THE CHAPEL UNDERGROUND
In the subterranean chapel, lit by rushlights that sent the shadows
scurrying and made fantastically unreal the eager faces and the
dissolving groups that clustered now around me, now around David, and
again gathered about the tall old bishop with his peasant’s face and
child’s eyes, David told them my tale, and then in turn told me the
legend that I had brought so wonderfully to fulfillment.
The more bewildered I appeared, the stronger grew their faith, for the
legend foretold that I was to come unknown to myself, and with no
expectation of my own mission. They saw the cylinder, and there was none
who doubted.
There were some thirty men and women present, of whom a dozen formed an
inner council which had already formulated the plans for the new
government. Some were delegates from outlaw bands in the recesses of the
forests, some, like David, fugitives from the government bureaux, and
three or four, Paul among them, those who had most recently escaped from
the defectives’ shops. There were representatives of various trades, who
had come from London at imminent risk, intending to return: one from the
traffic guild I noticed in particular, a giant of a man with a black
beard as crisp as an Assyrian king’s, who said that, at his signal, his
guild would rise and fling themselves, to a man, upon the Guard.
It was a touching reunion. Two generations had gone by while men
remained in ignorance of all that we and our ancestors had known:
popular freedom, public rights, liberty to choose their trades, the
sanctity of family life, and, above all, the absence of the galling
inquisition and atrocious tyranny of Science run mad.
The elder men remembered with horror the period of the revolutions, in
which a man would have given all that he had for life and bread. They
regarded the epoch that had preceded this as the dark age of the world,
much, I think, as we, in our turn, looked back upon the freer age before
the Reformation. They had a misty tradition of a century in which men
starved, in which the rich oppressed the poor and the poor dwelled in
foul, sunless tenements and dressed in rags.
That tradition was true, and of the Moyen Age, before these things, of
course they knew nothing. Now all had bread to eat, and light and air;
but they lived in a world with neither hope nor joy, resource nor
initiative, nor happiness in labor, in which one cherished the home ties
furtively, while over their children always hung the menace of the
defectives’ workshops, or the horrors of the Temple. And on them preyed
the privileged caste of whites, taking toll of their daughters, lording
it as judges and bureau bosses, in the name of Science emanating from a
madman’s brain.
I began to gather, to my relief, that only the very ignorant believed
that the Messiah would be a supernatural being. There was superstition
enough hidden in the hearts of all, for faith, denied, creeps in, in
strange guises; but the world awaited, rather, the inevitable leader who
must come to set free a people grown over-ripe for freedom. For the
horrors of the new civilization had reached the point where men had
grown reckless of life. Everywhere was the anticipation of the
approaching change, and even Sanson must have seen that neither his
Guard nor his great Ray artillery could save his crumbling power.
Science had overplayed her part when she had bankrupted human hearts.
Everywhere the deep sense of intolerable wrong was spreading. And
although not even the very old remembered the time when Christianity was
a living faith, yet the hopes of all hinged on it. There was no other
hope for the world but the same Light that lit the darkness in the most
shameful days of Rome’s high civilization. So they had enrolled
themselves beneath that ancient banner of human freedom; dozens had died
under torture rather than disclose the hiding place of their treasured
Scriptures—of such parts as had come down to them, rewritten in the new
syllabic characters. There was a rich harvest to come from many a
martyr’s blood.
So, then, there had filtered down through the years the faith that in
2015, or seven and thirty years after the institution of the new era, a
Messiah was to arise and restore freedom to man. It had begun with the
discovery of the cylinder that contained Esther’s body, somewhere about
the middle of the preceding century, and after the first revolutionary
outbreak.
In some manner unknown the cylinder had made its appearance in the
world. At first it was believed that it contained only the embalmed body
of a woman, within a case fashioned so cunningly that none could open
it. But later the rumor spread that at the end of a certain time the
case would open of itself, and the woman awaken and come forth.
I inferred that Sanson, in spite of Lembken’s statement to me, had
obtained access to Lazaroff’s papers, and had shrewdly resolved to turn
the popular legend to his own use by placing the date of the fulfillment
of the prophecy. He set the cylinder within the Temple and diffused the
report that, when Esther awakened, they two would rule the world
together and offer immortality to man.
