Part 41 (2/2)
Pasquin Leroy, you bold imitation of a king, more wine!”
Leroy filled the gla.s.s he held out to him. The glances of the company told him Zouche was 'on,' and that it was no good trying to stem the flow of his ideas, or check the inconsequential nature of his speech.
Lotys had moved her chair a little back from the table, and with both arms encircling the child, Pequita, was talking to her in low and tender tones.
”Brethren, let us pray!” cried Zouche; ”For all we know, while we sit here carousing and drinking to the health of our incomparable Lotys, the soul of St. Peter's successor may be careering through Sphere-Forests, and over Planet-Oceans, up to its own specially built and particularly furnished Heaven! There is only one Heaven, as we all know,--and the s.p.a.ce is limited, as it only holds the followers of St. Peter, the good disciple who denied Christ!”
”That is an exploded creed, Zouche,” said Thord quietly; ”No man of any sense or reason believes such childish nonsense nowadays! The most casual student of astronomy knows better.”
”Astronomy! Fie, for shame!” And Zouche gave a mock-solemn shake of the head; ”A wicked science! A great heresy! What are G.o.d's Facts to the Church Fallacies? Science proves that there are millions and millions of solar systems,--millions and millions of worlds, no doubt inhabited;--yet the Church teaches that there is only one Heaven, specially reserved for good Roman Catholics; and that St. Peter and his successors keep the keys of it. G.o.d,--the Deity--the Creator,--the Supreme Being, has evidently nothing at all to do with it. In fact, He is probably outside it! And of a surety Christ, with His ideas of honesty and equality, could never possibly get into it!”
”There you are right!” said Valdor; ”Your words remind me of a conversation I overheard once between a great writer of books and a certain Prince of the blood Royal. 'Life is a difficult problem!' said the Prince, smoking a fat cigar. 'To the student, it is, Sir,' replied the author; 'But to the sensualist, it is no more than the mud-stye of the swine,--he noses the refuse and is happy! He has no need of the Higher life, and plainly the Higher life has no need of him. Of course,'
he added with covert satire, 'your Highness believes in a Higher life?'
'Of course, of course!' responded the Royal creature, unconscious of any veiled sarcasm; 'We must be Christians before anything!' And that same evening this hypocritical Highness 'rooked' a foolish young fellow of over one thousand English pounds!”
”Perfectly natural!” said Zouche. ”The fas.h.i.+onable estimate of Christianity is to go to church o' Sundays, and say 'I believe in G.o.d,'
and to cheat at cards on all the other days of the week, as active testimony to a stronger faith in the devil!”
”And with it all, Zouche,” said Lotys suddenly; ”There is more good in humanity than is apparent.”
”And more bad, beloved Lotys,” returned Paul. ”Tout le deux se disent!
But let us think of the Holy Father!--he who, after long years of patient and sublime credulity, is now, for all we know, bracing himself to take the inevitable plunge into the dark waters of Eternity! Poor frail old man! Who would not pity him! His earthly home has been so small and cosy and restricted,--he has been taken such tender care of--the faithful have fallen at his feet in such adoring thousands,--and now--away from all this warmth and light and incense, and colour of pictures and stained-gla.s.s windows, and white statuary and purple velvets, and golden-fringed palanquins,--now--out into the cold he must go!--out into the darkness and mystery and silence!--where all the former generations of the world, immense and endless, and all the old religions, are huddled away in the mist of the mouldered past!--out into the thick blackness, where maybe the fiery heads of Bel and the Dragon may lift themselves upward and leer at him!--or he may meet the frightful menace of some monstrous Mexican deity, once wors.h.i.+pped with the rites of blood!--out--out into the unknown, unimaginable Amazement must the poor naked Soul go shuddering on the blast of death, to face he truly knows not what!--but possibly he has such a pitiful blind trust in good, that he may be re-transformed into some pleasant living consciousness that shall be more agreeable even than that of Pope of Rome! 'Mourir c'est rien,--mais souffrir!' That is the hard part of it!
Let us all pray for the Pope, my friends!--he is an old man!”
”When you are silent, Zouche,” said Thord with a half smile; ”We may perhaps meditate upon him in our thoughts,--but not while you talk thus volubly! You take up time--and Pequita is getting tired.”
