Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22)

by Marie Corelli

  He spoke slowly, enunciating each word with careful distinctness.

  “The spiritual part of the scheme is of course the most important to you!” — said the King with a slight smile,— “But material advantages are never entirely overlooked, even by holy men! Now I am merely a ‘temporal’ sovereign; and as such, I wish to know how your plan will affect the people of the neighbouring town and district. What are your intentions towards them? Their welfare is my chief concern; and what I have to learn from you is, — How do you propose to benefit them by maintaining a monastery, church and schools in their vicinity?”

  Again Del Fortis gave a furtive glance upward. Seeing that the King’s eyes were steadily fixed upon him, he quickly lowered his own, and gave answer in an evidently prepared manner.

  “Sir, the people of the district in question are untaught barbarians. It is more for their sakes, — more for the love of gathering the lost sheep into the fold, than for our own satisfaction, that we seek to pitch our tents in the desert of their ignorance. They, and their children, are the prey of heathenish modern doctrines, which alas! — are too prevalent throughout the whole world at this particular time, — and, as they are at present situated, no restraint is exercised upon them for the better controlling of their natural and inherited vices. Unless the gentle hand of Mother Church is allowed to rescue these, her hapless and neglected ones; unless she has an opportunity afforded her of leading them out of the darkness of error into the light of eternal day—”

  He broke off, his eloquence being interrupted by a gesture from the King.

  “There is a Government school in the town,” — said the monarch, referring to one or two documents on the table before him.— “There is also a Free Public Library, and a Free School of Art. Thus it does not seem that education is quite neglected.”

  “Alas, Sir, such education is merely disastrous!” said Del Fortis, with a deep sigh,— “Like the fruit on the tree of knowledge in the Garden of Eden, it brings death to the soul!”

  “You condemn the Government methods?” asked the King coldly.

  The Jesuit moved uneasily, and a dull flush reddened his pale skin.

  “Far be it from me, Sir, as a poor servant of the Church, to condemn lawful authorities, — yet we should not forget that the Government is temporal and changeable, — the Church is spiritual and changeless. We cannot look for entire success in a scheme of popular education which is not formulated under the guidance or the blessing of God!”

  The King leaned forward a little in his chair, and surveyed him fixedly.

  “How do you know that it is not formulated under the guidance and blessing of God?” he asked suddenly— “Has the Almighty given you His special opinion and confidence on the matter?”

  Monsignor Del Fortis started indignantly.

  “Sir! Your Majesty — —”

  De Launay made a step forward, but the King motioned him back. Accordingly he resumed his former position, but his equable temperament was for once seriously disturbed. He saw that his Royal master was evidently bent on speaking his mind; and he knew well what a dangerous indulgence that is for all men who desire peace and quietness in their lives.

  “I am aware of what you would say,” pursued the King— “You would say that the Church — your Church — is the only establishment of the kind which receives direct inspiration from the Creator of Universes. But I do not feel justified in limiting the control of the Almighty to one special orbit of Creed. You tell me that a government system of education for the people is a purely temporal movement, and that, as such, it is not blessed by the guidance of God. Yet the Pope seeks ‘temporal’ power! It is explained to us of course that he seeks it in order that he may unite it to the spiritual in his own person, — theoretically for the good of mankind, if practically for the advancement of his own particular policy. But have you never thought, Monsignor, that the marked severance of what you call ‘temporal’ power, from what you equally call ‘spiritual’ power, is God’s work? Inasmuch as nothing can be done without God’s will; for even if there is a devil (which I am inclined to doubt) he owes his unhappy existence to God as much as I do!”

  He smiled; but Del Fortis stood rigidly silent, his head bent, and one hand folded tight across his breast, an attitude Sir Roger de Launay always viewed in every man with suspicion, as it suggested the concealment of a weapon.

