The Darkest Hours - 18 Chilling Dystopias in One Edition. Samuel Butler
Читать онлайн книгу.
"I have no idea," he said. "I suppose Mr. Snowford will select."
Mr. Francis looked at him doubtfully.
"What is your opinion of the whole affair, sir?" he said.
Oliver paused a moment.
"I think it is necessary," he began. "There would not be such a cry for worship if it was not a real need. I think too—yes, I think that on the whole the ritual is impressive. I do not see how it could be bettered…."
"Yes, Oliver?" put in his wife, questioningly.
"No—there is nothing—except … except I hope the people will understand it."
Mr. Francis broke in.
"My dear sir, worship involves a touch of mystery. You must remember that. It was the lack of that that made Empire Day fail in the last century. For myself, I think it is admirable. Of course much must depend on the manner in which it is presented. I see many details at present undecided—the colour of the curtains, and so forth. But the main plan is magnificent. It is simple, impressive, and, above all, it is unmistakable in its main lesson—-"
"And that you take to be—?"
"I take it that it is homage offered to Life," said the other slowly. "Life under four aspects—Maternity corresponds to Christmas and the Christian fable; it is the feast of home, love, faithfulness. Life itself is approached in spring, teeming, young, passionate. Sustenance in midsummer, abundance, comfort, plenty, and the rest, corresponding somewhat to the Catholic Corpus Christi; and Paternity, the protective, generative, masterful idea, as winter draws on…. I understand it was a German thought."
Oliver nodded.
"Yes," he said. "And I suppose it will be the business of the speaker to explain all this."
"I take it so. It appears to me far more suggestive than the alternative plan—Citizenship, Labour, and so forth. These, after all, are subordinate to Life."
Mr. Francis spoke with an extraordinary suppressed enthusiasm, and the priestly look was more evident than ever. It was plain that his heart at least demanded worship.
Mabel clasped her hands suddenly.
"I think it is beautiful," she said softly, "and—and it is so real."
Mr. Francis turned on her with a glow in his brown eyes.
"Ah! yes, madam. That is it. There is no Faith, as we used to call it: it is the vision of Facts that no one can doubt; and the incense declares the sole divinity of Life as well as its mystery."
"What of the figures?" put in Oliver.
"A stone image is impossible, of course. It must be clay for the present. Mr. Markenheim is to set to work immediately. If the figures are approved they can then be executed in marble."
Again Mabel spoke with a soft gravity.
"It seems to me," she said, "that this is the last thing that we needed. It is so hard to keep our principles clear—we must have a body for them—some kind of expression—-"
She paused.
"Yes, Mabel?"
"I do not mean," she went on, "that some cannot live without it, but many cannot. The unimaginative need concrete images. There must be some channel for their aspirations to flow through—- Ah! I cannot express myself!"
Oliver nodded slowly. He, too, seemed to be in a meditative mood.
"Yes," he said. "And this, I suppose, will mould men's thoughts too: it will keep out all danger of superstition."
Mr. Francis turned on him abruptly.
"What do you think of the Pope's new Religious Order, sir?"
Oliver's face took on it a tinge of grimness.
"I think it is the worst step he ever took—for himself, I mean. Either it is a real effort, in which case it will provoke immense indignation—or it is a sham, and will discredit him. Why do you ask?"
"I was wondering whether any disturbance will be made in the abbey."
"I should be sorry for the brawler."
A bell rang sharply from the row of telephone labels. Oliver rose and went to it. Mabel watched him as he touched a button—mentioned his name, and put his ear to the opening.
"It is Snowford's secretary," he said abruptly to the two expectant faces. "Snowford wants to—ah!"
Again he mentioned his name and listened. They heard a sentence or two from him that seemed significant.
"Ah! that is certain, is it? I am sorry…. Yes…. Oh! but that is better than nothing…. Yes; he is here…. Indeed. Very well; we will be with you directly."
He looked on the tube, touched the button again, and came back to them.
"I am sorry," he said. "The President will take no part at the Feast. But it is uncertain whether he will not be present. Mr. Snowford wants to see us both at once, Mr. Francis. Markenheim is with him."
But though Mabel was herself disappointed, she thought he looked graver than the disappointment warranted.
Chapter V
I
Percy Franklin, the new Cardinal-Protector of England, came slowly along the passage leading from the Pope's apartments, with Hans Steinmann, Cardinal-Protector of Germany, blowing at his side. They entered the lift, still in silence, and passed out, two splendid vivid figures, one erect and virile, the other bent, fat, and very German from spectacles to flat buckled feet.
At the door of Percy's suite, the Englishman paused, made a little gesture of reverence, and went in without a word.
A secretary, young Mr. Brent, lately from England, stood up as his patron came in.
"Eminence," he said, "the English papers are come."
Percy put out a hand, took a paper, passed on into his inner room, and sat down.
There it all was—gigantic headlines, and four columns of print broken by startling title phrases in capital letters, after the fashion set by America a hundred years ago. No better way even yet had been found of misinforming the unintelligent.
He looked at the top. It was the English edition of the Era. Then he read the headlines. They ran as follows:
"THE NATIONAL WORSHIP. BEWILDERING SPLENDOUR. RELIGIOUS ENTHUSIASM. THE ABBEY AND GOD. CATHOLIC FANATIC. EX-PRIESTS AS FUNCTIONARIES."
He ran his eyes down the page, reading the vivid little phrases, and drawing from the whole a kind of impressionist view of the scenes in the Abbey on the previous day, of which he had already been informed by the telegraph, and the discussion of which had been the purpose of his interview just now with the Holy Father.
There plainly was no additional news; and he was laying the paper down when his eye caught a name.
"It is understood that Mr. Francis, the ceremoniarius (to whom the thanks of all are due for his reverent zeal and skill), will proceed shortly to the northern towns to lecture on the Ritual. It is interesting to reflect that this gentleman only a few months ago was officiating at a Catholic altar. He was assisted in his labours by twenty-four confreres with the same experience behind them."
"Good God!" said Percy aloud. Then he laid the paper down.
But his thoughts had soon left this renegade behind, and once more he was running over in his mind the significance of the whole affair,