"No," said Manuel, answering for himself, "I have no Church."
"No Church!" exclaimed Moretti, "His Eminence must educate you, boy.
You must be received."
"Yes," said Manuel, raising his eyes, and fixing them full on Moretti, "I must be received! I need education to understand the Church. And so,--for me to be received might be difficult!"
XVI.
As he thus spoke, slowly and with an exquisite softness, something in his voice, manner, or words aroused a sudden and violent antipathy in Moretti"s mind. He became curiously annoyed, without any possible cause, and out of his annoyance answered roughly.
"Ignorance is always difficult to deal with," he said, "But if it is not accompanied by self-will or obstinacy--(and boys of your age are apt to be self-willed and obstinate)--then much can be done. The Church has infinite patience even with refractory sinners."
"Has it?" asked Manuel simply, and his clear eyes, turning slowly towards Vergniaud and his son, rested there a moment, and then came back to fix the same steady look upon Moretti"s face. Not another word did he say,--but Moretti flushed darkly, and anon grew very pale.
Restraining his emotions however by an effort, he addressed himself with cold formality once more to the Abbe.
"You have no explanation then to offer to His Holiness, beyond what you have already said?"
"None!" replied Vergniaud steadily. "The reasons for my conduct I think are sufficiently vital and earnest to be easily understood."
"And your Eminence has nothing more to say on this matter?" pursued Moretti, turning to the Cardinal.
"Nothing, my son! But I would urge that the Holy Father should extend his pardon to the offenders, the more so as one of them is on the verge of that land where we "go hence and are no more seen.""
Moretti"s eyelids quivered, and his lips drew together in a hard and cruel line.
"I will a.s.suredly represent your wishes to His Holiness," he replied, "But I doubt whether they will meet with so much approval as surprise and regret. I have the honour to wish your Eminence farewell!"
"Farewell, my son!" said the Cardinal mildly, "Benedicite!"
Moretti bent down, as custom forced him to do, under the gently uttered blessing, and the extended thin white hand that signed the cross above him. Then with a furtive under-glance at Manuel, whose quiet and contemplative observation of him greatly vexed and disturbed his composure, he left the room.
There was a short silence. Then Abbe Vergniaud, somewhat hesitatingly, approached Bonpre.
"I much fear, my dear friend, that all this means unpleasantness for you at the Vatican," he said, "And I sincerely grieve to be the means of bringing you into any trouble."
"Nay, there should be no trouble," said Bonpre quietly, "Nothing has happened which should really cause me any perplexity--on the contrary, events have arranged themselves so that there shall be no obstacle in the way of speaking my mind. I have journeyed far from my diocese to study and to discover for myself the various phases of opinion on religious matters in these days, and I am steadily learning much as I go. I regret nothing, and would have nothing altered,--for I am perfectly confident that in all the things I meet, or may have to consider, my Master is my Guide. All is well wherever we hear His Voice;--all things work for the best when we are able to perceive His command clearly, and have strength and resolution enough to forsake our sins and follow Him."
As he spoke, a tranquil smile brightened his venerable features, and seeing the fine small hand of Manuel resting on his chair, he laid his own wrinkled palm over it and clasped it tenderly. Cyrillon Vergniaud, moved by a quick impulse, suddenly advanced towards him.
"Monseigneur," he said, with unaffected deference, "You are much more than a Cardinal,--you are a good and honest man! And that you serve Christ purely is plainly evidenced in your look and bearing. Do me one favour! Extend your pardon to me for my almost committed crime of to-day,--and give me your blessing! I will try to be worthy of it!"
The Cardinal was silent for a few minutes looking at him earnestly.
"My blessing is of small value," he said, "And yet I do not think you would ask it for mere mockery of an old man"s faith. I should like,--"
here he paused--then slowly went on again, "I should like to say a few words to you if I might--to ask you one or two questions concerning yourself--"
"Ask anything you please, Monseigneur," replied Cyrillon, "I will answer you frankly and fully. I have never had any mysteries in my life save one,--that of my birth, which up till to day was a stigma and a drawback;--but now, I feel I may be proud of my father. A man who sacrifices his entire social reputation and position to make amends for a wrong done to the innocent is worthy of honour."
"I grant it!" said the Cardinal, "But you yourself--why have you made a name which is like a firebrand to start a conflagration of discord in Europe?--why do you use your gifts of language and expression to awaken a national danger which even the strongest Government may find itself unable to stand against? I do not blame you till I hear,--till I know;--but your writings,--your appeals for truth in all things,--are like loud clarion blasts which may awaken more evil than good."
