Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

“And if he will, he shall stay to luncheon this time, cold mutton or no cold mutton!” he decided— “I’m a grass widower just now, and can do as I like!”

  In another moment Douay was in the study, his cheery round face beaming with smiles.

  “So I am come in happy time!” he said, rubbing his hands together like a pleased child— “Your wife has gone away? And why so?”

  Everton explained that she needed a few days’ change of air at the sea side.

  “Ah! And you are like Mistaire Adam, before le bon Dieu took away his best rib!” said Douay, his blue-gray eyes twinkling merrily— “He was no doubt quite strong and jolly till he lost that so valuable bone! He has been weak ever since!”

  Everton laughed, — and Douay went on —

  “I came to tell you that I have now a church — a very leetle poor church in a most sad and dirty leetle village near the place where they brew the beer for Mistaire Minchin. It is a beginning — and some of the French fathers have bought land there — but for me there is a tin chapelle and a cottage — so I shall do myself all right. I have command to start a Catholique mission — it will be something — not much — for there are so few people, — but the Church say I must do it, and one must obey the Holy Orders.”

  Everton looked at him thoughtfully.

  “True!” he said— “But your ‘holy orders’ and mine are different.”

  “That is so,” — agreed Douay, cheerfully— “and the holy orders of the so respectable Buddha are again different, — and of the terrible Mahomet again different! All separate households, my dear sir! — where each poor servant must obey the master who pays the wages!”

  A slight shadow crossed Everton’s face.

  “I do not regard it quite in that way,” — he began hesitatingly.

  “You do not? But why not? You would not be singular! There are parsons of your Church who write to the newspapers — ah! — such remarkable newspapers you have in England! — to say that they shall not let their sons become clergymen as the pay is so poor! Ha-ha! That is so excellent a serving of Christ! — so true to the Gospel! And your remarkable newspapers print these kind of letters from the clergy; then is it a surprise that your people do not believe their teachers in religion and stay away from the church? There are many mistakes in the Catholique faith — but it is seldom — if ever — that you will find a Catholique priest complaining of his leetle ‘pay’ in a public newspaper!”

  “I am afraid you are right,” said Everton, with a sigh — . “There’s too much talk of money in everything nowadays.

  But of course, even a clergyman must live—”

  “And have a comfortable ‘living’!” supplemented Douay, with a genial laugh— “And marry, — a pretty wife, sans doute! — and have children — and send these leetle ones to school! All expensive work! — and the Catholique priest must do without these luxuries—”

  “Does he always do without them?” demanded Everton, with-sudden boldness.

  Douay smiled, in no wise disconcerted.

  “Not always, perhaps,” — he replied— “Even a Catholique priest may make a fool of himself! But if he is so much a fool as to break the celibate rule of his order he is finished! — done for! I myself would go further — I would say that any minister of the Gospel who marries is finished also! Done for! — yes indeed! — quite done for!”

  He spoke in such a perfectly good-natured way that Everton was more amused than annoyed.

  “According to that,” — he said— “I am no use and never shall be of any use. For I am one of the married.”

  “I know!” and Douay nodded his head emphatically— “That is why I say my thought. Very rude of me, — but you will pardon! For what does Our Lord teach us—’ Take no thought saying What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? — or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. But seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you. Take therefore no thought for the morrow, — for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself.’ Now will you tell me, my dear Mistaire Everton, that a married man is able to take no thought for the morrow?”

  Everton was silent for a moment. Then he said:

  “But surely even a Catholic priest does not work blindly on, regardless of his future?”

  “Ah, but that is just it! It is precisely what so many priests Catholiques do — work blindly on! — comme des moutons!— ‘Blindly’ is very true. They do not know, — and they must not see. They obey! As soldiers obey their superior officers, so we obey the orders of Rome. We may be in one place to-day, another to-morrow. But we move under command. It is not our business to make question. Always before us hangs the Cross with the patient Saviour upon it, — it is the model of our lives. We must nail down all personal desires. We must crucify ourselves. It is hard! — sometimes! — but” — and here Douay’s voice sank to a sudden tenderness— “when the troubles of youth are past, — when we can look back upon what we thought was so cruel to miss, — we find that we have not lost so much as we have gained!”

  Something struggled in Everton’s soul akin to a passionate pain and clamorous protest, — was this man, this priest of a rival creed, nearer the truth of Christianity than he? And was Christianity itself such an arbitrary law after all that it forbade the love of woman? Young Hadley’s words came back upon his memory— “Love, I say! — love! — it’s what the Lord Christ never knew — it’s what He missed — love for a woman! — and there He fails to be our brother in sorrow!” And it seemed to him that the face of Jacynth gleamed like a mirage in the air and vanished.

  “You speak with a very admirable resignation to the rule of your Church,” — he said, then— “But, if Science is a reflex of Divine Law (as we are bound to think it is), then Science shows us that the union of sexes is the cause of their continuance. Without love and marriage mankind would cease to be. The birds and beasts, the insects and the flowers mate and are happy in mating, — they are God’s creations and serve Him without complaint or disobedience, and surely He cares for them! It is we who complain, — it is we who disobey, — we fight against law and would upset it if we could, by training ourselves to live unnatural lives, and thinking that we serve God best by opposing ourselves to His visible governance. I do not agree with you that marriage unfits a man for devotion to the service of Christ. On the contrary, I believe it strengthens him.”

