Lord of the World

by Robert Hugh Benson

  III

  There was great talk that night at dinner among the priests as to theextraordinary spread of Freemasonry. It had been going on for many yearsnow, and Catholics perfectly recognised its dangers, for the professionof Masonry had been for some centuries rendered incompatible withreligion through the Church's unswerving condemnation of it. A man mustchoose between that and his faith. Things had developed extraordinarilyduring the last century. First there had been the organised assault uponthe Church in France; and what Catholics had always suspected thenbecame a certainty in the revelations of 1918, when P. Gerome, theDominican and ex-Mason, had made his disclosures with regard to theMark-Masons. It had become evident then that Catholics had been right,and that Masonry, in its higher grades at least, had been responsiblethroughout the world for the strange movement against religion. But hehad died in his bed, and the public had been impressed by that fact.Then came the splendid donations in France and Italy--to hospitals,orphanages, and the like; and once more suspicion began to disappear.After all, it seemed--and continued to seem--for seventy years and morethat Masonry was nothing more than a vast philanthropical society. Nowonce more men had their doubts.

  "I hear that Felsenburgh is a Mason," observed Monsignor Macintosh, theCathedral Administrator. "A Grand-Master or something."

  "But who is Felsenburgh?" put in a young priest.

  Monsignor pursed his lips and shook his head. He was one of those humblepersons as proud of ignorance as others of knowledge. He boasted that henever read the papers nor any book except those that had received the_imprimatur_; it was a priest's business, he often remarked, to preservethe faith, not to acquire worldly knowledge. Percy had occasionallyrather envied his point of view.

  "He's a mystery," said another priest, Father Blackmore; "but he seemsto be causing great excitement. They were selling his 'Life' to-day onthe Embankment."

  "I met an American senator," put in Percy, "three days ago, who told methat even there they know nothing of him, except his extraordinaryeloquence. He only appeared last year, and seems to have carriedeverything before him by quite unusual methods. He is a great linguist,too. That is why they took him to Irkutsk."

  "Well, the Masons---" went on Monsignor. "It is very serious. In thelast month four of my penitents have left me because of it."

  "Their inclusion of women was their master-stroke," growled FatherBlackmore, helping himself to claret.

  "It is extraordinary that they hesitated so long about that," observedPercy.

  A couple of the others added their evidence. It appeared that they, too,had lost penitents lately through the spread of Masonry. It was rumouredthat a Pastoral was a-preparing upstairs on the subject.

  Monsignor shook his head ominously.

  "More is wanted than that," he said.

  Percy pointed out that the Church had said her last word severalcenturies ago. She had laid her excommunication on all members of secretsocieties, and there was really no more that she could do.

  "Except bring it before her children again and again," put in Monsignor."I shall preach on it next Sunday."

  * * * * *

  Percy dotted down a note when he reached his room, determining to sayanother word or two on the subject to the Cardinal-Protector. He hadmentioned Freemasonry often before, but it seemed time for anotherremark. Then he opened his letters, first turning to one which herecognised as from the Cardinal.

  It seemed a curious coincidence, as he read a series of questions thatCardinal Martin's letter contained, that one of them should be on thisvery subject. It ran as follows:

  "What of Masonry? Felsenburgh is said to be one. Gather all the gossipyou can about him. Send any English or American biographies of him. Areyou still losing Catholics through Masonry?"

  He ran his eyes down the rest of the questions. They chiefly referred toprevious remarks of his own, but twice, even in them, Felsenburgh's nameappeared.

  He laid the paper down and considered a little.

  It was very curious, he thought, how this man's name was in every one'smouth, in spite of the fact that so little was known about him. He hadbought in the streets, out of curiosity, three photographs thatprofessed to represent this strange person, and though one of them mightbe genuine they all three could not be. He drew them out of apigeon-hole, and spread them before him.

  One represented a fierce, bearded creature like a Cossack, with roundstaring eyes. No; intrinsic evidence condemned this: it was exactly howa coarse imagination would have pictured a man who seemed to be having agreat influence in the East.

  The second showed a fat face with little eyes and a chin-beard. Thatmight conceivably be genuine: he turned it over and saw the name of aNew York firm on the back. Then he turned to the third. This presented along, clean-shaven face with pince-nez, undeniably clever, but scarcelystrong: and Felsenburgh was obviously a strong man.

