The Darkest Hours - 18 Chilling Dystopias in One Edition. Samuel Butler

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ take part will withdraw, I imagine, during the hymn, to the old chapel of St. Faith. That is what seems to me the best."

      He indicated the chapel.

      "After the entrance of the procession all will take their places on these two sides—here—and here—while the celebrant with the sacred ministers—-"

      "Eh?"

      Mr. Francis permitted a slight grimace to appear on his face; he flushed a little.

      "The President of Europe—-" He broke off. "Ah! that is the point. Will the President take part? That is not made clear in the ritual."

      "We think so," said Oliver. "He is to be approached."

      "Well, if not, I suppose the Minister of Public Worship will officiate. He with his supporters pass straight up to the foot of the altar. Remember that the figure is still veiled, and that the candles have been lighted during the approach of the procession. There follow the Aspirations printed in the ritual with the responds. These are sung by the choir, and will be most impressive, I think. Then the officiant ascends the altar alone, and, standing, declaims the Address, as it is called. At the close of it—at the point, that is to say, marked here with a star, the thurifers will leave the chapel, four in number. One ascends the altar, leaving the others swinging their thurifers at its foot—hands his to the officiant and retires. Upon the sounding of a bell the curtains are drawn back, the officiant tenses the image in silence with four double swings, and, as he ceases the choir sings the appointed antiphon."

      He waved his hands.

      "The rest is easy," he said. "We need not discuss that."

      To Mabel's mind even the previous ceremonies seemed easy enough. But she was undeceived.

      "You have no idea, Mrs. Brand," went on the ceremoniarius, "of the difficulties involved even in such a simple matter as this. The stupidity of people is prodigious. I foresee a great deal of hard work for us all…. Who is to deliver the discourse, Mr. Brand?"

      Oliver shook his head.

      "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 СКАЧАТЬ