  Douay smiled.

  “It is well for you that you think so,” — he said— “And in these matters we must not argue too far. The opinion is different, but the woman is always the same! Yes— ‘the woman is always the mischief!” Here his smile broadened into a laugh. “Imagine! If there had been no woman in the case, this good England would still have been Catholique! But the nation ran away from the Pope all because the so affectionate Henry the Eighth fell in love with pretty Anne Boleyn! So much will hang on a leetle thread. No Anne Boleyn — no Church Protestant!”

  “True!” and a sudden warmth of feeling transfigured Everton’s pale, intellectual face with a light as though some fiery thought had inwardly illumined it— “A woman is at the core of every great reform in the world of men. We may affect to despise women and make light of their power, — we may even in the fullness of our masculine self-sufficiency strive to avoid them as obstacles in the progress of our own well-being — but they conquer in the end! You say ‘No Anne Boleyn, no Church Protestant.’ My thoughts go further, — and I say with all reverence: No Virgin Mary, no Christ!”

  Douay gave him a quick, surprised look.

  “A la bonheur!” he exclaimed— “We agree so far! Let us now cease to be serious! Let us talk of something droll — of this village, for instance — this leetle parish for which you are too big!”

  “Too big?” echoed Everton— “Not I!” and he sighed involuntarily— “I’m afraid I’m too small and too weak altogether to
manage even this poor handful of souls. I feel my limitations bitterly. You see there’s not much to be done in a place where the love of drink is the people’s chief passion. The Church and the public-house are rivals for the favor of Shadbrook, and naturally the stronger wins.”

  “And the stronger is?” — hinted Douay.

  “Can you ask? The public-house, of course!”

  The little priest was silent, and took one or two turns up and down the study, with his hands clasped in meditative fashion behind his back. And presently Everton found himself telling the story of the Kiernans, though he carefully refrained from mentioning the share his wife had unintentionally taken in its development. Douay listened with keen and attentive interest. At the end of the narration he gave an eloquent gesture with his shoulders and hands.

  “But then the man is a murderer!” he exclaimed— “he has killed his wife! Must there not be an inquiry and a punishment?”

  Everton’s eyes grew sadly troubled.

  “Well, the doctor does not think the poor woman died of the physical injuries her husband inflicted on her,” — he said— “It was worry that did the mischief. She was getting well — till — till she heard about the gill in the case—”

  “Ah, the girl!” and Douay nodded— “The girl to whom the husband made love! It was a pity she heard of that at all! Some idle gossiping neighbor told her, I suppose?” Everton did not answer for a moment. His face flushed and he turned away.

  “It was quite by accident she heard of it,” — he said evasively, “All the village knew — so I understand; — it seems that I was the only one kept in the dark.”

  Douay looked at him curiously, with a slight smile.

  “Ah! They were afraid to tell you! You look too good to hear such naughty tales! Now there is the advantage of the Catholique confession! In my Church this wicked, pretty leetle girl would have told me all her sins — and the big drunkard would have come to me to ask forgiveness — and I should have frightened him! — oh yes, indeed!” Then, noting Everton’s troubled countenance, he went up to him and patted him kindly on the arm. “Do not worry yourself, Mistaire Everton! This thing will arrange itself. It is unpleasant — it is a matter of the drink. Always the drink! I do not understand this England. Drink rules the people, and the makers of drink sit in the House of Parliament! Yet so much talk “about temperance! And Government permits the poisoning of all the liquor! It is beyond me to comprehend. How wise your Shak-es-peare was! How wise when he wrote that if Hamlet should be sent to England, his madness would not be noticed as all the people there were as mad as he! So true! — true to this day!”

  Everton smiled, glad of the turn in the conversation, for he did not wish to say much about Jacynth Miller. He felt that he could hardly trust himself on that subject without betraying more irritation than would seem necessary. He entered quickly into generalities, — pressed Douay to stay to luncheon — an invitation which was readily accepted, — and set about making his guest feel thoroughly at home. There was indeed something novel and pleasant to him in the society of a man who, though his theories were those of a rival creed, was at any rate of a higher order of intellect than any of the provincial nonentities he had been compelled to meet for the past three years in and around Shadbrook, and he determined to make the most of it. A good long talk with a well-educated and intelligent individual of his own sex was a mental stimulus, and one that he was not often privileged to enjoy. The only ‘gentleman’ in the neighborhood, so far as birth and education went, was the patron of the living, Mr. Hazlitt; the ‘resident’ squire who was scarcely ever in residence, — and he, though good-natured and kind-hearted, was profoundly and unutterably dull, such brains as he had being concentrated on hunting, which he pronounced ‘huntin’,’ and his outlook on the world being limited to the ‘points’ of a horse. Compared to him Sebastien Douay was a wit and philosopher combined — and that he was also a Roman Catholic priest, bent on fulfilling the commands of his Church by making as many converts as possible, was, to Everton, quite immaterial. For, if there was one sure foothold on which he, as a minister of the Church of England stood firmly, it was the severe simplicity of his form of faith. He could never understand any ornate or superstitious ritual as being possible to sane and thinking men, — and the Apologia of Newman for his retrogression to Rome, had always struck him as one of the most lamentable episodes in Church history, which could only be set down to the working of an over-excitable imagination and a want of logical balance in the brain. To voluntarily sacrifice the free, God-given force of reason for mere ecclesiastical slavery must ever be the act of a weak mind.

