! do not look like that!I could not tell you if it was not."'
As their lips met again there came the vibration of an electric bellfrom the next room, and Oliver, knowing what it meant, felt even in thatinstant a tremor shake his heart. He loosed her hands, and still smiledat her.
"The bell!" she said, with a flash of apprehension.
"But it is all well between us again?"
Her face steadied itself into loyalty and confidence.
"It is all well," she said; and again the impatient bell tingled. "Go,Oliver; I will wait here."
A minute later he was back again, with a strange look on his white face,and his lips compressed. He came straight up to her, taking her oncemore by the hands, and looking steadily into her steady eyes. In thehearts of both of them resolve and faith were holding down the emotionthat was not yet dead. He drew a long breath.
"Yes," he said in an even voice, "it is over."
Her lips moved; and that deadly paleness lay on her cheeks. He grippedher firmly.
"Listen," he said. "You must face it. It is over. Rome is gone. Now wemust build something better."
She threw herself sobbing into his arms.