Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22)

by Marie Corelli

  “I think” — he said, in soft, purring accents,— “that my friend, Dr. Mudley” — here he bowed toward the saturnine looking individual who had entered into conversation with Alwyn— “takes a very proper, and indeed a very lofty, view of the whole question. The moral sense” — and he laid a severely weighty emphasis on these words,— “the moral sense of each man, if properly trained, is quite sufficient to guide him through existence, without any such weakness as reliance on a merely supposititious Deity.”

  The Duke’s French way of speaking English was charming; he gave an expressive roll to his r’s, especially when he said “the moral sense,” that of itself almost carried conviction. His wife smiled as she heard him, and her smile was not altogether pleasant. Perhaps she wondered by what criterion of excellence he measured his own “moral sense,” or whether, despite his education and culture, he had any “moral sense” at all, higher than that of the pig, who eats to be eaten! But Alwyn spoke, and she listened intently, finding a singular fascination in the soft and quiet modulation of his voice, which gave a vaguely delicious suggestion of music underlying speech.

  “To guide people by their moral sense alone” — he said— “you must first prove plainly to them that the moral sense exists, together with moral responsibility. You will find this difficult, — as the virtue implied is intangible, unseeable; — one cannot say of it, lo here! — or lo there! — it is as complicated and subtle as any other of the manifestations of pure Spirit. Then you must decide on one universal standard, or reasonable conception of what ‘morality’ is. Again, you are met by a crowd of perplexities, — as every nation, and every tribe, has a totally different idea of the same thing. In some countries it is ‘moral’ to have many wives; in others, to drown female children; in others, to solemnly roast one’s grandparents for dinner! Supposing, however, that you succeed, with the aid of all the philosophers, teachers, and scientists, in drawing up a practical Code of Morality — do you not think an enormous majority will be found to ask you by whose authority you set forth this Code? — and by what right you deem it necessary to enforce it? You may say, ‘By the authority of Knowledge and by the right of Morality’ — but since you admit to there being no spiritual or divine inspiration for your law, you will be confronted by a legion of opponents who will assure you, and probably with perfect justice, that their idea of morality is as good as yours, and their knowledge as excellent, — that your Code appears to them faulty in many respects, and that, therefore, they purpose making another one, more suited to their liking. Thus, out of your one famous Moral System would spring thousands of others, formed to gratify the various tastes of different individuals, precisely in the same manner as sects have sprung out of the wholly unnecessary and foolish human arguments on Christianity; — only that there would lack the one indestructible, pure Selfless Example that even the most quarrelsome bigot must inwardly respect, — namely, Christ Himself. And ‘morality’ would remain exactly where it is: — neither better nor worse for all the trouble taken concerning it. It needs something more than the ‘moral’ sense to rightly ennoble man, — it needs the SPIRITUAL sense; — the fostering of the INSTINCTIVE IMMORTAL ASPIRATION OF THE CREATURE, to make him comprehend the responsibility of his present life, as a preparation for his higher and better destiny. The cultured, the scholarly, the ultra-refined, may live well and uprightly by their ‘moral sense,’ — if they so choose, provided they have some great ideal to measure themselves by, — but even these, without faith in God, may sometimes slip, and fall into deeper depths of ruin than they dreamed of, when self-centred on those heights of virtue where they fancied themselves exempt from danger.”

  He paused, — there was a curious stillness in the room, — many eyes were lowered, and M. le Duc’s composure was evidently not quite so absolute as usual.

  “Taken at its best” — he continued— “the world alone is certainly not worth fighting for; — we see the fact exemplified every day in the cases of those who, surrounded by all that a fair fortune can bestow upon them, deliberately hurl themselves out of existence by their own free will and act, — indeed, suicide is a very general accompaniment of Agnosticism. And self-slaughter, though it may be called madness, is far more often the result of intellectual misery.”

  “Of course, too much learning breeds brain disease” — remarked Dr. Mudley sententiously— “but only in weak subjects, — and in my opinion the weak are better out of the world. We’ve no room for them nowadays.”

