The Master-Christian. Marie Corelli

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СКАЧАТЬ these follies advantageously to further his own ends. Something of the cunning and foresight of an ancient Egyptian sorcerer was in the composition of the Archbishop himself, for he judged mankind alone by its general stupidity and credulity;—stupidity and credulity which formed excellent ground for the working of miracles, whether such miracles were wrought in the name of Osiris or Christ. Mokanna, the "Veiled Prophet," while corrupt to the core with unnameable vices, had managed in his time to delude the people into thinking him a holy man; and,—without any adequate reason for his assumption,—the Archbishop had certainly prepared himself to meet in Felix Bonpre, a shrewd, calculating, clever priest, absorbed in acting the part of an excessive holiness in order to secure such honour in his diocese as should attract the particular notice of the Vatican. "Playing for Pope," in fact, had been the idea with which the archbishop had invested the Cardinal's reputed sanctity, and he was astonished and in a manner irritated to find himself completely mistaken. He had opened the conversation by the usual cordial trivialities of ordinary greeting, to which Bonpre had responded with the suave courtesy and refined gentleness which always dignified his manner,—and then the Archbishop had ventured to offer a remonstrance on the unconventional—"Shall we call it eccentric?" he suggested, smiling amicably,—conduct of the Cardinal in choosing to abide in such a comfortless lodging as the Hotel Poitiers.

      "It would have been a pleasure and an honour to me to welcome you at my house"—he said—"Really, it is quite a violation of custom and usage that you should be in this wretched place; the accommodation is not at all fitted for a prince of the Church."

      Cardinal Felix raised one hand in gentle yet pained protest.

      "Pardon me!" he said, "I do not like that term, 'prince of the Church.' There are no princes in the Church—or if there are, there should be none."

      The archbishop opened his eyes widely.

      "That is a strange remark!" he ejaculated—"Princes of the Church there have always been since Cardinals were created; and you, being a Cardinal and an Archbishop as well, cannot be otherwise than one of them."

      Felix Bonpre sighed.

      "Still, I maintain that the term is a wrong one," he answered, "and used in the wrong place. The Church has nothing, or should have nothing to do with differing titles or places. The ordinary priest who toils among his congregation day and night, scarcely resting himself, working and praying for the spiritual welfare of others, should to my thinking be as greatly held in honour as the bishop who commands him and who often—so it chances—is able to do less for our Lord than he. In things temporal, owing to the constant injustice of man practised against his brother-man, we can seldom attain to strict impartiality of judgment,—but in things spiritual, there surely should be perfect equality."

      "Seriously speaking, are those your views?" enquired the Archbishop, his features expressing more and more astonishment.

      "Assuredly!" responded the Cardinal gently,—"Are they not yours? Did not the Master Himself say 'Whosoever will be chief among you, let him be your servant'? And 'Whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased'? These statements are plain and true,—there is no mistaking them."

      The Archbishop was silent for a minute or so.

      "Unfortunately we cannot apply our Lord's words literally to every-day exigencies," he murmured suavely—"If we could do so—"

      "We SHOULD do so," said the Cardinal with emphasis—"The outside world may be disinclined to do so,—but we—we who are the representatives of a God-given faith, are solemnly bound to do so. And I fear—I very much fear—that it is because in many cases we have not shown the example expected of us, that heresy and atheism are so common among the people of the present day."

      "Are you a would-be reformer?" asked the Archbishop good-humouredly, yet not without a touch of satire in his tone,—"If so, you are not alone—there have already been many!"

      "Nay, I desire no reforms," responded the Cardinal, a faint flush warming the habitual pallor of his cheeks—"I simply wish to maintain—not alter—the doctrine of our Lord. No reform is necessary in that,—it is clear, concise, and simple enough for a child to understand. His command to His disciples was,—'Feed my sheep'—and I have of late been troubled and perplexed, because it seems to me that the sheep are not fed;—that despite churches and teachers and preachers, whole flocks are starving."

      The Archbishop moved uneasily in his chair. His habitual violent spirit of contradiction rose up rebelliously in him, and he longed to give a sharp answer in confutation of the Cardinal's words, but there was a touch of the sycophant in his nature despite his personal pride, and he could not but reflect that Cardinals ranked above Archbishops, and that Felix Bonpre was in very truth a "prince of the Church" however much he himself elected to disclaim the title. And as in secular affairs lesser men will always bow the knee to royalty, so the Archbishop felt the necessity of temporising with one who was spiritually royal. Therefore he considered a moment before replying.

      "I think," he said at last, in soft persuasive tones, "that your conscience may perhaps be a little tender on this subject. But I cannot agree with you in your supposition that whole flocks are starving;—for Christianity dominates the better and more intellectual part of the civilized world, and through its doctrines, men are gradually learning to be more tolerant and less unjust. When we recollect the barbarous condition of humanity before the coming of Christ—"

      "Barbarous?" interrupted the Cardinal with half a smile,—"You would hardly apply that term to the luxury-loving peoples of Tyre and Babylon?—or to the ancient splendours of Athens and Rome?"

      "They were heathens," said the Archbishop sententiously.

      "But they were men and women," replied Bonpre, "And they too had immortal souls. They were all more or less struggling towards the fundamental Idea of good. Of course then, as now that Idea was overgrown by superstitious myths and observances—but the working tendency of the whole universe being ever towards Good, not Evil, an impulse to press on in the right direction was always in the brain of man, no matter how dimly felt. Primitive notions of honour were strange indeed; nevertheless honour existed in the minds of the early barbarians in a vague sense, though distorted out of shape and noblest meaning. No,—we dare not take upon ourselves to assert that men were altogether barbarous before the coming of Christ. They were cruel and unjust certainly,—and alas! they are cruel and unjust still! Eighteen hundred years of Christian teaching have not eradicated these ingrained sins from any one unit of the entire mass."

      "You are a severe judge!" said the Archbishop.

      Cardinal Bonpre lifted his mild blue eyes protestingly.

      "Severe? I? God forbid that I should be severe, or presume to sit in judgment on any poor soul that sought my sympathy! I do not judge,—I simply feel. And my feelings have for a long time, I confess, been poignantly sorrowful."

      "Sorrowful! And why?"

      "Because the impression has steadily gained upon me that if our Church were all it was originally intended to be by its Divine Founder, we should at this time have neither heresies or apostasies, and all the world would be gathered into the 'one fold under one Shepherd.' But if we, who are its ministers, persist in occupying ourselves more with 'things temporal' than 'things spiritual,' we fail to perform our mission, or to show the example required of us, and we do not attract, so much as we repel. The very children of the present day are beginning to doubt our calling and election."

      "Oh, of course there are, and always have been heretics and atheists," said the Archbishop,—"And apparently there always will be."

      "And СКАЧАТЬ