_Pietro_: Th' offense, it seemeth me,
Is one that by mercy's extremest stretch
Might be o'erpassed.
_Cosimo_: Never, Pietro, never!
The Brotherhood's honour untouchable
Is touch'd thereby. We build our labyrinth
Of sacred words and potent spells, and all
The deep-involved horrors of our craft--
Its entrance hedg'd about with dreadful oaths,
And every step in thridding it made dank
By dripping terror and out-seeping awe.
Shall it be said that e'en Ludovico
May break our faith and live? Never, say I!
--_Vision of Cosimo_.
The Bellevale lodge of the Ancient Order of Christian Martyrs held its
meetings in the upper story of a tall building. Mr. Alvord called for
Amidon at eight, and took him up, all his boldness in the world of
business replaced by wariness in the atmosphere of mystery. As he and
his companion went into an anteroom and were given broad collars from
which were suspended metal badges called "jewels," he felt a good deal
like a spy. They walked into the lodgeroom where twenty-five or thirty
men with similar "jewels" sat smoking and chatting. All seemed to know
him, but (much to his relief) before he could be included in the
conversation, the gavel fell; certain ones with more elaborate "jewels"
and more ornate collars than the rest took higher-backed and more
highly upholstered chairs at the four sides of the room, another stood
at the door; and still another, in complete uniform, with sword and
belt, began hustling the members to seats.
"The Deacon Militant," said the wielder of the gavel, "will report if
all present are known and tested members of our Dread and Mystic
Conclave."
"All, Most Sovereign Pontiff," responded the Deacon Militant, who
proved to be the man in the uniform, "save certain strangers who appear
within the confines of our sacred basilica."
"Let them be tested," commanded the Sovereign Pontiff, "and, if
brethren, welcomed; if spies, executed!"
Amidon started, and looked about for aid or avenue of escape. Seeing
none, he warily watched the Deacon Militant. That officer, walking in
the military fashion which, as patristic literature teaches, was
adopted by the early Christians, and turning square corners as was the
habit of St. Paul and the Apostles, received whispered passwords from
the two or three strangers, and, with a military salute, announced that
all present had been put to the test and welcomed. Then, for the first
time remembering that he was not among the strangers, so far as known
to the lodge, Amidon breathed freely, and rather regretted the absence
of executions.
"Bring forth the Mystic Symbols of the Order!" was the next command.
The Mystic Symbols were placed on a stand in the middle of the room,
and turned out to be a gilt fish about the size of a four-pound bass, a
jar of human bones, and a rolled-up scroll said to contain the Gospels.
The fish, as explained by the Deacon Militant, typified a great many
things connected with early Christianity, and served always as a
reminder of the password of the order. The relics in the jar were the
bones of martyrs. The scroll was the Book of the Law. Amidon was
becoming impressed: the solemn and ornate ritual and the dreadful
symbols sent shivers down his inexperienced and unfraternal spine.
Breaking in with uninitiated eyes, as he had done, now seemed more and
more a crime.
There was an "Opening Ode" which was so badly sung as to mitigate the
awe; and an "order of business" solemnly gone through. Under the head
"Good of the Order" the visiting brethren spoke as if it were a
class-meeting and they giving "testimony," one of them very volubly
reminding the assembly of the great principles of the order, and the
mighty work it had already accomplished in ameliorating the condition
of a lost and wandering world. Amidon felt that he must have been very
blind in failing to note this work until it was thus forced on his
notice; but he made a mental apology.
"By the way, Brassfield," said Mr. Slater during a recess preceding the
initiation of candidates, "you want to give Stevens the best you've got
in the Catacombs scene. Will you make it just straight ritual, or
throw in some of those specialties of yours?"
"Stevens! Catacombs!" gasped Amidon, "specialties! I----"
"I wish you could have been here when I was put through," went on Mr.
Slater. "I don't see how any one but a professional actor, or a person
with your dramatic gifts, can do that part at all--it's so sort of
ripping and--and intense, you know. I look forward to your rendition
of it with a good deal of pleasurable anticipation."
"You don't expect me to do it, do you?" asked Amidon.