  “You say truly, sir,” — replied Alwyn— “we have no room for them, and no patience! They show themselves feeble, and forthwith the strong oppress them; — they can hope for little comfort here, and less help. It is well, therefore, that some of these ‘weak’ should still believe in God, since they can certainly pin no faith on the justice of their fellow-man! But I cannot agree with you that much learning breeds brain disease. Provided the learning be accompanied by a belief in the Supreme Wisdom, — provided every step of study be taken upward toward that Source of all Knowledge, — one cannot learn too much, since hope increases with discernment, and on such food the brain grows stronger, healthier, and more capable of high effort. But dispense with the Spirit of the Whole, and every movement, though it SEEM forward, is in truth BACKWARD; — study involves bewilderment, — science becomes a reeling infinitude of atoms, madly whirling together for no purpose save death, or, at the best, incessant Change, in which mortal life is counted as nothing: — and Nature frowns at us, a vast Question, to which there is no Answer, — an incomprehensible Force, against which wretched Man, gifted with all manner of splendid and Godlike capacities, battles forever and forever in vain! This is the terrible material lesson you would have us learn to-day, the lesson that maddens pupil and teacher alike, and has not a glimmer of consolation to offer to any living soul! What a howling wilderness this world would be if given over entirely to Materialism! — Scarce a line of division could be drawn between men and the brute beasts of the field! I consider, — though possibly I am only one among many of widely differing opinion, — that if you take the hope of an after-joy and blessedness away from the weary, perpetually toiling Million, you destroy at one wanton blow their best, purest, and noblest aspirations. As for the Christian Religion, I cannot believe that so grand and holy a Symbol is perishing among us, — we have a monarch whose title is ‘Defender of the Faith,’ — we live in an age of civilization which is primarily the result of that faith, — and if, as this gentleman assures me,” — and he made a slight, courteous inclination toward his opposite neighbor— “Christianity is exploded, — then certainly the greatness of this hitherto great nation is exploding with it! But I do not think that because a few skeptics uplift their wailing ‘All is vanity’ from their self-created desert of Agnosticism, THEREFORE the majority of men and women are turning renegades from the simplest, most humane, most unselfish Creed that ever the world has known. It may be so, — but, at present, I prefer to trust in the higher spiritual instincts of man at his best, rather than accept the testimony of the lesser Unbelieving against the greater Many, whose strength, comfort, patience, and endurance, if these virtues come not from God, come not at all.”

  His forcible, incisive manner of speaking, together with his perfect equanimity and concise clearness of argument, had an evident effect on those who listened. Here was no rampant fanatic for particular forms of doctrine or pietism, — here was a man who stated his opinions calmly, frankly, and with an absolute setting-forth of facts which could scarcely be denied, — a man, who firmly grounded himself, made no attempt to force any one’s belief, but who simply took a large view of the whole, and saw, as it were in a glance, what the world might become without faith in a Divine Cause and Principle of Creation. And once GRANT this Divine Cause and Principle to be actually existent, then all other divine and spiritual things become possible, no matter how IMPOSSIBLE they seem to dull mortal comprehension.

  A brief pause followed his words, — a pause of vague embar
rassment. The

  Duchess was the first to break it.

  “You have very noble ideas, Mr. Alwyn,” — she said with a faint, wavering smile— “But I am afraid your conception of things, both human and divine, is too exalted, and poetically imaginative, to be applied to our every-day life. We cannot close our ears to the thunders of science, — we cannot fail to perceive that we mortals are of as small account in the plan of the Universe as grains of sand on the seashore. It is very sad that so it should be, and yet so it is! And concerning Christianity, the poor system has been so belabored of late with hard blows, that it is almost a wonder it still breathes. There is no end to the books that have been written disproving and denouncing it, — moreover, we have had the subject recently treated in a novel which excites our sympathies in behalf of a clergyman, who, overwhelmed by scholarship, finds he can no longer believe in the religion he is required to teach, and who renounces his living in consequence. The story is in parts pathetic, — it has had a large circulation, — and numbers of people who never doubted their Creed before, certainly doubt it now.”

