The Dawn of All

by Robert Hugh Benson

  (II)

  The two said nothing as they went out through the dimly lightedhall. Overhead hung the old banners in the high wooden roof; agreat fire blazed on the hearth; and under the musician's galleryat the farther end they saw the bright little window behind whichsat the secretary.

  They stopped here and peered in.

  He was seated with his back to them before an instrument notaltogether unlike an old-fashioned organ. A long row of blackkeys was in front of him; and half a dozen stops protruded oneither side. Before him, in the front, a glass panel protectedsome kind of white sheet; and as the priest looked in he couldsee a movement as of small bluish sparks playing upon this. Hehad long ago made up his mind not to attempt to understand modernmachinery; and he had no kind of idea what all this meant, beyonda guess that the keys were for sending messages, and the whitesheet for receiving them.

  "Any news?" said the General suddenly.

  The secretary did not move or answer. His hands were before him,hidden, and he appeared entirely absorbed.

  It must have been a minute before he turned round, drawing out ashe did so from before him a slip of paper like those he hadalready brought in.

  "This is from Rye, sir," he said shortly. "They too have lostcommunication with Parliament Square. That is all, sir. I musttake this in at once."

  The two passed on, still without speaking; and it was not untilthey were going slowly up the long covered staircase that raninside the skirting wall that connected the keep with the moremodern part of the castle that Monsignor began----

  "I'm very ignorant," he said. "Can you tell me thepossibilities?"

  The General paused before answering.

  "Well," he said, "the worst possibility is a riot, engineered bythe Socialists. If that is successful, it means a certain delayof at least several years; and, at the worst, it means that theSocialists will increase enormously throughout Europe. And thenanything may happen."

  "But I thought that all real danger was past, and that theSocialists were discredited."

  "Certainly, in one sense. In every country, that is to say, theyare in a negligible minority. But if all these minorities areadded together, they are not negligible at all. The Cabinet hasproduced this Bill suddenly, as of course you know, in order toprevent any large Continental demonstration, as this wouldcertainly have a tremendous effect upon England. But it seemsthat they've been organizing for months. They must have knownthis was coming . . ."

  "And if the Socialists fail?"

  "Well, then they'll make their last stand in Germany. But youknow this better than I do, Monsignor?"

  "I know a good deal here and there," confessed the other;"but I find it hard sometimes to combine it all. I had anillness, you know----"

  "Ah, yes; yes."

  They paused for breath in an embrasure in the wall, where asection of a half-tower supported the wall, itself running downon to the cliff side. A couple of windows gave a view of the sea,now a dark gulf under the cloudy sky, sprinkled with a few movinglights, here and there, of vessels going up or down the Channel.

  "And suppose the Bill passes?" began the priest.

  "If the Bill passes, we need fear nothing in England if it passeswith a good majority. You know Government is an extraordinarilydelicate machine nowadays; and if the Bill goes through reallywell, it'll be an infallible sign that the country refuses totake alarm. And if it fails, or only narrowly passes--well, it'llbe the other way. The whole work will have to be done again, orat least begun----"

  He faced round suddenly.

  "Monsignor," he said, "I wouldn't say this to everyone. But Itell you we're at a very critical moment. These Socialists arestronger than any one dreamed. Their organization is simplyperfect. Do you know any of them?"

  "I have met Hardy."

  "That's a brilliant man, you know."

  They talked no more during the rest of the ascent, until theyemerged at last on to the top of the round keep, where the oldbonfires used to burn, and where the old iron cradle, used evennow at coronations and great national events, still thrust up itsskeleton silhouette against the pale sky. To the priest'ssurprise the silhouette was largely filled in.

  A figure came towards them, saluted, and stood waiting.

  "Eh? Who's this?" snapped the General.

  "The look out, sir. We've orders to watch Rye."

  "Why?"

  "The wireless is out of communication, sir. His lordship arrangeda week ago that there should be supplementary rockets."