"Monseigneur, the evil is not of my making,--it exists!" replied Cyrillon, "My name, my writings,--are only as a spark from the huge smouldering fire of religious discontent in the world. If it were not MY name it would be another"s. If _I_ did not write or speak, someone else would write and speak--perhaps better--perhaps not so well. At any rate I am sincere in my convictions, and write from the fulness of the heart. I do not care for money--I make none at all by literature,--but I earn enough by my labour in the fields to keep me in food and lodging. I have no desire for fame,--except in so far as my name may serve as an encouragement and help to others. If you care to hear my story--"
"I should appreciate your confidence greatly," said the Cardinal earnestly, "The Fates have made you a leading spirit of the time,--it would interest me to know your thoughts and theories. But if you would prefer not to speak--"
"I generally prefer not to speak," replied Cyrillon, "But to-day is one of open confession,--and I think too that it is sometimes advisable for men of the Church to understand and enter into the minds of those who are outside the Church,--who will have no Church,--not from disobedience or insubordination, but simply because they do not find G.o.d or Christ in that inst.i.tution as it at present exists. And nowadays we are seeking for G.o.d strenuously and pa.s.sionately! We have found Him too in places where the Church a.s.sured us He was not and could not be."
"Is there any portion of life where G.o.d is not?" asked Manuel gently.
Cyrillon"s dark eyes softened as he met the boy"s glance.
"No, dear child!--truly there is not,--but the priests do nothing to maintain or to prove that," he replied; "and the more the world lifts itself higher and higher into the light, the more we shall perceive G.o.d, and the less we will permit anything to intervene between ourselves and Him. But you are too young to understand--"
"No, not at all too young to understand!" answered Manuel, "Not at all too young to understand that G.o.d is love, and pardon, and patience;--and that wheresoever men are intolerant, uncharitable, and bigoted, there they straightway depart from G.o.d and know Him not at all."
"Truly that is how I understand Christianity," said Cyrillon, "But for so simple and plain a perception of duty one is called atheist and socialist, and one"s opinions are branded as dangerous to the community. Truth is dangerous, I know--but why?"
"Would that not take a century to explain?" said the silvery voice of the Princesse D"Agramont, who entered with Angela at that moment, and made her deep obeisance before the Cardinal, glancing inquisitively as she did so at Manuel who still stood resting against the prelate"s chair, "Pardon our abrupt appearance, Monseigneur, but Angela and I are moved by the spirit of curiosity!--and if we are swept out of the Church like straws before the wind for our impertinence, we care not!
Monsignor Moretti has just left the house, wrapt up in his wrath like a bird of prey in a thunder-cloud, muttering menaces against "Gys Grandit" the Socialist writer. Now what in the world has Gys Grandit to do with him or with us? Salut, cher Abbe!"--and she gave Vergniaud her hand with charming friendliness; "I came here really to see you, and place the Chateau D"Agramont at your disposal, while I am away pa.s.sing the winter in Italy. Pray make yourself at home there--and your son also . . ."
"Madame," said the Abbe, profoundly touched by the sincerity of her manner, and by the evident cordiality of her intention, "I thank you from my heart for your friendship at this moment when friendship is most needed! But I feel I ought not to cast the shadow of my presence on your house under such circ.u.mstances--and as for my son--it would certainly be unwise for you to extend your gracious hospitality to him . . . he is my son--yes truly!--and I acknowledge him as such; but he is also another person of his own making--Gys Grandit!"
Angela Sovrani gave a slight cry, and a wave of colour flushed her face,--the Princesse stood amazed.
"Gys Grandit!" she echoed in a low tone, "And Vergniaud"s son! Grand Dieu! Is it possible!" Then advancing, she extended both her hands to Cyrillon, "Monsieur, accept my homage! You have a supreme genius,--and with it you command more than one-half of the thoughts of France!"
Cyrillon took her hands,--lightly pressed, and released them.
"Madame, you are too generous!"
But even while he exchanged these courtesies with her, his eyes were fixed on Angela Sovrani, who, moving close to her uncle"s chair, had folded her hands upon its sculptured edge and now stood beside it, a graceful nymph-like figure of statuesque repose. But her breath came and went quickly, and her face was very pale.
"No wonder Monsignor Moretti was so exceedingly angry," resumed the Princesse D"Agramont with a smile, "I understand the position now. It is a truly remarkable one. Monseigneur," this with a profound reverence to the Cardinal, "you have found it difficult to be umpire in the discussion."
"The discussion was not mine," said the Cardinal slowly, "But the cause of the trouble is a point which affects many,--and I am one of those who desire to hear all before I presume to judge one. I have asked the son of my old friend Vergniaud to tell me what led him to make his a.s.sumed name one of such terror and confusion in the world; he is but six-and-twenty, and yet . . ."
"And yet people talk much of me you would say, Monseigneur," said Cyrillon, a touch of scorn lighting up his fine eyes, "True, and it is easy to be talked of. That is nothing, I do not wish for that, except in so far as it helps me to attain my ambition."
"And that ambition is?" queried the Princesse.
"To lead!" answered Cyrillon with a pa.s.sionate gesture, "To gather the straying thoughts of men into one burning focus--and turn THAT fire on the world!"
They were all silent for a minute--then the Princesse D"Agramont spoke again--
"But--Pardon me! Then you were about to destroy all your own chances of the future in your wild impulse of this morning?"
"Oh, Madame, it was no wild impulse! When a man takes an oath by the side of a dead woman, and that woman his mother, he generally means to keep it! And I most resolutely meant to kill my father and make of myself a parricide. But I considered my mother had been murdered too--socially and morally--and I judged my vengeance just. If it had not been for the boy there--" and he glanced at Manuel, "I should certainly have fulfilled my intention."