A NATION OR A CHURCH?
An approaching step echoing on the marble terrace warned him that he was
no longer alone. He reseated himself at his writing-table, and feigned
to be deeply engrossed in perusing various documents, but a ready smile
greeted the intruder as soon as he perceived who it was,--one Sir Roger
de Launay, his favourite equerry and intimate personal friend.
“Time’s up, is it, Roger?” he queried lightly,--then as the equerry
bowed in respectful silence--“And yet I have scarcely glanced at these
papers! All the same, I have not been idle--I have been thinking.”
Sir Roger de Launay, a tall handsome man, with an indefinable air
of mingled good-nature and lassitude about him which suggested the
possibility of his politely urging even Death itself not to be so
much of a bore about its business, smiled doubtfully. “Is it a wise
procedure, Sir?” he enquired--“Conducive to comfort I mean?”
The King laughed.
“No--I cannot say that it is! But thought is a tonic which sometimes
restores a man’s enfeebled self-respect. I was beginning to lose that
particular condition of health and sanity, Roger!--my self-respect
was becoming a flaccid muscle--a withering nerve;--but a little
thought-exercise has convinced me that my mental sinews are yet on the
whole strong!”
Sir Roger offered no reply. His eyes expressed a certain languid
wonderment; but duty being paramount with him, and his immediate errand
being to remind his sovereign of an appointment then about due, he began
to collect the writing materials scattered about on the table and put
them together for convenient removal. The smile on the King’s face
deepened as he watched him.
“You do not answer me, De Launay,”--he resumed, “You think perhaps that
I am talking in parables, and that my mind has been persuaded into a
metaphysical and rambling condition by an hour’s contemplation of the
sunlight on the sea! But come now!--have you not yourself felt a longing
to break loose from the trammels of conventional routine,--to be set
free from the slavery of answering another’s beck and call,--to be
something more than my attendant and friend----”
“Sir, more than your friend I have never desired to be!” said Sir Roger,
simply.
The King extended his hand with impulsive quickness, and Sir Roger as
he clasped it, bent low and touched it with his lips. There was no
parasitical homage in the act, for De Launay loved his sovereign with a
love little known at courts; loyally, faithfully, and without a particle
of self-seeking. He had long recognized the nobility, truth and courage
which graced and tempered the disposition of the master he served, and
knew him to be one, if not the only, monarch in the world likely to
confer some lasting benefit on his people by his reign.
“I tell you,” pursued the King, “that there is something in the mortal
composition of every man which is beyond mortality, something which
clamours to be heard, and seen, and proved. We may call it conscience,
intellect, spirit or soul, and attribute its existence, to God, as a
spark of the Divine Essence, but whatever it is, it is in every one
of us; and there comes a moment in life when it must flame out, or be
quenched forever. That moment has come to me, Roger,--that something in
me must have its way!”
“Your Majesty no doubt desires the impossible!”--said Sir Roger with a
smile, “All men do,--even kings!”
“‘Even kings!’” echoed the monarch--“You may well say ‘even’ kings! What
are kings? Simply the most wronged and miserable men on earth! I do not
myself put in a special claim for pity. My realm is small, and my people
are, for aught I can learn or am told of them, contented. But other
sovereigns who are my friends and neighbours, live, as it were, under
the dagger’s point,--with dynamite at their feet and pistols at their
heads,--all for no fault of their own, but for the faults of a system
which they did not formulate. Conspirators on the threshold--poison in
the air,--as in Russia, for example!--where is the joy or the pride of
being a King nowadays?”
“Talking of poison,” said Sir Roger blandly, as he placed the last
document of those he had collected, neatly in a leather case and
strapped it--“Your Majesty may perhaps feel inclined to defer giving the
promised audience to Monsignor Del Fords of the Society of Jesus?”
“By Heaven, I had forgotten him!” and the King rose. “This is what you
came to remind me of, Roger? He is here?”
De Launay bowed an assent.
“Well! We have kept a messenger of Mother Church waiting our
pleasure,--and not for the first time in the annals of history! But why
do you associate his name with poison?”