"Why, who else?" was the counter-question. "We can't be expected to
play on the bench the best man in Pennsylvania in that part, can we?"
"Come, Brassfield," said the Sovereign Pontiff, "get on your regalia
for the Catacombs. We are about to begin."
"Oh, say, now!" said Amidon, trying to be off-hand about it, "you must
get somebody else."
"What's that! Some one else? Very likely we shall! Very likely!"
thus the Sovereign Pontiff with fine scorn. "Come, the regalia, and no
nonsense!"
"I--I may be called out at any moment," urged Amidon, amidst an outcry
that seemed to indicate a breach with the Martyrs then and there.
"There are reasons why----"
Edgington took him aside. "Is there any truth in this story," said he,
"that you have had some trouble with Stevens, and discharged him?"
"Oh, that Stevens!" gasped Amidon, as if the whole discussion had
hinged on picking out the right one among an army of Stevenses. "Yes,
it's true, and I can't help confer this----"
Edgington whispered to the Sovereign Pontiff; and the announcement was
made that in the Catacombs scene Brother Brassfield would be excused
and Brother Bulliwinkle substituted.
"I know I never, in any plane of consciousness, saw any of this, or
knew any of these things," thought Florian. "It is incredible!"
Conviction, however, was forced on him by the fact that he was now made
to don a black domino and mask, and to march, carrying a tin-headed
spear, with a file of similar figures to examine the candidate, who
turned out to be the discharged Stevens, sitting in an anteroom,
foolish and apprehensive, and looking withal much as he had done in the
counting-room. He was now asked by the leader of the file, in a
sepulchral tone, several formal questions, among others whether he
believed in a Supreme Being. Stevens gulped, and said "Yes." He was
then asked if he was prepared to endure any ordeal to which he might be
subjected, and warned that unless he possessed nerves of steel, he had
better turn back--for which measure there was yet time. Stevens, in a
faint voice, indicated that he was ready for the worst, and desired to
go on. Then all (except Amidon) in awesome accents intoned, "Be brave
and obedient, and all may yet be well!" and they passed back into the
lodge-room. Amidon was now thoroughly impressed, and wondered whether
Stevens would be able to endure the terrible trials hinted at.
Clad in a white robe "typifying innocence," and marching to minor music
played upon a piano, Stevens was escorted several times around the
darkened room, stopping from time to time at the station of some
officer, to receive highly improving lectures. Every time he was asked
if he were willing to do anything, or believed anything, he said "Yes."
Finally, with the Scroll of the Law in one hand, and with the other
resting on the Bones of Martyrs, surrounded by the brethren whose drawn
swords and leveled spears threatened death, he repeated an obligation
which bound him not to do a great many things, and to keep the secrets
of the order. To Amidon it seemed really awful--albeit somewhat florid
in style; and when Alvord nudged him at one passage in the obligation,
he resented it as an irreverence. Then he noted that it was a pledge
to maintain the sanctity of the family circle of brother Martyrs, and
Alvord's reference of the night before to the obligation as affecting
his association with the "strawberry blonde" took on new and fearful
meaning.
Stevens seemed to be vibrating between fright and a tendency to laugh,
as the voice of some well-known fellow citizen rumbled out from behind
a deadly weapon. He was marched out, to the same minor music, and the
first act was ended.
The really esoteric part of it, Amidon felt, was to come, as he could
see no reason for making a secret of these very solemn and edifying
matters. Stevens felt very much the same way about it, and was full of
expectancy when informed that the next degree would test his obedience.
He highly resolved to obey to the letter.
The next act disclosed Stevens hoodwinked, and the room light. He was
informed that he was in the Catacombs, familiar to the early
Christians, and must make his way alone and in darkness, following the
Clue of Faith which was placed in his hands. This Clue was a white
cord similar to the sort used by masons (in the building-trades). He
groped his way along by it to the station of the next officer, who
warned him of the deadly consequences of disobedience. Thence he made
his way onward, holding to the Clue of Faith--until he touched a
trigger of some sort, which let down upon him an avalanche of tinware
and such light and noisy articles, which frightened him so that he
started to run, and was dexterously tripped by the Deacon Militant and
a spearman, and caught in a net held by two others. A titter ran about
the room.