  "Where are the guns?" asked Monsignor, who was looking about him,at the empty leads, the battlemented parapet against the sky, andthen back at the servant's figure.

  "Down below, father. They're to be fired from here if three whiterockets go up."

  While the two others still talked, the priest went to the side andlooked over, again suddenly overwhelmed by the strangeness of thewhole position. Once again there came on him the sense ofirresponsible unreality. . . . He stared out, hardly seeing thaton which he looked: the grey mass of the lower castle beneath withlighted windows, at the blankness beyond, again with the scatteredlights--the nearer ones, within what seemed a stone's throw, alongthe village street--the farther ones, infinitely remote, out uponthe invisible sea. There again too, far off across the land, shoneanother cluster of lights, seen rather as a luminous patch, thatmarked Rye. There too, eyes were watching; there too it was feltthat interests were at stake, so vast and so unknown, that heavenor hell might be within their limits. He looked inland, and theretoo was darkness, but darkness unrelieved. Near at hand,immediately below the bounding walls, rose up the dark swellingoutlines that he knew to be the woods of the park, crowding upagainst the very castle walls themselves; and beyond, dimnessafter dimness, to meet the sky. . . .

  It seemed to him incredible, as he looked, that things of suchmoment should be under way, somewhere beyond that sleepingcountry; and yet, as his eyes grew accustomed to the night, hecould make out at last a faint glow in the sky to the north thatmarked the outskirts of that enormous city of which he was acitizen, where such matters even now were approaching a decision.

  For it was only little by little that he had become aware that areal crisis was at hand. The Cardinal had told him the facts,indeed, in the dispassionate, tolerant manner that wascharacteristic of him; but the point of view necessary to takethem in as a coherent whole, to see them, not as isolated events,but with the effect of the past upon them and their hiddenimplications and probabilities for the future--this needed thatthe observer should be of the temper and atmosphere of the time.For prophecy just now was little better than feeling at outlinesin the dark. Facts could be discerned and apprehended by all--andthe priest was well aware of his own capacities in this--buttheir interpretation was another matter altogether. . . . He felthelpless and puzzled. . . .

  The General came towards him.

  "Well," he said, "anything to be seen?"

  "Nothing."

  "We may as well make our way down again. There's nothing to begained by stopping here."

  As they made their way down again through the covered passage,the General once more began to talk about the crisis.

  Monsignor had heard it all before; but he listened for all that.It seemed to him worth while to collect opinions; and thissoldier's very outspoken remarks cast a sort of sharp clarityupon the situation that the priest found useful. Theestablishment of the Church in England was being regarded on theContinent as a kind of test case; and even more by theAnglo-Saxon countries throughout the world. In itself it was notso vast a step forward as might be thought. It would make no veryradical changes in actual affairs, since the Church alreadyenjoyed enormous influence and complete liberty. But the pointwas that it was being taken as a kind of symbol by both sides;and this explained on the one hand the tactics of the Governmentin bringing it suddenly forward, and the extraordinary zeal withwhich the Socialists were demonstrating against it.

  "The more I think of it," said the General, "the more----"

 
Monsignor stepped suddenly aside into the embrasure at which theyhad halted on the way up.

  "What's the matter?"

  "I thought I saw----"

  The General uttered a sharp exclamation, pressing his head overthe priest's shoulder.

  "That's the second," whispered the priest harshly.

  Together they waited, staring out together through the tall,narrow window that looked towards Rye.

  Then for the third time there rose against the far-off horizon,above that faint peak of luminosity that marked where Ryewatched over her marshes, a thin line of white fire, slackeningits pace as it rose.

  Before it had burst in sparks, there roared out overhead adeafening voice of fire and thunder, shaking the air about them,bewildering the brain. Then another. Then another.

  Beneath the two as they stood, shaking with the shock, silent andopen-mouthed, staring at one another, in the courtyard a doorbanged; then another; and then a torrent of voices and footstepsas the servants and grooms poured out of the lower doors.