Part 8 (2/2)
”I am a republican,” said the young man.
The King stared at him as though at some strange animal. ”You don't say so!” he murmured half aghast. ”Supposing the Prime Minister were to find out.”
”He will soon,” said the Prince. ”I shall be sending him a copy of my book on the day of publication.”
The King shook his head warningly. Then he smiled, a shy nervous smile.
”It would be very awkward,” he said slowly, ”very awkward indeed, if you happened to come to the throne just now. I really don't know what Bra.s.shay would do. But it's too late for me to begin that sort of thing--far too late now.”
CHAPTER V
CHURCH AND STATE
I
All this while other swan-songs were in preparation to be forced down other throats (and thence presently to be rejected); forced with that gentle air of persuasion which rears its lying front over all forms of ”peaceful picketing.” Starvation and stuffing were the two methods to be employed.
While the Government was picketing the King with threats of withdrawal from office, and the Labor Party the Government with threats of a national strike, the Government was preparing to picket the Bishops by a process of forcible feeding--a plethora of their own kind be thrust upon them--of their own kind but of a very different persuasion. And now at last the Bishops understood that the doubling of their dioceses was but a device of Machiavellian subtlety for the halving of their temporalities.
The Bishops had just opened their holy mouths to protest when the approach of the Jubilee festivities shut them up. The Church of Jingalo was on a tight and established footing, and had to conform to the commercial, conventional, and const.i.tutional requirements of its day; for you cannot, if you are by law established, play fast and loose with those inst.i.tutions on which a nation bases its prosperity. So even when the Government proposed the creation of demi-mondain bishops, and the setting up of what amounted to a second establishment in the upper chamber of its spiritual spouse, the outward proprieties were still observed, and the sanct.i.ties of national interests respected. It is true that the Bishop of Olde, lifting from his bed a burden of ninety years, climbed up into the central pulpit of his diocese to preach a sermon which was ecstatically applauded by all Churchmen, and committed thereafter to the keeping of a carefully selected few. It won for him the affectionate nickname of ”Never-say-die” and put his followers into a hole from which they never afterwards emerged. And so the Bishops entered into the loyal silence of the Jubilee truce with a flush of conscious rect.i.tude upon their faces; while behind closed doors the Prime Minister and the Primate Archbishop of Ebury had met to talk business, to drive conditional bargains, and to kill time till such other time as seemed good to them.
They met at the town-residence of the one Bishop of the Establishment who had lent a favorable ear to the Prime Minister's proposals.
Boycotted by his brother Bishops this solitary pelican in piety was still on terms of official acquaintance with his t.i.tular head. Placing his well-stored nest at the disposal of the two combatants, he retired for a discreet week-end into the wilderness; and the Prime Minister and the Archbishop, after announcing in the press that they also had gone elsewhere, came together by appointment for the indication of ultimatums and the fixing of dates when ju-jitsu was to commence.
When the Prime Minister arrived his Grace the Primate, attended by his chaplain, was already in the house. An ecclesiastical butler carried word to the chaplain, and the chaplain carried it to the oratory.
The Archbishop finished his prayer; it served the double purpose of strengthening him in his resolve to present a firm front that for the time being could do no harm, and of keeping his opponent waiting. The effect did not quite come off. Under that enforced attendance, the Prime Minister had turned his back on the door, and wrapt in contemplation of the book-shelves stood as though unaware that the Primate had made his state entry. It was a pity that he should have missed it.
The Archbishop came into the room bearing in his hands a large Bible, subscribed for and presented to him by a general a.s.sembly of Church clergy and laity when the const.i.tutional crisis first began to loom large. It was fitting, therefore, that it should now accompany him to the field of battle. Corners of silver scrollwork, linked together by bands and clasps of the same metal, adorned its surface, and over the glowing red of its Venetian leather binding, lambs, lions, eagles, doves, and pelicans stood lucently embossed, bearing upon their well-drilled shoulders the sacred emblems and mottoes of the ecclesiastical party. More important and more central than these showed the proud heraldic bearings of the metropolitan see of Ebury, crowned with a miter which its occupant never wore, and a Cardinal's hat for which he was no longer qualified.
All these collective sources of inspiration the Archbishop bore in monstrant fas.h.i.+on with hands raised and crossed, and, moving to the strategic position he had previously selected, set down upon the table before him. While thus designing his way he exchanged formal salutation with his antagonist.
”And now, sir,” said he, bowing himself to a seat, ”now I am entirely at your disposal.”
”And I at yours,” said the Prime Minister.
But the Archbishop corrected him. ”I am here, I take it, rather to be informed of the latest novelties in statecraft than to admit that any fresh standpoint upon our side has become possible.” Slowly and solemnly he rested his hands upon the presentation volume as he spoke; across that barrier, representative of the spiritual forces at his back, his small diplomatic eyes twinkled with holy zeal. He was an impressive figure to look at, and also to hear: over six feet in height, with dark hair turned silver, of a ruddy complexion, portly without protuberance, and with a voice of modulated thunder that could fill with ease, twice in one day, even the largest of his cathedrals. As a concession to the world he wore flat side-whiskers, as a concession to the priestly office he shaved his lip. By this compromise he was able to wear a cope without offense to the Evangelicals,--his whiskers saving him from the charge of extreme views. Under his rule, largely perhaps because of those whiskers, peace had settled upon the Church; and in consequence it now presented an almost united front to its political opponents.
All his life he had been accustomed to command. Even in the nursery, as the eldest child and only son of his parents, he had ruled his five sisters with that prescriptive mastery which s.e.x and primogeniture confer. At school he had pursued his career of disciplinarian first as ”dowl-master,” then as captain of teams, then as prefect with powers of the rod over senior boys his superiors in weight. Continuing at the University to excel in games, he became at twenty-four a cla.s.s-master in Jingalo's most famous public school. Marrying at thirty a lady of t.i.tle, he acquired the social touch necessary for his completion, and five years later was appointed Head. Left a disconsolate widower at the age of forty-seven, he drew dignity from his domestic affliction, received a belated call to the ministry, took orders, and became Master of Pentecost, only on the distinct understanding that a bishopric of peculiar importance as a stepping-stone to higher things should be his at the next vacancy. The vacancy occurred without any undue delay; and from that bishopric, after three years of successful practice, he pa.s.sed at the age of fifty-five to the crowning grace of his present position.
Thence he was able to look back over a long vista of things successfully done and heads deferentially bowed to his sway--deans, canons, priests, sisters--a pattern training for a humble servant of that Master whose Cross, as by law established, he was now helping to bear. Even the Prime Minister, facing him with all his parliamentary majority at his back, knew him for a redoubtable opponent. This fight had long ago been foreseen by the Church party, and it was for the fighting policy he now embodied that Dr. Chantry had received nine years previously his ”call”
from collegiate to sacerdotal office. A large jeweled cross gleamed upon his breast, and a violet waistcoat that b.u.t.toned out of sight betokened the impenetrable resolution of his priestly character.
”And now, sir, I am at your disposal,” said he; and sat immovable while the Prime Minister spoke.
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