The cylinder had, then, first appeared about 1950. It had become the
symbol of the Revolution—Freedom sleeping. It had been carried before
marching armies. It had been a rallying point for the defeated. Men had
fought and died over it. It had been struck by unnumbered bullets. It
had been lost and regained upon a dozen battlefields. Then it had
vanished with the inauguration of the reactionary régime, to appear once
more, the inspiration of new hopes, when Sanson sprang to his
leadership, like a god, about the year 1980.
And all this while I had been sleeping within the vault, as heedless of
the passing years as Esther in her undreamed of journeyings. That I had
escaped notice was due, no doubt, to the single fact that the wall of
the vault had fallen in and hidden my cylinder from sight, embedded, as
it was, in mud up to the neck. Those who had read of me in the papers
might not have prosecuted their search hard, thinking that the cylinder
had been removed already.
As the years went by an amplification of the legend had spread until it
grew to be a rooted popular belief that the Messiah who was to come
would issue from a second cylinder. That was the reason why neither
David nor Jones, nor any in the cellar doubted me.
Old Bishop Alfred grasped my hands in his. “This is not chance, but a
wonderful sign from God,” he said. “To think that while we met here you
lay within that case a few feet from us! I have doubted and dreaded, as
all have, but nothing can daunt me now. We shall win freedom, we shall
have our two names again.”
David whispered to me that, grown a little childish with age, the poor
old man longed for the day when he could assume the ancient episcopal
pomp. To sign himself, Alfred London, was his life’s dream, and he had
vowed that till that day came his family name should never pass his
lips.
After I had heard the story we kneeled in prayer, and the Bishop read to
us from the syllabic version of the Bible, as it was known. It comprised
only a few portions of the Old Testament, chiefly parts of Isaiah which
some scribe had thought prophetic and necessary to be saved. Of the
Synoptic Gospels there existed only a few fragments, too, but there was
the “Sermon on the Mount” from the “Beatitudes” to the end, and the
whole of the magnificent “Gospel According to St. John,” together with
most of “Acts” and “Corinthians,” debased to some extent, and containing
interpolations that had crept in, but on the whole faithful to the
original. Though the entire Bible has, of course, been recovered, I am
convinced, and many agree with me, that the world has gained
immeasurably by the removal of the scaffolding of the Temple of Truth
during more than two generations. Never again will literal
interpretation be placed upon Old Testament mythology, the poetic
allegory of “Creation and the Fall,” or the chronology that offered the
life cycles of tribes as the events of one man’s life; nor will the
warrior god, Jehovah, be considered anything but an incompletely
discerned aspect of the divine.
Afterward, at David’s urging, I rose to speak. I hardly knew what I
should say, but, as I stood in hesitation before the meeting some
Pentecostal power seemed to lay hold of me, and a torrent of impassioned
words broke from my lips, till I felt all minds and hearts enkindled
from the flame in mine. I spoke of the old, free world, of old,
illogical, and cherished customs, preserved through centuries, uniting
men in a fellowship that logic could not give; of ideals and traditions
carried onward from age to age, ennobling faith and strengthening a
nation’s soul; of pride of family other than that of pedigreed stock; of
initiative and resourcefulness, charity and good-will for weak as well
as strong; of a ruling class bound by its traditions to public service,
and open to all below who had the character and gifts to enter it.
But one thing I could not explain; when Bishop Alfred, rising,
incredulous that the weak should have been protected, that they aroused
pity instead of wrath, inquired, if we had really had this Christian
use, why we had lost it.
When I ended I came back to myself, to find that I was standing
tongue-tied before them. I heard a sigh ascend from every lip; and then
they were about me, falling upon their knees, grasping my hands,
imploring me to accept their service and devotion. Elizabeth was weeping
happily.
“I knew, Arnold,” she said.
Then the revolutionary committee took their seats upon the benches and,
while the rest gathered about them, proceeded to consider the reports
brought in. It was an informal meeting, hampered by none of those rules
made by democracy for the restriction of free speech, and conducted with
earnestness and quiet decorum. Man after man rose up and made his
report, the leaders of the guilds pledging so many, describing their
enthusiasm, stating the number of Ray rods in his possession, and
pledging absolute obedience to instructions.