"Obey," thundered the Vice-Pontiff, "and all will be well!"
Stevens resumed the Clue. At the station of the next officer to whom
it brought him, the nature of faith was explained to him, and he was
given the password, "Ichthus," whispered so that all in that part of
the room could hear the interdicted syllables. But he was adjured
never, never to utter it, unless to the Guardian of the Portal on
entering the lodge, to the Deacon Militant on the opening thereof, or
to a member, when he, Stevens, should become Sovereign Pontiff. Then
he was faced toward the Vice-Pontiff, and told to answer loudly and
distinctly the questions asked him.
"What is the lesson inculcated in this Degree?" asked the Vice-Pontiff
from the other end of the room.
"Obedience!" shouted Stevens in reply.
"What is the password of this Degree?"
"Ichthus!" responded Stevens.
A roll of stage-thunder sounded deafeningly over his head. The piano
was swept by a storm of bass passion; and deep cries of "Treason!
Treason!" echoed from every side. Poor Stevens tottered, and fell into
a chair placed by the Deacon Militant. He saw the enormity of the deed
of shame he had committed. He had told the password!
"You have all heard this treason," said the Sovereign Pontiff, in the
deepest of chest-tones--"a treason unknown in all the centuries of the
past! What is the will of the conclave?"
"I would imprecate on the traitor's head," said a voice from one of the
high-backed chairs, "the ancient doom of the Law!"
"Doom, doom!" said all in unison, holding the "oo" in a most
blood-curdling way. "Pronounce doom!"
"One fate, and one alone," pronounced the Sovereign Pontiff, "can be
yours. Brethren, let him forthwith be encased in the Chest of the
Clanking Chains, and hurled from the Tarpeian Rock, to be dashed in
fragments at its stony base!"
Amidon's horror was modified by the evidences of repressed glee with
which this sentence was received. Yet he felt a good deal of concern
as they brought out a great chest, threw the struggling Stevens into
it, slammed down the ponderous lid and locked it. Stevens kicked at
the lid, but said nothing. The members leaped with joy. A great chain
was brought and wrapped clankingly about the chest.
"Let me out," now yelled the Christian Martyr. "Let me out, damn you!"
"Doom, do-o-o-oom!" roared the voices; and said the Sovereign Pontiff
in impressive tones, "Proceed with the execution!"
Now the chest was slung up to a hook in the ceiling, and gradually
drawn back by a pulley until it was far above the heads of the men, the
chains meanwhile clanking continually against the receptacle, from
which came forth a stream of smothered profanity.
"Hurl him down to the traitor's death!" shouted the Sovereign Pontiff.
The chest was loosed, and swung like a pendulum lengthwise of the room,
down almost to the floor and up nearly to the ceiling. The profanity
now turned into a yell of terror. The Martyrs slapped one another's
backs and grew blue in the face with laughter. At a signal, a light
box was placed where the chest would crush it (which it did with a
sound like a small railway collision); the chest was stopped and the
lid raised.
"Let the body receive Christian burial," said the Sovereign Pontiff.
"Our vengeance ceases with death."
This truly Christian sentiment was received with universal approval.
Death seemed to all a good place at which to stop.
"Brethren," said the Deacon Militant, as he struggled with the
resurgent Stevens, "there seems some life here! Methinks the heart
beats, and----"
The remainder of the passage from the ritual was lost to Amidon by
reason of the fact that Stevens had placed one foot against the
Deacon's stomach and hurled that august officer violently to the floor.
"Let every test of life be applied," said the Sovereign Pontiff.
"Perchance some higher will than ours decrees his preservation. Take
the body hence for a time; if possible, restore him to life, and we
will consider his fate."
The recess which followed was clearly necessary to afford an
opportunity for the calming of the risibilities of the Martyrs. The
stage, too, had to be reset. Amidon's ethnological studies had not
equaled his reading in _belles-lettres_, and he was unable to see the
deep significance of these rites from an historical standpoint, and
that here was a survival of those orgies to which our painted and
skin-clad ancestors devoted themselves in spasms of religious frenzy,
gazed at by the cave-bear and the mammoth. The uninstructed Amidon
regarded them as inconceivable horse-play. While thus he mused,
Stevens, who was still hoodwinked and being greatly belectured on the
virtue of Faith and the duty of Obedience, reentered on his ordeal.
