Читать книгу The Scarlet Woman - Joseph Hocking - Страница 12

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When Lancaster regained consciousness he was lying on a couch in a fine old room. He looked curiously around him and noted the objects by which he was surrounded. He saw that the lower parts of the walls were oak panelled, and that above the panelling were pictures of a religious nature. A large crucifix was also placed at one end of the room. The figure of the Christ which hung on the cross was almost life size. The floor was uncarpeted, but the furniture of the room was comfortable. In the large open fireplace burned a cheerful wood fire, which created a pleasant odour in the room. An air of restfulness pervaded the apartment. Three wax candles stood on the table near the crucifix, which made everything appear rather ghostly, but the young man’s nerves were good. He rose to his feet and yawned.

“They’ve given me a beastly headache,” he said to himself, “and my knees feel shaky. I suppose, too, I must regard myself as a prisoner.”

He walked around the room and closely examined the objects by which he was surrounded. The windows were shuttered, the door was locked. He listened for some signs of life, but could hear none. Outside he was sure there were trees, for he heard the wind wailing through them. He fancied, too, that he could detect the sound of running water in the near distance, but he was not sure.

The silence of the place was oppressive. It seemed to make a noise; even the occasional crackling of wood in the fireplace added to the loneliness.

“I might have expected this,” thought the young man. “I was a fool to think they would allow me to have an interview with Gray, and then let me get away. I have no doubt there were listeners to our conversation, and that everything we said was conveyed to the superior. I am afraid I was a bit excited at the time and thus acted like an idiot. Still, it is an experience,” and he laughed quietly.

“I wonder where I am? If I cannot get away, all hope of getting an interview with Gertrude Winthrop is out of the question. It would have been hard enough, anyhow, but now it will be impossible, and I hate being beaten,” and the young man shrugged his shoulders impatiently.

His eye caught sight of a bell-rope. “This must be here for a purpose,” he said as he gave it a vigorous pull.

Listening he heard a clang, apparently a long distance away. It sounded rather awesome in the lonely house; but evidently Lancaster did not trouble.

“I feel better,” he said, as he pulled an armchair towards the fire. “I don’t see any notices prohibiting smoking, so I may as well make myself comfortable. It’s lucky they didn’t take away my cigars.”

He lit a cigar by means of a burning ember, and lying back in the chair began to smoke. Presently he heard the sound of footsteps. “Ah! that’s better,” he thought, “I shall have a chance of asking a few questions now.”

The door opened and Father Ritzoom entered. In spite of himself Lancaster’s heart beat quicker than was its wont. He felt that Ritzoom was no ordinary man. He was clad in ecclesiastial attire, and the garb made his presence more imposing.

“Ah! you are better,” said the priest as he entered; “I am glad your illness is not serious.”

“It is because of my illness that I am indebted to you for house room, I suppose?” said Lancaster drily.

“It is part of our duty to give shelter to those who need it,” he replied.

“But I am quite well now,” replied Lancaster, “therefore I need trouble you no longer.”

“Pardon me, but you are not well enough to be removed. You need careful nursing and watching.”

Neither of these men referred to their previous meeting, neither asked for or made explanations. They knew there was no need. Each knew what was in the mind of the other.

“Do you smoke?” asked Lancaster, producing his case. “By the way, I hope I am not breaking the rules of the establishment,” pointing to the burning end of his cigar.

“I’ll join you in a weed with pleasure,” replied Father Ritzoom. He took a cigar and lit it with a steady hand.

“By the way,” said Lancaster presently, “how long do you think it will be before I shall be well enough to be removed?”

“In about a fortnight—that is, barring accidents,” replied the other.

Lancaster yawned. The action was partly forced, partly natural. He felt that it would be an awful bore to be confined for a fortnight, and he wished to impress Ritzoom with the fact that he was by no means excited.

“I am rather particular as to the part of the country in which I reside,” he said, “I don’t wish to be too far away from Dublin.”

“You are in the healthiest part of Ireland,” was the reply.

