CHAPTER II
I
Percy Franklin's correspondence with the Cardinal-Protector of Englandoccupied him directly for at least two hours every day, and for nearlyeight hours indirectly.
For the past eight years the methods of the Holy See had once more beenrevised with a view to modern needs, and now every important provincethroughout the world possessed not only an administrative metropolitanbut a representative in Rome whose business it was to be in touch withthe Pope on the one side and the people he represented on the other. Inother words, centralisation had gone forward rapidly, in accordance withthe laws of life; and, with centralisation, freedom of method andexpansion of power. England's Cardinal-Protector was one Abbot Martin, aBenedictine, and it was Percy's business, as of a dozen more bishops,priests and laymen (with whom, by the way, he was forbidden to hold anyformal consultation), to write a long daily letter to him on affairsthat came under his notice.
It was a curious life, therefore, that Percy led. He had a couple ofrooms assigned to him in Archbishop's House at Westminster, and wasattached loosely to the Cathedral staff, although with considerableliberty. He rose early, and went to meditation for an hour, after whichhe said his mass. He took his coffee soon after, said a little office,and then settled down to map out his letter. At ten o'clock he was readyto receive callers, and till noon he was generally busy with both thosewho came to see him on their own responsibility and his staff ofhalf-a-dozen reporters whose business it was to bring him markedparagraphs in the newspapers and their own comments. He then breakfastedwith the other priests in the house, and set out soon after to call onpeople whose opinion was necessary, returning for a cup of tea soonafter sixteen o'clock. Then he settled down, after the rest of hisoffice and a visit to the Blessed Sacrament, to compose his letter,which though short, needed a great deal of care and sifting. Afterdinner he made a few notes for next day, received visitors again, andwent to bed soon after twenty-two o'clock. Twice a week it was hisbusiness to assist at Vespers in the afternoon, and he usually sang highmass on Saturdays.
It was, therefore, a curiously distracting life, with peculiar dangers.
It was one day, a week or two after his visit to Brighton, that he wasjust finishing his letter, when his servant looked in to tell him thatFather Francis was below.
"In ten minutes," said Percy, without looking up.
He snapped off his last lines, drew out the sheet, and settled down toread it over, translating it unconsciously from Latin to English.
"WESTMINSTER, May 14th.
"EMINENCE: Since yesterday I have a little more information. It appearscertain that the Bill establishing Esperanto for all State purposes willbe brought in in June. I have had this from Johnson. This, as I havepointed out before, is the very last stone in our consolidation with thecontinent, which, at present, is to be regretted.... A great access ofJews to Freemasonry is to be expected; hitherto they have held aloof tosome extent, but the 'abolition of the Idea of God' is tending to drawin those Jews, now greatly on the increase once more, who repudiate allnotion of a personal Messiah. It is 'Humanity' here, too, that is atwork. To-day I heard the Rabbi Simeon speak to this effect in the City,and was impressed by the applause he received.... Yet among others anexpectation is growing that a man will presently be found to lead theCommunist movement and unite their forces more closely. I enclose averbose cutting from the _New People_ to that effect; and it is echoedeverywhere. They say that the cause must give birth to one such soon;that they have had prophets and precursors for a hundred years past, andlately a cessation of them. It is strange how this coincidessuperficially with Christian ideas. Your Eminence will observe that asimile of the 'ninth wave' is used with some eloquence.... I hear to-dayof the secession of an old Catholic family, the Wargraves of Norfolk,with their chaplain Micklem, who it seems has been busy in thisdirection for some while. The _Epoch_ announces it with satisfaction,owing to the peculiar circumstances; but unhappily such events are notuncommon now.... There is much distrust among the laity. Seven priestsin Westminster diocese have left us within the last three months; on theother hand, I have pleasure in telling your Eminence that his Gracereceived into Catholic Communion this morning the ex-Anglican Bishop ofCarlisle, with half-a-dozen of his clergy. This has been expected forsome weeks past. I append also cuttings from the _Tribune_, the _LondonTrumpet_, and the _Observer_, with my comments upon them. Your Eminencewill see how great the excitement is with regard to the last.
"_Recommendation._ That formal excommunication of the Wargraves andthese eight priests should be issued in Norfolk and Westminsterrespectively, and no further notice taken."
Percy laid down the sheet, gathered up the half dozen other papers thatcontained his extracts and running commentary, signed the last, andslipped the whole into the printed envelope that lay ready.
Then he took up his biretta and went to the lift.
* * * * *
The moment he came into the glass-doored parlour he saw that the crisiswas come, if not passed already. Father Francis looked miserably ill,but there was a curious hardness, too, about his eyes and mouth, as hestood waiting. He shook his head abruptly.
"I have come to say good-bye, father. I can bear it no more."
Percy was careful to show no emotion at all. He made a little sign to achair, and himself sat down too. "It is an end of everything," said theother again in a perfectly steady voice. "I believe nothing. I havebelieved nothing for a year now."
"You have felt nothing, you mean," said Percy.
"That won't do, father," went on the other. "I tell you there is nothingleft. I can't even argue now. It is just good-bye."