He was now informed by the officer at the other end of the room, that
every man must ascend into the Mountains of Temptation and be tested,
before he could be pronounced fit for companionship with Martyrs.
Therefore, a weary climb heavenward was before him, and a great trial
of his fidelity. On his patience, daring and fortitude depended all
his future in the Order. He was marched to a ladder and bidden to
ascend.
"I," said the Deacon Militant, "upon this companion stair will
accompany you."
But there was no other ladder and the Deacon Militant had to stand upon
a chair.
Up the ladder labored Stevens, but, though he climbed manfully, he
remained less than a foot above the floor. The ladder went down like a
treadmill, as Stevens climbed--it was an endless ladder rolled down on
Stevens' side and up on the other. The Deacon Militant, from his perch
on the chair, encouraged Stevens to climb faster so as not to be
out-stripped. With labored breath and straining muscles he climbed,
the Martyrs rolling on the floor in merriment all the more violent
because silent. Amidon himself laughed to see this strenuous climb, so
strikingly like human endeavor, which puts the climber out of breath,
and raises him not a whit--except in temperature. At the end of
perhaps five minutes, when Stevens might well have believed himself a
hundred feet above the roof, he had achieved a dizzy height of perhaps
six feet, on the summit of a stage-property mountain, where he stood
beside the Deacon Militant, his view of the surrounding plain cut off
by papier-mache clouds, and facing a foul fiend to whom the Deacon
Militant confided that here was a candidate to be tested and qualified.
Whereupon the foul fiend remarked "Ha, ha!" and bade them bind him to
the Plutonian Thunderbolt and hurl him down to the nether world. The
thunderbolt was a sort of toboggan on rollers, for which there was a
slide running down presumably to the nether world, above mentioned.
The hoodwink was removed, and Stevens looked about him, treading
warily, like one on the top of a tower; the great height of the
mountain made him giddy. Obediently he lay face downward on the
thunderbolt, and yielded up his wrists and ankles to fastenings
provided for them.
"They're not going to lower him with those cords, are they?"
It was a stage-whisper from the darkness which spake thus.
"Oh, I guess it's safe enough!" said another, in the same sort of
agitated whisper.
"Safe!" was the reply. "I tell you, it's sure to break! Some one stop
'em----"
To the heart of the martyred Stevens these words struck panic. But as
he opened his mouth to protest, the catastrophe occurred. There was a
snap, and the toboggan shot downward. Bound as he was, the victim
could see below him a brick wall right across the path of his descent.
He was helpless to move; it was useless to cry out. For all that, as
he felt in imagination the crushing shock of his head driven like a
battering-ram against this wall, he uttered a roar such as from
Achilles might have roused armed nations to battle. And even as he did
so, his head touched the wall, there was a crash, and Stevens lay safe
on a mattress after his ten-foot slide, surrounded by fragments of
red-and-white paper which had lately been a wall. He was pale and
agitated, and generally done for; but tremendously relieved when he had
assured himself of the integrity of his cranium. This he did by
repeatedly feeling of his head, and looking at his fingers for
sanguinary results. As Amidon looked at him, he repented of what he
had done to this thoroughly maltreated fellow man. After the Catacombs
scene, which was supposed to be impressive, and some more of the
"secret" work, everybody crowded about Stevens, now invested with the
collar and "jewel" of Martyrhood, and laughed, and congratulated him as
on some great achievement, while he looked half-pleased and half-bored.
Amidon with the rest greeted him, and told him that after his vacation
was over, he hoped to see him back at the office.
"That was a fine exemplification of the principles of the Order," said
Alvord as they went home.
"What was?" asked Amidon.
"Hiring old Stevens back," answered Alvord. "You've got to live your
principles, or they don't amount to much."
"Suppose some fellow should get into a lodge," asked Amidon, "who had
never been initiated?"
"Well," said Alvord, "there isn't much chance of that. I shouldn't
dare to say. You can't tell what the fellows would do when such sacred
things were profaned, you know. You couldn't tell what they might do!"