“Beyond that you could tell me nothing, I suppose?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s night now?”

“Yes.”

“My watch has stopped, that is why I asked. How long have I been—ill?”

“I really have not inquired.”

“Ah!”

They were fencing carefully; neither had gained much advantage, although Ritzoom fought with weapons of which Lancaster was comparatively ignorant.

“Suppose,” said Lancaster presently, “we be a little more explicit.”

“I shall be delighted,” said Ritzoom with a smile. “Let me congratulate you on the quality of your cigars,” he added.

“I suppose you know you are playing a dangerous game.”

“Perhaps, rather. But I know how to play it.”

“I am sure you do. You’ve played it before, I expect.”

The priest smiled.

“To be plain, you intend Jack Gray to take vows.”

“That is his evident vocation.”

“And the girl?”

“She will take vows, too.”

“Of course you would not like these facts to be made public?”

“I am not particular—after the vows are taken!”

“No? That is rather strange. I could tell an ugly story.”

“Which you would be called upon to prove.”

“Which I should be able to do.”

“I doubt it.”

Lancaster shrugged his shoulders.

“I repeat, I doubt it. You could prove that you gained entrance into a college for novices. You could prove that you were allowed to have an hour’s conversation with Gray.”

“Yes, and I could prove that Gray would have refused to take vows on certain conditions.”

“That is where you make a mistake.”

Lancaster smiled.

“I tell you that is where you make a mistake. You think, possibly, that you could get Gray to give testimony to the fact that he would never have taken vows—under certain conditions. If such a business came to light, he would testify that nothing could have hindered him from taking vows. He would proclaim before a thousand witnesses, if needs be, that he gladly abjured everything that he might become a member of our society.”

“I see,” said Lancaster; “and the girl would, if necessary, do the same thing?”

“Certainly.”

Lancaster could not help an expression of contempt.

“You judge wrongly,” said Ritzoom, looking steadily at him. “You do not understand our motives. Do you think it matters to me, to any of us, what becomes of Gray—that is, personally? We look at the matter from an entirely different standpoint. Why, man,” and there was a touch of passion in his voice, “I would a thousand times rather be a man of the world, but for one thing—duty. It’s a strange word to you, perhaps, or, if not strange, you do not understand it as we do. It lies here. There is one chance for the world’s salvation—one chance, aye, and one means—the Church. To you this seems narrow. You scorn the thought that God has confined Himself to any scheme, plan, or institution. This shows your blindness. The Church is the body of Christ, it contains all truth. It embodies everything—everything. It is God’s chosen means. Outside that means there is no hope. The world, a large part of it, is opposed to us; all the more reason for converting the world. Therefore we stop at no means in order to make our Church conquer everywhere. I will be perfectly frank with you. We wish to convert England back to the faith. Personally I scorn England, I hate her pettifogging prejudices, the narrowness of her outlook, I have told you so before. But what of that? She is the greatest power in the world. Her language is becoming universal. If we can convert England we have our key to the conversion of the world. Let England, her parliament, her colleges, her institutions, be ours, and we will use them in such a way that all the rest of the nations shall fall at our feet.”

Lancaster became interested. He caught a glimpse of the man’s ideas.

“For that reason,” he went on, “we are very patient, very considerate for England. The prayers of many millions are going up daily for her conversion. But we believe in actions as well as prayers. In fifty years we have changed the thoughts of your country concerning our Church. Cardinal Wiseman came to England and he found Roman Catholicism a despised sect; when he died it was a Church, and a powerful Church. Then Manning and Newman were converted. At their heels followed thousands more. The Church was wise. Both Manning and Newman were elevated to high positions. Manning especially made Catholicism a working force. He placed Catholics on the staff of every important newspaper in your country. He made friends with the mammon of unrighteousness in the shape of Cabinet ministers, editors, and the leaders of your Government. He influenced the national policy both at home and abroad. Did he, do we, care about England in all this? Not a bit of it. We care only for the Church. What were Wiseman’s dying words? ‘I never cared for anything but the Church.’ Manning and Newman could have said the same. Because of that, Newman submitted to the famous Vatican decrees, even although he hated them. We are one, we of the Church. Well, Gray is a fellow of promise, great promise. His love affair was our opportunity. At first I thought he would serve us better as a politician. I do not think so now. In ten years’ time he will be a missioner to the cultured of England. He possesses the passion of God; he will cause thousands of conversions, not among the poor, the ignorant, but the wealthy, the educated. He will make Roman Catholicism popular. At present we have no great preacher. I will admit it. We have not a man among us who, like that Spurgeon, can sway the multitudes. But Gray will. Now you see what is in my mind. I have no selfish purpose to serve, except that I am a part of the body of the Church and I seek to serve the Church.”