  Therefore, he was quite at his ease with his new friend, who, closely observant of him and taking pains to draw him out, soon discovered that under his quiet, self-contained manner, which, by those who knew him not was considered ‘soft’ when it was merely unassuming, there was a rare and brilliant nature, quick to grasp close subtleties of thought and translate them into clear evidence, — and that this nature was strengthened by a singular force of will, all the more powerful because it was so seldom exercised. Douay was not a Jesuit for nothing. He too was a clever man, and had been trained to recognize cleverness in others, which is one of the most valuable characteristics of diplomacy. And it was after a discussion on the laxity of the age in religious matters, that he suddenly put the very question which Everton, whenever it occurred to himself, considered the prompting of a demon:

  “Are you going to stay all your life in Shadbrook, Mistaire Everton?”

  The color rushed to Everton’s brows, and his eyes lighted up with a smile.

  “Why do you ask?”

  Douay shrugged his shoulders.

  “It is a narrow circle — and you should have wide influence!”

  “If one cannot fill a small place successfully — and I am sure I cannot, — what should one do with a large?” and Everton looked at him questioningly— “You yourself are content with a mere handful of the ‘faithful’!”

  “Ah! — but I am sure of change!” — said Douay— “I may be the cure of the tin chapelle for four — five years — but scarcely longer. Rome plays a big game of chess with the world — and she is always moving her leetle pawns. When the monastery is built—”

  “Oh, there is to be a monastery, is there?”

  “Mais, oui! Of course! What would you? The French fathers are turned out of France — they come naturally to England. They will poss-eebly buy the so ugly brewery of Mistaire Minchin in time, when the brewing of the beer makes failure!” He laughed — then went on— “Yes — there will be a monastery on the Cotswolds — and in time — a population Catholique. I begin that. When I have done my leetle task, I go elsewhere. It is but a turn of the wheel. There were monasteries all over England once — there will be again. No one puts any stop in their way — and where there is land to be sold — well! — the Church has money!”

  Everton was silent for a moment. Then he said:

  “Perhaps, after all, it is a good thing that this should happen. Rome will gather together the credulous, the superstitious — and — pardon my frankness! — the cowardly, into her fold, — men and women who are afraid of themselves and their own abominable vices, — who would rather be slaves than free — who half believe in Hell, and think payment to the Church will buy their escape from eternal torment — and we shall see them as they are — we shall know them!”

  Douay smiled, and raised his eyebrows expressively.

  “You are bold, mon ami! So bold that I like you! — I almost love you! For you are true — true to your own conviction! — and you are not afraid of offending one person or many persons — that is a magnificent courage to which I bow my soul!”

  Everton flushed warmly, conscious that his impulsive words might have justly given his guest cause for annoyance.

  “I beg your pardon!” he said, frankly and earnestly— “For the moment I forgot myself. Forgive my brusque speech! — it ought never to have been said to a m
inister of the Church of Rome. I did not mean to be discourteous, I assure you! — but you seem so broad-minded, and so free from the trammels of superstition yourself, that you unconsciously led me to express thoughts, which in your presence were better left unuttered.”

  He broke off, visibly embarrassed.

  “Allons donc!” exclaimed Douay, good-naturedly— “I see that not at all! Every man’s opinion is interesting to me, and I am the last person to take offense at hearing it. And as for broad mind — ah oui! — you will soon know that is very large in me! I take within my brain all creeds — all struggles for the good — all sorrows — all difficulties — and I say, alas! — poor men and poor women! So slow to learn — so hard to live — so quick to die! The great God cannot be angry long with these leetle sad mortals! It is all so trifling! See! They are born and they know not why — they feel afraid and yet they hope — they do the wrong thing because they are not taught the right one — they cry a little and pray a little like poor children who are naughty — their good Father give them a leetle whipping and put them to bed in the churchyard — it is finish! — good-night! — and then they wake up in the bright morning of Heaven, fresh and happy and pardoned — is it not so? Your Church and mine both teach that pretty lesson — and we shall never do better, mon ami! — with all the education and all the science, we shall never do better!”

  His keen blue-gray eyes twinkled kindly, and there was a suspicion of moisture in them.

  “I am sorry for everything,” he went on— “and sorry for everybody! One church is as useful as another — and though I know the stupidites of mine as well as I know the stupidities of yours, I say it matters not. For all churches must move one way, — the way that shall give hope to the hopeless, that shall comfort the good, and frighten the bad, and that shall help the poor weak ones — for the strong can stand alone.”

  “Can any one, however strong, stand alone?” queried Everton.

  Douay looked full at him.

  “You can! And you will!”