“Really, Sir, the connection is inexplicable,--unless it be the memory
of a religious lesson-book given to me in my childhood. It was an
illustrated treasure, and one picture showed me the Almighty in
the character of an old gentleman seated placidly on a cloud,
smiling;--while on the earth below, a priest, exactly resembling this
Del Fortis, poured a spoonful of something,--poison--or it might have
been boiling lead--down the throat of a heretic. I remember it impressed
me very much with the goodness of God.”
He maintained a whimsical gravity as he spoke, and the King laughed.
“De Launay, you are incorrigible! Come!--we will go within and see this
Del Fortis, and you shall remain present during the audience. That
will give you a chance to improve your present impression of him.
I understand he is a very brilliant and leading member of his
Order,--likely to be the next Vicar-General. I know his errand,--the
papers concerning his business are there--,” and he waved his hand
towards the leather case Sir Roger had just fastened--“Bring them with
you!”
Sir Roger obeyed, and the King, stepping forth from the pavilion, walked
slowly along the terrace, watching the sparkling sea, the flowering
orange-trees lifting their slender tufts of exquisitely scented bloom
against the clear blue of the sky, the birds skimming lightly from point
to point of foliage, and the white-sailed yachts dipping gracefully
as the ocean rose and fell with every wild sweet breath of the scented
wind. Pausing a moment, he presently took out a field-glass and looked
through it at one of the finest and fairest of these pleasure-vessels,
which, as he surveyed it, suddenly swung round, and began to scud away
westward.
“The Prince is on board?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir,” replied De Launay--“His Royal Highness intends sailing as
far as The Islands, and remaining there till sunset.”
“Alone, as usual?”
“As usual, Sir, alone, save for his captain and crew.”
The King walked on in silence for a minute. Then he paused abruptly.
“I do not like it, De Launay!”--he said decisively--“I do not like his
abnormal love of solitude. Books are all very well--poetry is in its way
excellent,--music, as we are told ‘hath charms’--but the boy broods too
much, and stays away too much from Court. What woman attracts him?”
Sir Roger’s eyes opened wide as the King turned suddenly round upon him
with this question.
“Woman, Sir? I know of none. The Prince is but twenty----”
“At twenty,” said the King,--“boys love--the wrong girl. At thirty they
marry--the wrong woman. At forty they meet the only true and fitting
soul’s companion,--and cry for the moon till the end! My son is in the
first stage, or I am much mistaken,--he loves--the wrong girl!”
He walked on,--and De Launay followed, with a vague sense of amusement
and disquietude in his mind. What had come to his Royal master, he
wondered? His ordinary manner had changed somewhat,--he spoke with less
than the customary formality, and there was an expression of freedom
and authority, combined with a touch of defiance in his face, that was
altogether new to the observation of the faithful equerry.
Arrived at the palace, and passing through one of the long and spacious
painted corridors, lit by richly coloured mullioned windows from end to
end, the King came face to face with a lady-in-waiting carrying a large
cluster of Madonna lilies. She drew aside, with a deep reverence,
to allow him to pass; but he stopped a moment, looking at the great
gorgeous white flowers faint with fragrance, and at the slight retiring
figure of the woman who held them.
“Are these for the chapel, Madame?” he asked.
“No, Sir! For the Queen.”
‘For the Queen!’ A quick sigh escaped him. He still stood, caught by
a sudden abstraction, looking at the dazzling whiteness of the snowy
blooms, and thinking how fittingly they would companion his beautiful,
cold, pure Queen Consort, who had never from her marriage day uttered
a word of love to him, or given him a glance of tenderness. Their
rich odours crept into his warm blood, and the bitter old sense of
unfulfilled longing, longing for affection, for comprehension, for all
that he had not possessed in his otherwise brilliant life, vexed and
sickened him. He turned away abruptly, and the lady-in-waiting, having
curtsied once more profoundly, passed on with her glistening sheaf of
bloom and disappeared vision-like in a gleam of azure light falling
through one of the further and higher casements. The King watched her
disappear, the meditative line of sadness still puckering his brow,
then, followed by his equerry, he entered a small private audience
chamber, where Sir Roger de Launay notified an attendant gentleman usher
that his Majesty was ready to receive Monsignor Del Fortis.