  Percy inclined to think the second was the most probable; but they wereall unconvincing; and he shuffled them carelessly together and replacedthem.

  Then he put his elbows on the table, and began to think.

  He tried to remember what Mr. Varhaus, the American senator, had toldhim of Felsenburgh; yet it did not seem sufficient to account for thefacts. Felsenburgh, it seemed, had employed none of those methods commonin modern politics. He controlled no newspapers, vituperated nobody,championed nobody: he had no picked underlings; he used no bribes; therewere no monstrous crimes alleged against him. It seemed rather as if hisoriginality lay in his clean hands and his stainless past--that, and hismagnetic character. He was the kind of figure that belonged rather tothe age of chivalry: a pure, clean, compelling personality, like aradiant child. He had taken people by surprise, then, rising out of theheaving dun-coloured waters of American socialism like a vision--fromthose waters so fiercely restrained from breaking into storm over sincethe extraordinary social revolution under Mr. Hearst's disciples, acentury ago. That had been the end of plutocracy; the famous old laws of1914 had burst some of the stinking bubbles of the time; and theenactments of 1916 and 1917 had prevented their forming again in anything like their previous force. It had been the salvation of America,undoubtedly, even if that salvation were of a dreary and uninspiringdescription; and now out of the flat socialistic level had arisen thisromantic figure utterly unlike any that had preceded it.... So thesenator had hinted.... It was too complicated for Percy just now, and hegave it up.

  It was a weary world, he told himself, turning his eyes homewards.Everything seemed so hopeless and ineffective. He tried not to reflecton his fellow-priests, but for the fiftieth time he could not helpseeing that they were not the men for the present situation. It was notthat he preferred himself; he knew perfectly well that he, too, wasfully as incompetent: had he not proved to be so with poor FatherFrancis, and scores of others who had clutched at him in their agonyduring the last ten years? Even the Archbishop, holy man as he was, withall his childlike faith--was that the man to lead English Catholics andconfound their enemies? There seemed no giants on the earth in thesedays. What in the world was to be done? He buried his face in hishands....

  Yes; what was wanted was a new Order in the Church; the old ones wererule-bound through no fault of their own. An Order was wanted withouthabit or tonsure, without traditions or customs, an Order with nothingbut entire and whole-hearted devotion, without pride even in their mostsacred privileges, without a past history in which they might takecomplacent refuge. They must be _franc-tireurs_ of Christ's Army; likethe Jesuits, but without their fatal reputation, which, again, was nofault of their own. ... But there must be a Founder--Who, in God's Name?--a Founder _nudus sequens Christum nudum_.... Yes--_Franc-tireurs_--priests, bishops, laymen and women--with the three vows of course, anda special clause forbidding utterly and for ever their ownership ofcorporate wealth.--Every gift received must be handed to the bishop ofthe diocese in which it was given, who must provide them himself withnecessaries of life and travel. Oh!--what could they not do?... He wasoff in a rhapsody.r />
  Presently he recovered, and called himself a fool. Was not that schemeas old as the eternal hills, and as useless for practical purposes? Why,it had been the dream of every zealous man since the First Year ofSalvation that such an Order should be founded!... He was a fool....

  Then once more he began to think of it all over again.

  Surely it was this which was wanted against the Masons; and women,too.--Had not scheme after scheme broken down because men had forgottenthe power of women? It was that lack that had ruined Napoleon: he hadtrusted Josephine, and she had failed him; so he had trusted no otherwoman. In the Catholic Church, too, woman had been given no active workbut either menial or connected with education: and was there not roomfor other activities than those? Well, it was useless to think of it. Itwas not his affair. If _Papa Angelicus_ who now reigned in Rome had notthought of it, why should a foolish, conceited priest in Westminster sethimself up to do so?

  So he beat himself on the breast once more, and took up his office-book.

  He finished in half an hour, and again sat thinking; but this time itwas of poor Father Francis. He wondered what he was doing now; whetherhe had taken off the Roman collar of Christ's familiar slaves? The poordevil! And how far was he, Percy Franklin, responsible?

