The Dawn of All

by Robert Hugh Benson

  (III)

  It was a large hall, resembling a concert-room, into which thepriest came at last, an hour later, under the escort of JamesHardy and a couple of police, and he had plenty of time toobserve it, as he stood waiting by the little door through whichhe stepped on to the back of the platform.

  This platform stood at the upper end of the hall, and was set witha long semicircle of chairs and desks, as if for judges, and thesewere occupied by perhaps thirty persons, dressed, he saw, in dullcolours, all alike. The dresses seemed curiously familiar; hesupposed he must have seen them in pictures. Then he remembered along while ago Father Jervis telling him that the Socialistsresented the modern developments in matters of costume.

  The President's desk and seat were raised a little above theothers, but from behind the priest could see nothing of him buthis black gown and his rather long iron-grey hair; he seemed tobe answering in rapid German some question that one of hiscolleagues had just put to him.

  The rest of the hall was almost empty. A table stood at the footof the platform, and here were three or four of the usualrecording machines; a dozen men sat here too, some writing, somelistening, leaning back in their chairs. In the middle, on theopposite side of the table, stood a structure resembling awitness-box, ascended by two steps, railed in on the three othersides. A man with a pointed grey beard was leaving the box as thepriest came in. Standing about the hall also were perhaps twentyother persons apparently listening to the President or waitingtheir turn. There were tall doors at the end of the hall, closedand guarded by police, and in the middle of each of the longsides two other doors, also closed, communicating with otherrooms and passages, in one of which the priest had waited justnow until the Council could see him.

  Except for the rapid, heavy voice of the President the hall wasvery quiet, and from the very silence and motionlessness of thosepresent there exhaled a certain air of tenseness. It would havebeen impossible for any intelligent person not to notice it, andfor the priest, with his nerves strung, as they now were, to anextreme pitch of sensitiveness and attention, the atmosphere wasoverwhelmingly significant. Of what it signified he had no idea,beyond the knowledge he already possessed--that the hours wererunning out, and that midnight would see a decisive event which,though it must mean ultimately the ruin of every person present,might, for all that, change the line of the world's development.A protest so desperate as this could not but have a tremendouseffect upon human sentiment. He had caught a glimpse an hour before,as he whirled through the streets, far up against the luminous slaywestwards, of a string of floating specks, which he knew to be theguard-boats, strung out now, night and day, in a vast circle roundthe city. At midnight they would surely move. . . .

  Dark had already fallen outside, but the hall was as light as daywith the hidden electric burners above the cornices, and he couldsee not only the faces, but the very expressions thatcharacterized them. One thing at least was common to them all--asilent, fierce excitement. . . .

  It would be about ten minutes before the priest's turn came toface the Council. It seemed that the member to whom thePresident was speaking was not satisfied, and question andanswer, all in rapid, unintelligible German, went on withoutintermission. Once or twice there was a murmur of applause, andmore than once the President beat his hand heavily andemphatically upon the desk before him to enforce his point. Thepriest guessed that the unanimity was not perhaps as perfect asthe world had been given to believe. However, guessing wasuseless. The President leaned back at last, and Hardy steppedforward to his chair and whispered. The President nodded, andthe next moment, at a sign from Hardy, the two police urged thepriest forward by the arms across the platform, down the steps,and so round to the right up into the witness-box. Then thePresident, who had still been whispering behind his hand, turnedabruptly in his chair and faced him.

  Monsignor related afterwards what an extraordinary moment thathad been. His nerves were already tight-stretched and hisexpectation was at the highest; but the face of this man who nowlooked at him (tremendous though he knew such a personality mustbe, which could conceive and drive through such a revolt asthis),--the face of him was beyond all imagining.

  In the fashion of the day it was clean-shaven, and the absence ofhair, except where that of his head framed the face, increasedthe impressions of those lines and shadow. It was a priestlyface, saw Monsignor, with all the power and searchingness of onewho can deal with living souls; but the face of a fallen priest.In complexion it was sallow, but the sallowness of health, not ofweakness; full-shaped, but without being fat; the lips werestraight and thin, the nose sharp and jutting and well curved,and the black eyes blazed at him with immense power from beneathheavy brows. His hair was brushed straight back from theforehead, and fell rather long behind. The face resembled acarefully modelled mask, through the eyes of which alone thetremendous life was visible.

  The priest met those eyes straight for an instant, then helowered his own, knowing that he could not be wholly himself ifhe looked that man in the face.

  He was surprised to hear words of English uttered. He looked upagain, and there was Hardy speaking, from beside thePresident's chair.

  "Monsignor, you would not answer me just now. Now that I amspeaking in the Council's name, will you consent to do so?"

  "I will answer what I think right to answer."

  There was a touch of amusement in Hardy's voice as he went on.

  "You need not be afraid, Monsignor. We do not extort answers bythe rack. I only wished to know if you would be reasonable."