During the brief interval occupied in waiting for his visitor’s
approach, the King selected certain papers from those which Sir Roger
had brought from the garden pavilion and placed them in order on the
table.
“For the past six months,” he said “I have had this Jesuit’s name before
me, and have been in twenty minds a month about granting or refusing
what his Society demands. The matter has been discussed in the Press,
too, with the usual pros and cons of hesitation, but it is the People I
am thinking of, the People! and I am just now in the humour to satisfy a
Nation rather than a Church!”
De Launay said nothing. His opinion was not asked.
“It is a case in which the temporal overbalances the spiritual,”
continued the King--“Which plainly proves that the spiritual must be
lacking in some essential point somewhere. For if the spiritual were
always truly of God, then would it always be the strongest. The question
which brings Monsignor Del Fortis here as special emissary of the
Vicar-General of the Society of Jesus, is simply this: Whether or no a
certain site in a particularly fertile tract of land belonging chiefly
to the Crown, shall be granted to the Jesuits for the purpose of
building thereon a church and monastery with schools attached. It seems
a reasonable request, set forth with an apparently religious intention.
Yet more than forty petitions have been sent in to me from the
inhabitants of the towns and villages adjacent to the lands, imploring
me to refuse the concession. By my faith, they plead as eloquently as
though asking deliverance from the plague! It is a curious dilemma. If I
grant the people’s request I anger the priests; if I satisfy the priests
I anger the people.”
“You mentioned a discussion in the Press, Sir--” hinted Sir Roger.
“Oh, the Press is like a weathercock--it turns whichever way the wind
of speculation blows. One day it is ‘for,’ another ‘against.’ In this
particular case it is diplomatically indifferent, except in one or two
cases where papal money has found its way into the newspaper offices.”
At that moment the door was flung open, and Monsignor Del Fortis was
ceremoniously ushered into the presence of his Majesty. At the
first glance it was evident that De Launay had reasonable cause for
associating the mediaeval priestly torturer pictured in his early
lesson-book with the unprepossessing personage now introduced. Del
Fortis was a dark, resentful-looking man of about sixty, tall and thin,
with a long cadaverous face, very strongly pronounced features and small
sinister eyes, over which the level brows almost met across the sharp
bridge of nose. His close black garb buttoned to the chin, outlined his
wiry angular limbs with an almost painful distinctness, and the lean
right hand which he placed across his breast as he bowed profoundly to
the King, looked more like the shrunken hand of a corpse than that of
a living man. The King observed him attentively, but not with favour;
while thoughts, strange, and for him as a constitutional monarch
audacious, began to move in the undercurrents of his mind, stirring him
to unusual speech and action. Sir Roger, retiring to the furthest end of
the room stood with his back against the door, a fine upright soldierly
figure, as motionless as though cast in bronze, though his eyes showed
keen and sparkling life as they rested on his Royal master, watching his
every gesture, as well as every slightest movement on the part of his
priestly visitor.
“You are welcome, Monsignor Del Fortis,”--said the King, at last
breaking silence.--“To save time and trouble, I may tell you that I need
no explanation of the nature of your business.”
The Jesuit bowed with an excessive humility.
“You wish me to grant to your Society,” continued the monarch--“that
portion of the Crown lands named in your petition, to be held in
your undisputed possession for a long term of years,--and in order to
facilitate my consent to this arrangement, your Vicar-General has sent
you here to furnish the full details of your building scheme. Am I so
far correct?”
The priest’s dark secretive eyes glittered craftily a moment as he
raised them to the open and tranquil countenance of the sovereign,--then
once again he bowed profoundly.
“Your Majesty has, with your customary care and patience, fully studied
the object of my errand”--he replied in a clear thin, somewhat rasping
voice, which he endeavoured to make smooth and conciliatory--“But it
is impossible that your Majesty, immersed every day in the affairs
of state, should have found time to personally go through the various
papers formally submitted to your consideration. Therefore, the
Vicar-General of our Order considered that if the present interview with
your Majesty could be obtained, I, as secretary and treasurer for the
proposed new monastery, might be able to explain the spiritual, as well
as the material advantages to be gained by the use of the lands for the
purpose mentioned.”
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 religious 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!”