  “You will admit” pursued the King, “that the action of human thought is always progressive. Unfortunately your Creed lags behind human thought in its onward march, thus causing the intelligent world to infer that there must be something wrong with its teaching. For if the Church had always been in all respects faithful to the teaching of her Divine Master, she would be at this present time the supreme Conqueror of Nations. Yet she is doing no more nowadays than she did in the middle ages, — she threatens, she intimidates, she persecutes all who dare to use for a reasonable purpose the brain God gave them, — but she does not help on or sympathize with the growing fraternity and civilization of the world. It is impossible not to recognize this. Yet I have a profound respect for each and every minister of religion who honestly endeavours to follow the counsels of Christ,” — here he paused, — then added with slow and marked emphasis— “in whose Holy Name I devoutly believe for the redemption of whatever there is in me worth redeeming; — nevertheless my first duty, even in Christ, is plainly to the people of the country over which I am elected to rule.”

  The flickering shadow of a smile passed over the Jesuit’s dark features, but he still kept silence.

  “Therefore,” went on the King— “it is my unpleasant task to be compelled to inform you, Monsignor, that the inhabitants of the district your Order seeks to take under its influence, have the strongest objection to your presence among them. So strong indeed is their aversion towards your Society, that they have petitioned me in numerous ways, (and with considerable eloquence, too, for ‘untaught barbarians’) to defend them from your visitation. Now, to speak truly, I find they have all the advantages which modern advancement and social improvement can give them, — they attend their places of public worship in considerable numbers, and are on the whole decent, God-fearing, order-loving subjects to the Throne, — and more I do not desire for them or for myself. Criminal cases are very rare in the district, — and the poor are more inclined to help than to defraud each other. All this is so far good, — and, I should imagine, — not displeasing to God. In any case, as their merely temporal sovereign, I must decline to give your Order any control over them.”

  “You refuse the concession of land, Sir?” said Del Fortis, in a voice that trembled with restrained passion.

  “To satisfy those of my subjects who have appealed to me, I am compelled to do so,” replied the King.

  “I pray your Majesty’s pardon, but a portion of the land is held by private persons who are prepared to sell to us — —”

  A quick anger flashed in the King’s eyes.

  “They shall sell to me if they sell at all,” — he said,— “I repeat, Monsignor, the fact that the law-abiding people of the place have sought their King’s protection from priestly interference; — and, — by Heaven! — they shall have it!”

  There was a sudden silence. Sir Roger de Launay drew a sharp breath, — his habitual languor of mind was completely dissipated, and he studied the inscrutable face of Del Fortis with deepening suspicion and disfavour. Not that there was the slightest sign of wrath or dismay on the priest’s well-disciplined countenance; — on the contrary, a chill smile illumined it as he spoke his next words with a serious, if somewhat forced composure.

  “Your Majesty is, without doubt, all powerful in your own particular domain of society and politics,” he said— “But there is another Majesty higher than yours, — that of the Church, before which dread and infallible Tribunal even kings are brought to naught — —”

  “Monsignor Del Fortis,” interrupted the King, “We have not met this morning, I presume, to indulge in a re
ligious polemic! My power is, as you very truly suggest, merely temporal — yours is spiritual. Yours should be the strongest! Go your way now to your Vicar-General with the straight answer I have given you, — but if by your ‘spiritual’ power you can persuade the people who now hate your Society, to love it, — to demand it, — to beg that you may be permitted to found a colony among them, — why, in that case, come to me again, and I will grant you the land. I am not prejudiced one way or the other, but I will not hand over any of my subjects to the influence of priestcraft, so long as they desire me to defend them from it.”

  Del Fortis still smiled.

  “Pardon me, Sir, but we of the Society of Jesus are your subjects also, and we judge you to be a Christian and Catholic monarch — —”

  “As I am, most assuredly!” replied the King— “Christian and Catholic are words which, if I understand their meaning, please me well! ‘Christian’ expresses a believer in and follower of Christ,— ‘Catholic’ means universal, by which, I take it, is intended wide, universal love and tolerance without sect, party, or prejudice. In this sense the Church is not Catholic — it is merely the Roman sect. Nor are you truly my subjects, since you have only one ruler, the Supreme Pontiff, — with whom I am somewhat at variance. But, as I have said, we are not here to indulge in argument. You came to proffer a request; I have given you the only answer I conceive fitting with my duty; — the matter is concluded.”