  The priest said nothing.

  "Very good, then. . . . First we will tell you our intentions. Atmidnight, as you know, we keep our word, and the Emperor will haveto go the way of the others. It is regrettable, but the Christiansdo not seem to understand even yet that we are in earnest. Youwill have to be present at that scene, I am sorry to say; but youcan comfort yourself by ministering to your co-religionist. He hasnot had a priest admitted to him since his arrest.

  "Immediately afterwards you will be set at liberty, and put onboard the air-boat on which you travelled from Rome, with the samedriver who brought you here, on one single condition. Thatcondition is that you go straight to the Holy Father, tell him allthat you have seen, and take with you one or two little objects."

  He paused and beckoned to some one behind. A man came forwardwith a little box which he laid on the table. Hardy opened it.

  "This is the box you are to take. Yes; I see that you recognizethem. They are the biretta, the skullcap, the cross, and the ringof the late Cardinal Bellairs. There are also in this box thering and a medal belonging to the late Prince Otteone. . . . Youwill take these with you as pledges of what you say. . . . Willyou consent to do this?"

  The priest bowed. For the moment he was unable to speak.

  "You will also tell the Holy Father," went on the other,replacing, as he spoke, the things in the box, "what you haveseen of our dispositions. You will say that you saw us entirelyresolute and unafraid. We do not fear anybody, Monsignor--notanything at all; I think you understand that by now.

  "You will have a letter, of course, to take with you. It willcontain our final terms. Because--(and I assure you that you arethe first of the outside world to hear this news)--because wehave decided to extend our patience for one more week. We shall,during that week, in order to prove the genuineness of ourintentions, make a raid upon a certain city and, we hope, destroyit. (Naturally, I shall not inform you where that city stands.)And if, at the end of that week, our former terms are notaccepted, we shall carry out our promises to the full. You mayalso add," he went on more deliberately, "that our party isrepresented in every capital of Europe, and that these may beexpected to act in the same way as that in which we have acted,as soon as the week expires. We have no objection to telling youthis: our plans are completely made, and no precautions on yourside can hinder them. Is that clear, Monsignor?"

  "Yes," said the priest.

  "You are satisfied that we mean what we say?"<
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  "I suppose so."

  Hardy's manner changed a little. Up to now he had been speakingcoldly and sharply, except where once or twice a slightlyironical tone had come into his voice. Now he bent forward alittle with his hands upon the table, and his tone became atrifle friendly.

  "Now there are just one or two questions that the Council wish meto put to you."

  Monsignor glanced up at the circle of watching faces, and as helooked at the President, he could have sworn that a look ofdispleasure came over the man's face.

  "Well, our first question is this (I dare say you will not answerit; but if you will oblige us, we shall be grateful): Can youtell us whether, when you left Rome, the Holy Father, or theEuropean Powers, showed any signs of yielding?"

  The priest drew a breath.

  "I am absolutely sure," he said quietly, "that they had no ideaof yielding, and that they never will."

  "Why did they send envoys then?"

  "They were willing to make other concessions."

  "What were these concessions?"

  Monsignor hesitated.

  "I am not an envoy; I have no power to say."

  "Do you know what they were?"

  "Yes."

  "Why will you not say? Is it not the wish of the Powers tocome to terms?"

  "It was their wish."

  "Do you mean that it is so no longer?"

  "I cannot imagine it being their wish any longer."

  "Why?"

  "Because you murdered the two envoys they sent," said thepriest, beginning suddenly to shake all over with uncontrollablenervous excitement.

  "Have you any reason for saying that?"

  "I know what I would do myself under such circumstances."

  "And that is----"

  The priest straightened himself, and seized the rail before himto steady himself.

  "I would wipe out of existence every soul that was concerned in thosemurders. I would have no more civilized dealings with savages."

  There was a sudden movement and murmur in the circle on theplatform. From the intentness with which they had followed thequestions and answers, Monsignor saw that they understood Englishwell enough. One man sprang to his feet. But simultaneously thePresident was on his own, and with a gesture and a sharp word ortwo restored order.

  "That is very deplorable violence," said Hardy. "But it ismost Christian."

  "I am beginning to think so myself," said the priest.

  "Well, well," said the other, tapping the table irritably. "Wemust get on----"

  A door behind him, communicating with the offices behind thehall, opened suddenly as he spoke these words, and he broke off.Monsignor followed the direction of his eyes, and saw a man enterwho was plainly in a state of extreme excitement. He was acrossthe platform in three or four quick steps, and laid a paperbefore the President, pushing by Hardy to do so. Then he stoodback abruptly and waited. The President took up the paperdeliberately and read it. Then he laid it down again, and aquestion too was asked smartly in the same rapid German, andanswered as smartly.

  Then he turned, and creasing the paper between his fingers as hespoke, uttered a sentence that brought every man to his feet.