  Alwyn shrugged his shoulders. “Faith uprooted by a novel!” he said— “Alas, poor faith! It could never have been well established at any time, to be so easy of destruction! No book in the world, whether of fact or fiction, could persuade me either TO or FROM the consciousness of what my own individual Spirit instinctively KNOWS. Faith cannot be taught or forced, — neither, if TRUE, can it be really destroyed, — it is a God-born, God-fostered INTUITION, immortal as God Himself. The ephemeral theories set forth in books should not be able to influence it by so much as a hair’s breadth.”

  “Truth is, however, often conveyed through the medium of fiction,” — observed Dr. Mudley— “and the novel alluded to was calculated to disturb the mind, and arouse trouble in the heart of many an ardent believer. It was written by a woman.”

  “Nay, then” — said Alwyn quickly, with a darkening flash in his eyes,— “if women give up faith, let the world prepare for strange disaster! Good, God-loving women, — women who pray, — women who hope, — women who inspire men to do the best that is in them, — these are the safety and glory of nations! When women forget to kneel, — when women cease to teach their children the ‘Our Father,’ by whose grandly simple plea Humanity claims Divinity as its origin, — then shall we learn what is meant by ‘men’s hearts failing them for fear and for looking after those things which are coming on the earth.’ A woman who denies Christ repudiates Him, who, above all others, made her sex as free and honored as everywhere in Christendom it IS. He never refused woman’s prayer, — He had patience for her weakness, — pardon for her sins, — and any book written by woman’s hand that does Him the smallest shadow of wrong is to me as gross an act, as that of one who, loaded with benefits, scruples not to murder his benefactor!”

  The Duchess de la Santoisie moved uneasily, — there was a vibration in Alwyn’s voice that went to her very heart. Strange thoughts swept cloud-like across her mind, — again she saw in fancy a little fair, dead child that she had loved, — her only one, on whom she had spent all the tenderness of which her nature was capable. It had died at the prettiest age of children, — the age of lisping speech and softly tottering feet, when a journey from the protecting background of a wall to outstretched maternal arms seems fraught with dire peril to the tiny adventurer, and is only undertaken with the help of much coaxing, sweet laughter, and still sweeter kisses. She remembered how, in spite of her “free” opinions, she had found it impossible not to teach her little one a prayer; — and a sudden mist of tears blurred her sight, as she recollected the child’s last words, — words uttered plaintively in the death grasp of a cruel fever, “Suffer me.. to come to Thee!” — A quick sigh escaped her lips, — the diamonds on her breast heaved restlessly, — lifting her eyes, grown soft with gentle memory, she encountered those of Alwyn, and again she asked herself, could he read her thoughts? His steadfast gaze seemed to encompass her, and absorb in a grave, compassionate earnestness the entire comprehension of her life. Her husband’s polite, mellifluous accents roused her from this half-reverie.

  “I confess I am surprised, Mr. Alwyn,” — he was saying— “that you, a man of such genius and ability, should be still in the leading strings of the Church!”

  “There is NO Church” — returned Alwyn quietly,— “The world is waiting for one! The Alpha Beta of Christianity has been learned and recited more or less badly by the children of men for nearly two thousand years, — the actual grammar and meaning of the whole Language has yet to be deciphered. There have been, and are, what are CALLED Churches, — one especially, which, if it would bravely discard mere vulgar superstition, and accept, absorb, and use the discoveries of Science instead, might, and possibly WILL, blossom into the true, universal, and pure Christian Fabric. Meanwhile, in the shaking to and fro of things, — the troublous sifting of the wheat from the chaff, — we must be content to follow by the Way of the Cross as best we can. Christianity has fallen into disrepute, probably because of the Self-Renunciation it demands, — for, in this age, the primal object of each individual is manifestly to serve Self only. It is a wrong road, — a side-lane that leads nowhere, — and we shall inevitably have to turn back upon it and recover the right path — if not now, why then hereafter!”