Then I was acquainted, as succinctly as possible, with the progress of
the movement. It was known that during the next few days Sanson meant to
address the people in the Temple, using some anniversary celebration as
his occasion. He was universally credited with the plan to effect a
_coup d’etat_, deposing Lembken and assuming the rulership of the
Federation. He had attached the Guard to him with favors and gifts, so
that intense hatred existed between it and Lembken’s airscouts. There
was thus a triangular contest between Sanson, Lembken, and the
revolutionaries; and the fear was that, if the airscouts were split by
faction, the Guard would overwhelm them and establish Sanson in
Lembken’s place, making a greater tyranny still.
It was, therefore, debated whether it might be possible, as unhappily it
seemed necessary, to make some terms with Lembken that should ensure
Sanson’s overthrow.
“We have gained one piece of priceless information from you, Arnold,”
said David. “We know now that Sanson’s plans relate to the awakening of
Esther. Five days is almost too short a period for our plans to mature;
yet we know that Sanson’s coup must synchronize with the opening of the
cylinder. It is believed that he has actually made some discovery, not,
of course, of immortality, but for prolonging life, which he intends to
offer the populace, should any champion, posing as the Messiah, come
forth to challenge him. That will be a test such as has never yet been
made in the world’s history, the choice between liberty and immortality,
so-called. And it will be difficult for the multitude to choose the
former and to reject the latter.”
“If the people have the choice they will choose wisely,” said Elizabeth,
from within Paul’s arm. “Have no doubt as to that.”
“How do you know?” asked David.
“Because they want the love that is their birthright,” she answered
boldly, “and love knows it is immortal and does not fear death.”
I saw the committee leader smile, and there came upon his face a very
affecting look. An elderly man, a member of the privileged caste, he had
voluntarily laid aside the white robes of his order and taken to the
forests, to organize the beginnings of the Revolution. As he spoke, the
detailed scheme began to be clear to me, and I understood that the
rulers of the world were matched by no mean antagonists.
First he alluded to the belief, already current among all the
revolutionary bands, that the Federation’s troops had been overwhelmed
before Tula, and that the Tsar’s forces were already pouring through
Skandogermania to seize the battleplanes from the disaffected airscouts
in Hamburg and Stockholm and launch them against London. It was believed
that the Council must be in desperate straits to have had recourse to
the moving picture lie, as worthless as the falsehood that the escaped
defectives had been retaken.
What seemed to me a psychological confirmation of this report was the
circumstance asserted by him, that the torture of heretics, the
activities of the vivisectionists, and the weeding out of morons were
proceeding with unexampled rigor. For tyranny always becomes most cruel
when it approaches its downfall, by inspiring terror, to create
submission.
“You have heard,” continued the old man, “how Lembken lured Arnold to
the People’s House. Lembken knows who he is. Then he must be aware of
Sanson’s plans and is plotting to use Arnold in a counterstroke.
“He is old and obese and pleasure-loving. But you must not forget that
he rose to power by the most cunning craft, inspiring, as he undoubtedly
did, the murder of Boss Rose, and buying over the airscouts. Sanson
underrates the old fox, but Lembken has his ear to the ground all the
while he is supposed to be roystering in his devil’s palace. Now,
friends, we can despise no weapon that will aid our cause. If we have to
use Lembken, as the lesser evil, in order to unite the airscouts under
Hancock against Sanson—”
“Never!” shouted the black-bearded leader of the traffic guild. “He has
taken—taken—taken—”
The giant broke down and covered his face with his hands.
“My daughter,” he raved, raising his face with the tears streaming down
his cheeks, and clenching his enormous hands. “Only today—today—I would
not desert the cause, or I should have forced my way into the People’s
House and killed him—”
I thanked God, the father did not know that I had seen her in the
Council Hall.
The old leader got up and put his arm about the giant’s shoulder.
“But for the sake of freedom you will consent,” he said.
The other threw back his head. “Yes—for the cause, yes,” he answered
quietly, and moved away. He stood with head drooping upon his breast,
like some huge statue. I understood then the strength of the enmity to
the government. No Ray artillery could withstand such a wild passion as
the deviltries of Science had awakened.
“I can only offer the outlines of my plan,” resumed the old man,
returning to his place, “because, at such a time, we must trust as much
to the spontaneous instincts of our people as to a detailed scheme which
may go wrong. But it seems to me that it is essential first to enter
into communication with Lembken. We will offer him his palace, perhaps,
and an untroubled life hereafter. It is a hard compromise, but there
seems no other way, for Sanson must be destroyed, and everything depends
on Hancock.