”Yes,” said Lotys; ”Pequita and I will go home, and there will be no dancing to-night.”
”No, Lotys! You will not be so cruel!” said Zouche, pus.h.i.+ng his grey hair back from his brows, while his wild eyes glittered under the tangle, like the eyes of a beast in its lair; ”Think for a moment! I do not come here and bore you with my poems, though I might very well do so! Some of them are worth hearing, I a.s.sure you;--even the King--curse him!--has condescended to think so, or else why should he offer me pay for them? Kings are not so ready to part with money, even when it is Government money! In England once a Premier named Gladstone, gave two hundred and fifty pounds a year pension to the French Prince, Lucien Buonaparte, 'for his researches into Celtic literature'! Bah! There were many worthier native-born men who had worked harder on the same subject, to choose from,--without giving good English money to a Frenchman! There is a case of your Order and Justice, Lotys! You spoke to-night of these two impossible things. Why will you touch on such subjects? You know there is no Order and no Justice anywhere! The Universe is a chance whirl of gas and atoms; though where the two mischiefs come from n.o.body knows! And why the devil we should be made the prey of gas and atoms is a mystery which no Church can solve!”
As he said this, there was a slight movement of every head towards Lotys, and enquiring eyes looked suggestively at her. She saw the look, and responded to it.
”You are wrong, Zouche!--I have always told you you are wrong,” she said emphatically, ”It is in your own disordered thoughts that you see no justice and no order,--but Order there is, and Justice there is,--and Compensation for all that seems to go wrong. There is an Intelligence at the core of Creation! It is not for us to measure that Intelligence, or to set any limits to it. Our duty is to recognize it, and to set ourselves as much as possible in harmony with it. Do you never, in sane moments, study the progress of humanity? Do you not see that while the brute creation remains stationary, (some specimens of it even becoming extinct), man goes step by step to higher results? This is, or should be, sufficient proof that death is not the end for us. This world is only one link in our chain of intended experience. I think it depends on ourselves as to what we make of it. Thought is a great power by which we mould ourselves and others; and we have no right to subvert that power to base uses, or to poison it by distrust of good, or disbelief in the Supreme Guidance. You would be a thousand times better as a man, Zouche, and far greater as a poet, if you could believe in G.o.d!”
She spoke with eloquence and affectionate earnestness, and among all the men there was a moment's silence.
”Well, _you_ believe in Him;” said Zouche at last, ”and I will catch hold of your angel's robe as you pa.s.s into His Presence and say to Him;--' Here comes poor Zouche, who wrote of beautiful things among ugly surroundings, and who, in order to be true to his friends, chose poverty rather than the gold of a king!'”
Lotys smiled, very sweetly and indulgently.
”Such a plea would stand you in good stead, Zouche! To be always true to one's friends, and to persistently believe in beauty, is a very long step towards Heaven!”
”I did not say I _believed_ in beauty,” said Zouche suddenly and obstinately;--”I dream it--I think it--but I do not see it! To me the world is one Horror--nothing but a Grave into which we all must fall!
The fairest face has a hideous skull behind it,--the dazzling blue of the sea covers devouring monsters in its depths--the green fields, the lovely woodlands, are full of vile worms and noxious beetles,--and s.p.a.ce itself swarms with thick-strewn worlds,--flaming comets,--blazing nebulae,--among which our earth is but a gnat's wing in a huge flame!
Horrible!--horrible!” And he spoke with a kind of vehement fury. ”Let us not think of it! Why should we insist on Truth? Let us have lies!--dear, sweet lies and fond delusions! Let us believe that men are all honest, and women all loving!--that there are virgins and saints and angels, as well as bishops and curates, looking after us in this wild world of terror,--oh, yes!--let us believe!--better the Pope's little private snuggery of a Heaven, than the crus.h.i.+ng truth which says 'Our G.o.d is a consuming fire'! Knowledge deepens sorrow,--truth kills!--we must--we must have a little love, and a few lies to lean upon!”
His voice faltered,--and a sudden ashy paleness overspread his features,--his head fell back helplessly, and he seemed transfixed and insensible. Leroy and one or two of the others rose in alarm, thinking he had swooned, but Sergius Thord warned them back by a sign. The little Pequita, slipping from the arms of Lotys, went softly up to him.
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