  His voice had a tremor of pain within it; — he was thinking of the millions of men and women who were voluntarily wandering astray into a darkness they did not dream of, — and his heart, the great, true heart of the Poet, became filled with an indescribable passion of yearning.

  “No wonder,” he mused— “no wonder that Christ came hither for the sake of Love! To rescue, to redeem, to save, to bless! … O Divine sympathy for sorrow! If I — a man — can feel such aching pity for the woes of others, how vast, how limitless, how tender, must be the pity of God!”

  And his eyes softened, — he almost forgot his surroundings. He was entirely unaware of the various deep and wistful emotions he had wakened in the hearts of his hearers. There was a great attractiveness in him that he was not conscious of, — and while all present certainly felt that he, though among them, was not of them, they were at the same time curiously moved by an impression that notwithstanding his being, as it were, set apart from their ways of existence, his sympathetic influence surrounded them as resistlessly as a pure atmosphere in which they drew long refreshing breaths of healthier life.

  “I should like,” — suddenly said a bearded individual who was seated half-way down the table, and who had listened attentively to everything— “I should like to tell you a few things about Esoteric Buddhism! — I am sure it is a faith that would suit you admirably!”

  Alwyn smiled, courteously enough. “I shall be happy to hear your views on the subject, sir,” he answered gently— “But I must tell you that before I left England for the East, I had studied that theory, together with many others that were offered as substitutes for Christianity, and I found it totally inadequate to meet the highest demands of the spiritual intelligence. I may also add, that I have read carefully all the principal works against Religion, — from the treatises of the earliest skeptics down to Voltaire and others of our own day. Moreover, I had, not so very long ago, rejected the Christian Faith; that I now accept and adhere to it, is not the result of my merit or attainment, — but simply the outcome of an undeserved blessing and singularly happy fortune.”

  “Pardon me, Mr. Alwyn” — said Madame de la Santoisie with a sweet smile— “By all the laws of nature I must contradict you there! Your fame and fortune must needs be the reward of merit, — since true happiness never comes to the undeserving.”

  Alwyn made no reply, — inasmuch as to repudiate the idea of personal merit too warmly is, as such matters are judged nowadays, suggestive of more conceit than modesty. He skilfully changed the conversation, and it glided off by degrees into various other channels, — music, art, science, and the political situation of the hour. The men and women assembled, as tho
ugh stimulated and inspired by some new interest, now strove to appear at their very best — and the friction of intellect with intellect resulted in more or less brilliancy of talk, which, for once, was totally free from the flippant and mocking spirit which usually pervaded the Santoisie social circle. On all the subjects that came up for discussion Alwyn proved himself thoroughly at home — and M. le Duc, sitting in a silence that was most unwonted with him, became filled with amazement to think that this man, so full of fine qualities and intellectual abilities, should be actually a CHRISTIAN! — The thing was quite incongruous, or seemed so to the ironical wit of the born and bred Parisian, — he tried to consider it absurd, — even laughable, — but his efforts merely resulted in a sense of uneasy personal shame. This poet was, at any rate, a MAN, — he might have posed for a Coriolanus or Marc Antony; — and there was something supreme about him that could not be SNEERED DOWN.

  The dinner, meanwhile, reached its dessert climax, and the Duchess rose, giving the customary departing signal to her lady-guests. Alwyn hastened to open the door for her, and she passed out, followed by a train of women in rich and rustling costumes, all of whom, as they swept past the kingly figure that with slightly bent head and courteous mien thus paid silent homage to their sex, were conscious of very unusual emotions of respect and reverence. How would it be, some of them thought, if they were more frequently brought into contact with such royal and gracious manhood? Would not love then become indeed a hallowed glory, and marriage a true sacrament! Was it not possible for men to be the gods of this world, rather than the devils they so often are? Such were a few of the questions that flitted dimly through the minds of the society-fagged fair ones that clustered round the Duchess de la Santoisie, and eagerly discussed Alwyn’s personal beauty and extraordinary charm of manner.