“Five days hence, when Sanson summons the people into the Temple, as
many as possible of our men will assemble there, with Ray rods beneath
their tunics. Arnold will advance and challenge Sanson. We shall spring
forward, seize him, possess ourselves of the cylinder, assume possession
of the Temple buildings, and set up our government. Meanwhile the
airscouts will take possession of the barracks and Ray artillery.”
Here I interposed. “Is this the only way?” I asked. “Are there not
annual elections? Would it not be possible—”
I was unprepared for the outburst of bitter laughter that answered me.
“Do you really believe, Arnold,” asked David, “that anything can be done
like that? Even in your other life, history—the history that is not
taught—informs me that the election of popular representatives had
become farcical, especially in the home of democracy, America, through
the refusal to permit unauthorized candidacies, through the demand for
large sums of money to be deposited as a preliminary, by ballots drowned
with names of unknown men, representing nobody knew whom, and fifteen to
twenty feet in length; by ruffians at the polls—a device much used in
Rome when she started on the democratic down-grade that led to tyranny;
by stuffed ballots and lying counts, and voting machines ... in short,
Arnold, we have so far improved upon those crude devices that the ballot
is now the strongest weapon in our masters’ hands. And when freedom has
been restored it will never be seen again. We shall never count heads,
except among small bodies of committees, and the days of so-called
representative government will never recur so long as men remain free.”
It was evident that his words had touched their imaginations in some way
unknown to me, for they sprang to their feet and cheered him wildly. I
learned afterward that all the laws, the most subversive of human
rights, all the most fearful promulgations of Sanson were put to the
farcical test of public approbation. The democratic State had killed
itself, as it always does, but the shell remained to protect the tyranny
that followed, as it always does, too.
Before the noise had quite subsided, Jones, who had come in quietly,
stood up in the midst of the assembly.
“The plan to seize the Ray artillery is impossible,” he said bluntly.
“Why?” demanded a dozen voices.
“Because the small Ray guns upon the battleplanes are useless against
the glow paint on the Guards’ fortress, and the Guards’ great Ray
artillery will pick off our battleplanes one by one as they expose their
unprotected parts while evolving in the air. It is impossible to protect
the parts of a plane around the solar storage batteries, because the
glow rays disturb their action. Then, again, when each of our men has
discharged his Ray rod, where is he to replenish it without access to
the solar storage within the Guards’ fortress? Even our airplanes, with
their week’s supply, have to be replenished there.”
“Hold a battleplane where we can gain access to it, so that the rods can
be recharged from its supply.”
“Not practicable,” said Jones.
“If each man has three Ray rods, he can kill three of Sanson’s men.”
“But unless you take the fortress the Ray artillery can make a desert of
London.”
“What would you do, then?” asked the committee leader.
“Cut the solar supply cables.”
“Twelve feet underground, in steel and concrete?”
“No. At the heart of the world’s power system,” said the airscout. “In
the Vosges. It is not impossible. The Ray artillery there is not
carefully guarded; the early nights are dark. Make Sanson’s Ray guns
useless at a stroke, and then storm the fortress in the old way, man
against man.”
I saw the face of the black-bearded leader redden with blood. “Yes!” he
cried, “that is the way.”
“And then we shall have two names again and life will be free,” said
Bishop Alfred, musing. “Two names, as our fathers had.”
All caught the enthusiasm. The committee leader held up his hand for
silence. “Wait! Who will go?” he demanded.
“I can. I will,” replied Jones, boldly. “I was born there. My father was
a Frenchman, removed to England because he cherished national
aspirations. I will succeed or die there.”
“Where will you get the airplane?”
“I have it here,” said Jones, as simply as if he could produce it from
his pocket.
Again the mad clamor burst forth. Jones, as the first airscout to come
over, filled all with enthusiasm, and belief in our success.
“And who will go to Lembken as our emissary?” asked the committee leader
presently.
“I will,” I answered.
David started toward me. “No! The risk is too great,” he cried. “We need
you in the Temple on the appointed day. We need your leadership for the
sake of the cause. If Lembken refuses, or tricks you, all will be lost.”
I answered rather sadly. “You forget,” I said, “that I, too, have all I
hold dear at stake. For this cause, too, I shall succeed or die.”