  Del Fortis hesitated a moment, — then bowed low to the ground; — anon, lifting himself, raised one hand with an invocative gesture of profound solemnity.

  “I commend your Majesty to the mercy of God, that He may in His wisdom, guard your life and soften your heart towards the ministers of His Holy Religion, and bring you into the ways of righteousness and peace! For the rest, I will report your Majesty’s decision to the Vicar-General.”

  “Do so!” — rejoined the King— “And assure him that the decision is unalterable, — unless the inhabitants of the place concerned desire to have it revoked.”

  Again Del Fortis bowed.

  “I humbly take my leave of your Majesty!”

  The monarch looked at him steadfastly as he made another salutation, and backed out of the presence-chamber. Sir Roger de Launay opened the door for him with alacrity, handing him over into the charge of an usher with the whispered caution to see him well off the Royal premises; and then returning to his sovereign, stood “at attention.” The King noted his somewhat troubled aspect, and laughed.

  “What ails you, De Launay?” he asked— “You seem astonished that for once I have spoken my mind?”

  “Sir, to speak one’s mind is always dangerous!”

  “Dangerous — danger! — What idle words to make cowards of men! Danger — of what? There is only one danger — death; and that is sure to come to every man, whether he be a hero or a poltroon.”

  “True, — but — —”

  “But — what? De Launay, if you love me, do not look at me with so expostulatory an air! It does not become your inches! Now listen! — when the next press reporter comes nosing round for palace news, let him be told that the King has refused permission to the Jesuits to build on any portion of the Crown lands demanded for the purpose. Let this be made known to Press and People — the sooner the better!”

  “Sir,” murmured De Launay— “We live in strange times — —”

  “Why, there you speak most truly!” said the King, with emphasis— “We do live in strange times — the very strangest perhaps, since Aeneas Sylvius wrote concerning Christendom. Do you remember the words he set down so long ago?— ‘It is a body without a head, — a republic without laws or magistrates. The pope or the emperor may shine as lofty titles, as splendid images, — but they are unable to command, and no one is willing to obey!’ History thus repeats itself, De Launay; — and yet with all its past experience, the Roman Church does not seem to realize that it is powerless against the attacks of intellectual common sense. Faith in God, — a high, perfect, pure faith in God, and a simple following of the Divine Teacher of God’s command, Christ; — these things are wise and necessary for all nations; but, to allow human beings to be coerced by superstition for political motives, under the disguise of religion, is an un-Christian business, and I for one will have no part in it!”

  “You will lay yourself open to much serious misconstruction, Sir,” said De Launay.

  “Let us hope so, Roger!” rejoined the King with a smile— “For if I am never misunderstood, I shall know myself to be a fool! Come, — do not look so glum! — I want you to help me.”

  “To help you, Sir?” exclaimed De Launay eagerly,— “With my life, if you demand it!”

  The King rested one hand familiarly on his shoulder.

  “I would rather take my own life than yours, De Launay!” he said— “No, — whatever difficulties I get myself into, you shall not suffer! But — as I told you a while ago, — there is something in me that must have its way. I am sick to death of conventionalities, — you must help me to break through them! You are right in saying that we live in strange times; — they are strange times! — and they may perchance be all the better for a strange King!”