  When a tap came at his door presently, and Father Blackmore looked infor a talk before going to bed, Percy told him what had happened.

  Father Blackmore removed his pipe and sighed deliberately.

  "I knew it was coming," he said. "Well, well."

  "He has been honest enough," explained Percy. "He told me eight monthsago he was in trouble."

  Father Blackmore drew upon his pipe thoughtfully.

  "Father Franklin," he said, "things are really very serious. There isthe same story everywhere. What in the world is happening?"

  Percy paused before answering.

  "I think these things go in waves," he said.

  "Waves, do you think?" said the other.

  "What else?"

  Father Blackmore looked at him intently.

  "It is more like a dead calm, it seems to me," he said. "Have you everbeen in a typhoon?"

  Percy shook his head.

  "Well," went on the other, "the most ominous thing is the calm. The seais like oil; you feel half-dead: you can do nothing. Then comes thestorm."

  Percy looked at him, interested. He had not seen this mood in the priestbefore.

  "Before every great crash there comes this calm. It is always so inhistory. It was so before the Eastern War; it was so before the FrenchRevolution. It was so before the Reformation. There is a kind of oilyheaving; and everything is languid. So everything has been in America,too, for over eighty years.... Father Franklin, I think something isgoing to happen."

  "Tell me," said Percy, leaning forward.

  "Well, I saw Templeton a week before he died, and he put the idea in myhead.... Look here, father. It may be this Eastern affair that is comingon us; but somehow I don't think it is. It is in religion that somethingis going to happen. At least, so I think.... Father, who in God's nameis Felsenburgh?"

  Percy was so startled at the sudden introduction of this name again,that he stared a moment without speaking.

  Outside, the summer night was very still. There was a faint vibrationnow and again from the underground track that ran twenty yards from thehouse where they sat; but the streets were quiet enough round theCathedral. Once a hoot rang far away, as if some ominous bird of passagewere crossing between London and the stars, and once the cry of a womansounded thin and shrill from the direction of the river. For the restthere was no more than the solemn, subdued hum that never ceased nownight or day.

  "Yes; Felsenburgh," said Father Blackmore once more. "I cannot get thatman out of my head. And yet, what do I know of him? What does any oneknow of him?"

  Percy licked his lips to answer, and drew a breath to still the beatingof his heart. He could not imagine why he felt excited. After all, whowas old Blackmore to frighten him? But old Blackmore went on before hecould speak.

  "See how people are leaving the Church! The Wargraves, the Hendersons,Sir James Bartlet, Lady Magnier, and then all the priests. Now they'renot all knaves--I wish they were; it would be so much easier to talk ofit. But Sir James Bartlet, last month! Now, there's a man who has spenthalf his fortune on the Church, and he doesn't resent it even now. Hesays that any religion is better than none, but that, for himself, hejust can't believe any longer. Now what does all that mean?... I tellyou something is going to happen. God knows what! And I can't getFelsenburgh out of my head.... Father Franklin---"

  "Yes?"

  "Have you noticed how few great men we've got? It's not like fifty yearsago, or even thirty. Then there were Mason, Selborne, Sherbrook, andhalf-a-dozen others. There was Brightman, too, as Archbishop: and now!Then the Communists, too. Braithwaite is dead fifteen years. Certainlyhe was big enough; but he was always speaking of the future, not of thepresent; and tell me what big man they have had since then! And nowthere's this new man, whom no one knows, who came forward in America afew months ago, and whose name is in every one's mouth. Very well,then!"

  Percy knitted his forehead.

  "I am not sure that I understand," he said.

  Father Blackmore knocked his pipe out before answering.

  "Well, this," he said, standing up. "I can't help thinking Felsenburghis going to do something. I don't know what; it may be for us or againstus. But he is a Mason, remember that.... Well, well; I dare say I'm anold fool. Good-night."

  "One moment, father," said Percy slowly. "Do you mean--? Good Lord! Whatdo you mean?" He stopped, looking at the other.

  The old priest stared back under his bushy eyebrows; it seemed to Percyas if he, too, were afraid of something in spite of his easy talk; buthe made no sign.

  * * * * *

  Percy stood perfectly still a moment when the door was shut. Then hemoved across to his _prie-dieu_.