“You Protestants can scarcely understand this,” continued Father Ritzoom presently. “You do not believe in our sincerity, our devotion.”

“On the contrary, I believe in it entirely,” replied Lancaster. “I believe that Pope Paul IV. was sincere when he turned Europe into a battlefield in order to carry out his views; that Sixtus IV. was sincere when he signed a bull for the roasting of the Spanish Moors and Jews; that Pius V. was sincere when, with the refinement of cruelty, he persecuted the Protestants and gave orders to take no Huguenots prisoners, but to kill them all. I have no doubt, either, about the earnestness and devotion of the novices in your monasteries and convents. The thing that struck me was the pity of it all.”

“The pity of it all! What do you mean?” asked Father Ritzoom.

“The pity of it all, because you are trying to bolster up a decaying cause, a huge system out of which all life has gone.”

“It can never be a decaying cause.”

“It is, and you know it; and what is more, you know that you know it. This struggle of you Romanists for supremacy is one of the most pathetic sights of the century. If ever there was a system on which failure was written, it is this Church of yours.”

“No.”

“Yes,” replied Lancaster, aroused to feel for the first time a real interest in the subject. “You start by making an absurd claim. You say that your Church is built on the rock of Peter, against which the gates of hell shall not prevail. You claim to be the only Church of Jesus of Nazareth. Well, a few years after your priests began to assert their foolish claims, the Eastern Church separated from you. After that, for centuries your chief representatives were among the foulest men in Europe. Then in the sixteenth century, after you had stifled by imprisonment and fire such voices as that of John Huss, the Reformation took place. You say that Luther and his fellows were of the devil, yet they prevailed against you. Although you had the armies of the civilised world at your back, Europe was cleft in twain and the most vigorous life of the nations left you. Your Pope blessed the Spanish Armada, which was to restore England to the Papal fold, and yet the Spanish Armada became drift. When the Prussian dukedom became the Prussian monarchy, your Pope cursed the whole business, and yet from that time the greatness of Prussia began to be.”

“And yet,” said Ritzoom, “in spite of all this the Catholic Church is the largest Church in the world.”

“Just now,” replied Lancaster, “it was the only Church, now it is the largest. If numbers go for anything, it may be the largest; but if influence and power are to be reckoned with, you are nearly dead.”

“A wild, foolish assertion.”

“Is it?” said Lancaster; “Think a minute. Take Europe as the centre of civilisation, and think of the countries dominated by the Papacy. What do you find? Weakness, ignorance, decay. Three hundred years ago Spain was practically the mistress of the world. What is Spain to-day? A decaying civilisation. And Portugal? It is merely a name on a map. Austria is stagnant. Italy is slipping from your grasp, while France is largely a nation of atheists. The great dominant factors in the life of Europe to-day, outside Russia, which certainly does not belong to the Papacy, are England and Germany, and both these nations laugh at the pretensions of the Pope. Why, there is not a growing and enlightened nation in the world at this present time which yields allegiance to your Pope; he drags at his heels only the peoples who grow weaker and weaker.”

“And if I admit all that,” said Ritzoom, “what do you adduce from it?”