  CHAPTER IV. — SEALED ORDERS

  Some hours later on, Sir Roger de Launay, having left his Sovereign’s presence, and being off duty for a time, betook himself to certain apartments in the west wing of the palace, where the next most trusted personage to himself in the confidence of the King, had his domicile, — Professor von Glauben, resident physician to the Royal Household. Heinrich von Glauben was a man of somewhat extraordinary character and individuality. In his youth he had made a sudden meteoric fame for his marvellous skill and success in surgery, as also for his equally surprising quickness and correctness in diagnosing obscure diseases and tracing them to their source. But, after creating a vast amount of discussion and opposition among his confrères, and almost reaching that brilliant point of triumph when his originality and cleverness were proved great enough to win him a host of enemies, he all at once threw up the game as it were, and, resigning the favourable opportunities of increasing distinction offered him in his native Germany, accepted the comparatively retired and private position he now occupied. Some said it was a disappointment in love which had caused his abrupt departure from the Fatherland, — others declared it was irritation at the severe manner in which his surgical successes had been handled by the medical critics, — but whatever the cause, it soon became evident that he had turned his back on the country of his birth for ever, and that he was apparently entirely satisfied with the lot he had chosen. His post was certainly an easy and pleasant one, — the members of the Royal family to which his services were attached were exceptionally healthy, as Royal families go; and he was seldom in more than merely formal attendance, so that he had ample time and opportunity to pursue those deeper forms of physiological study which had excited the wrath and ridicule of his contemporaries, as well as to continue the writing of a book which he intended should make a stir in the world, and which he had entitled “The Moral and Political History of Hunger.”

  “For,” said he— “Hunger is the primal civilizer, — the very keystone and foundation of all progress. From the plain, prosy, earthy fact that man is a hungry animal, and must eat, has sprung all the civilization of the world! I shall demonstrate this in my book, beginning with the scriptural legend of Adam’s greed for an apple. Adam was evidently hungry at the moment Eve tempted him. As soon as he had satisfied his inner man, he thought of his outer, — and his next idea was, naturally, tailoring. From this simple conjunction of suggestions, combined with what ‘God’ would have to say to him concerning his food-experiment and fig-leaf apron, man has drawn all his religions, manners, customs and morals. The proposition is self-evident, — but I intend to point it out with somewhat emphasised clearness for the benefit of those persons who are inclined to arrogate to themselves the possession of superior wisdom. Neither brain nor soul has placed man in a position of S
upremacy, — merely Hunger and Nakedness!”

  The Professor was now about fifty-five, but his exceptionally powerful build and robust constitution gave him the grace in appearance of many years younger, though perhaps the extreme composure of his temperament, and the philosophic manner in which he viewed all circumstances, whether pleasing or disastrous, may have exercised the greatest influence in keeping his eyes clear and clean, and his countenance free of unhandsome wrinkles. He was more like a soldier than a doctor, and was proud of his resemblance to the earlier portraits of Bismarck. To see him in his own particular ‘sanctum’ surrounded by weird-looking diagrams of sundry parts of the human frame, mysterious phials and stoppered flasks containing various liquids and crystals, and all the modern appliances for closely examining the fearful yet beautiful secrets of the living organism, was as if one should look upon a rough and burly giant engaged in some delicate manipulation of mosaics. Yet Von Glauben’s large hand was gentler than a woman’s in its touch and gift of healing, — no surgeon alive could probe a wound more tenderly, or with less pain to the sufferer, — and the skill of that large hand was accompanied by the penetrative quality of the large benevolent brain which guided it, — a brain that could encompass the whole circle of the world in its observant and affectionate compassion.

  “Ach! — who is there that can be angry with anyone? — impatient with anyone, — offended with anyone!” he was wont to say— “Everybody suffers so much and so undeservedly, that as far as my short life goes I have only time for pity — not condemnation!”

  To this individual, as a kind of human calmative and tonic combined, Sir Roger de Launay was in the habit of going whenever he felt his own customary tranquillity at all disturbed. The two were great friends; — friends in their mutual love and service of the King, — friends in their equally mutual but discreetly silent worship of the Queen, — and friends in their very differences of opinion on men and matters in general. De Launay, being younger, was more hasty of judgment and quick in action; but Von Glauben too had been known to draw his sword with unexpected rapidity on occasion, to the discomfiture of those who deemed him only at home with the scalpel. Just now, however, he was in a particularly non-combative and philosophic mood; he was watching certain animalculae wriggling in a glass tube, the while he sat in a large easy-chair with slippered feet resting on another chair opposite, puffing clouds of smoke from a big meerschaum, — and he did not stir from his indolent attitude when De Launay entered, but merely looked up and smiled placidly.