Percy had nothing to say. He had talked to this man during a period ofover eight months, ever since Father Francis had first confided in himthat his faith was going. He understood perfectly what a strain it hadbeen; he felt bitterly compassionate towards this poor creature who hadbecome caught up somehow into the dizzy triumphant whirl of the NewHumanity. External facts were horribly strong just now; and faith,except to one who had learned that Will and Grace were all and emotionnothing, was as a child crawling about in the midst of some hugemachinery: it might survive or it might not; but it required nerves ofsteel to keep steady. It was hard to know where blame could be assigned;yet Percy's faith told him that there was blame due. In the ages offaith a very inadequate grasp of religion would pass muster; in thesesearching days none but the humble and the pure could stand the test forlong, unless indeed they were protected by a miracle of ignorance. Thealliance of Psychology and Materialism did indeed seem, looked at fromone angle, to account for everything; it needed a robust supernaturalperception to understand their practical inadequacy. And as regardsFather Francis's personal responsibility, he could not help feeling thatthe other had allowed ceremonial to play too great a part in hisreligion, and prayer too little. In him the external had absorbed theinternal.
So he did not allow his sympathy to show itself in his bright eyes.
"You think it my fault, of course," said the other sharply.
"My dear father," said Percy, motionless in his chair, "I know it isyour fault. Listen to me. You say Christianity is absurd and impossible.Now, you know, it cannot be that! It may be untrue--I am not speaking ofthat now, even though I am perfectly certain that it is absolutelytrue--but it cannot be absurd so long as educated and virtuous peoplecontinue to hold it. To say that it is absurd is simple pride; it is todismiss all who believe in it as not merely mistaken, but unintelligentas well---"
"Very well, then," interrupted the other; "then suppose I withdraw that,and simply say that I do not believe it to be true."
"You do not withdraw it," continued Percy serenely; "you still reallybelieve it to be absurd: you have told me so a dozen times. Well, Irepeat, that is pride, and quite sufficient to account for it all. It isthe moral attitude that matters. There may be other things too---"
Father Francis looked up sharply.
"Oh! the old story!" he said sneeringly.
"If you tell me on your word of honour that there is no woman in thecase, or no particular programme of sin you propose to work out, I shallbelieve you. But it is an old story, as you say."
"I swear to you there is not," cried the other.
"Thank God then!" said Percy. "There are fewer obstacles to a return offaith."
There was silence for a moment after that. Percy had really no more tosay. He had talked to him of the inner life again and again, in whichverities are seen to be true, and acts of faith are ratified; he hadurged prayer and humility till he was almost weary of the names; and hadbeen met by the retort that this was to advise sheer self-hypnotism; andhe had despaired of making clear to one who did not see it for himselfthat while Love and Faith may be called self-hypnotism from one angle,yet from another they are as much realities as, for example, artisticfaculties, and need similar cultivation; that they produce a convictionthat they are convictions, that they handle and taste things which whenhandled and tasted are overwhelmingly more real and objective than thethings of sense. Evidences seemed to mean nothing to this man.
So he was silent now, chilled himself by the presence of this crisis,looking unseeingly out upon the plain, little old-world parlour, itstall window, its strip of matting, conscious chiefly of the drearyhopelessness of this human brother of his who had eyes but did not see,ears and was deaf. He wished he would say good-bye, and go. There was nomore to be done.
Father Francis, who had been sitting in a lax kind of huddle, seemed toknow his thoughts, and sat up suddenly.
"You are tired of me," he said. "I will go."
"I am not tired of you, my dear father," said Percy simply. "I am onlyterribly sorry. You see I know that it is all true."
The other looked at him heavily.
"And I know that it is not," he said. "It is very beautiful; I wish Icould believe it. I don't think I shall be ever happy again--but--butthere it is."
Percy sighed. He had told him so often that the heart is as divine agift as the mind, and that to neglect it in the search for God is toseek ruin, but this priest had scarcely seen the application to himself.He had answered with the old psychological arguments that thesuggestions of education accounted for everything.
"I suppose you will cast me off," said the other.
"It is you who are leaving me," said Percy. "I cannot follow, if youmean that."
"But--but cannot we be friends?"
A sudden heat touched the elder priest's heart.
"Friends?" he said. "Is sentimentality all you mean by friendship? Whatkind of friends can we be?"
The other's face became suddenly heavy.
"I thought so."
"John!" cried Percy. "You see that, do you not? How can we pretendanything when you do not believe in God? For I do you the honour ofthinking that you do not."
Francis sprang up.
"Well---" he snapped. "I could not have believed--I am going."
He wheeled towards the door.
"John!" said Percy again. "Are you going like this? Can you not shakehands?"
The other wheeled again, with heavy anger in his face.
"Why, you said you could not be friends with me!"
Percy's mouth opened. Then he understood, and smiled. "Oh! that is allyou mean by friendship, is it?--I beg your pardon. Oh! we can be politeto one another, if you like."
He still stood holding out his hand. Father Francis looked at it amoment, his lips shook: then once more he turned, and went out without aword.