“The failure of your system,” replied Lancaster. “These facts show that your religion does not make nations strong, progressive, victorious. Vigorous life repudiates your dead hand. Think of America, for example. There you have, in many respects, the greatest nation in the world. The foundation of American life is opposed to Popery, and the number of your adherents in America is scarcely as great as the number of emigrants who have gone thither during the last thirty years. Time was when you dominated the parliaments of the world, you ruled Europe from the chambers of kings and queens. What is your condition to-day? The Pope has, with but one or two very poor exceptions, no more power than any man of decent position. Nay, more, if he tried to interfere, that interference would prejudice the very cause he has at heart.”

“I can assure you, Mr. Lancaster, that you make a huge mistake. Why, even in England the trend of the nation is towards Romanism. Your Anglican Church practically asks the Pope to admit the validity of their orders. Your clergy are calling the Reformation a gross error, and they are aping us in every possible way.”

Lancaster laughed. “One feels like utilising Disraeli’s famous sentence about lies,” he said. “Suppose we alter ‘lies’ to ‘fools,’ and say there are three kinds of fools: fools, blithering fools, and the typical, lisping, high-church frocked curates. At any rate, that is the opinion of the intelligent Englishman. Of course a number of women follow them; but as for the people as a whole—tsh!”

Ritzoom rose from his chair and threw his cigar end into the fire.

“And what then?” he said scornfully. “What then, Mr. Lancaster? We know nothing of failure. If every word you said were true, we should go on as though every knee in Europe bowed to us. Doubtless you say all this to try and show the futility of seeking to retain Gray and utilise him as a missioner in England. I tell you it is no use. It is not for us to think of immediate success or immediate failure, because we know we shall ultimately succeed. Meanwhile we go on working, we go on making converts. You may tell me that the Roman Catholics of England are, as a rule, poor, ignorant, degraded; you assert that we have lost power among the great nations of Europe, you state that we do not appeal to the cultured, the intellectual, and that we are losing the people who once belonged to us—what then? We go on doing our work all the same. And why? Because as individuals we are nothing; we do our work, and leave all the rest to God. To such as think as we do, there is no failure, can be no failure. Humanly speaking, you have presented a strong case, but presently God will speak out of the whirlwind, and all your puny arguments will disappear like thistledown on a windy day.”

“But thistledown contains seeds, and they spring up and grow,” replied Lancaster.

“I came to hear what you would say,” went on Ritzoom. “I will admit I have been disappointed in you. I expected reproaches, threats, denunciations, and you have uttered none.”

“A man is none the less dangerous because he utters no threats,” replied Lancaster.

“True,” replied Ritzoom, “but there—you hinted when we commenced our conversation that it would be awkward if you told of your imprisonment to the world. But we are not all fools. I know that you are not the kind of man who goes whining to the world because you are beaten.”

“I am not beaten,” replied Lancaster.

“You are not well,” retorted Ritzoom, “and as a consequence you will be carefully nursed until—well, you are better. Have you any requests to make?”

“No,” replied Lancaster, “none at all, except that as soon as I am well enough to walk I shall have a little outdoor exercise.”

“Oh, you shall.”

“Soon?”

“Oh, yes, perhaps to-morrow.”

“Meanwhile, I should like the shutters taken down. It is a pleasant thing for the eyes to behold the sun.”

Ritzoom looked at Lancaster as though he would read the thoughts in his mind.

“You will not try to escape?” he said.

“I shall promise nothing,” replied Lancaster.

“It does not matter,” said the priest, after hesitating a few seconds; “the shutters shall be taken down at once. Anything else?”

“Yes,” said the young man; “are you to be my gaoler all the time I am here?”

The Jesuit did not reply. Evidently he did not expect the question, and the colour mounted his cheeks.

“Goodbye,” he said presently; “we may never meet again.”

“But we shall,” replied Lancaster. “We shall.”

A few seconds later he heard the footsteps of the priest echoing through the gloomy building. The young man thought long and carefully. It seemed as though it were impossible for him to be successful in his mission; but there was no look in his eyes which suggested despair, or even defeat.