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 Dawn OF All 
 
 Robert Hugh Benson 
 
DUKE UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 The Glenn Negley Collection 
 of Utopian Literature 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT HUGH BENSON 
 
 AUTHOR OF "CHRIST IN THE CHURCH," "NONE OTHER 
 
 GODS," "A WINNOWING, * "THE NECROMANCERS," 
 
 "THE CONVENTIONALISTS," ETC. 
 
 ST. LOUIS, MO., 1911 
 Published by B. Herder 
 
 17 South Broadway 
 
Copyright, 191 1, by Joseph Gummersbach 
 
 -BECKTOLD — 
 
 PRINTING AND BOOK MFG. CO. 
 ST. LOUIS. MO. 
 
RBR 
 
 »*/ 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 TN a former book, called Lord of the World, I 
 ^ attempted to sketch the kind of developments a 
 hundred years hence which, I thought, might reason- 
 ably be expected if the present lines of what is 
 called '' modern thought " were only prolonged far 
 enough; and I was infonned repeatedly that the ef- 
 fect of the book was exceedingly depressing and 
 discouraging to optimistic Christians. In the pres- 
 ent book I am attempting — also in parable form — ■ 
 not in the least to withdraw anything that I said 
 in the former, but to follow up the other lines in- 
 stead, and to sketch — again in parable — the kind 
 of developments about sixty years hence which, I 
 think, may reasonably be expected should the op- 
 posite process begin, and ancient thought (which has 
 stood the test of centuries, and is, in a very remark- 
 able manner, being " rediscovered " by persons even 
 more modern than modernists) be prolonged in- 
 stead. We are told occasionally by moralists that 
 we live in very critical times, by which they mean 
 that they are not sure whether their own side will 
 win or not. In that sense no times can ever be 
 critical to Catholics, since Catholics are never in any 
 
PREFACE 
 
 kind of doubt as to whether or no their side will 
 win. But from another point of view every period 
 is a critical period, since every period has within 
 itself the conflict of two irreconcilable forces. It 
 has been for the sake of tracing out the kind of ef- 
 fects that, it seemed to me, each side would experi- 
 ence in turn, should the other, at any rate for a 
 while, become dominant, that I have written these 
 two books. 
 
 ROBERT HUGH BENSON. 
 Rome, Lent, ipii. 
 
PART I 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 /'GRADUALLY memory and consciousness once 
 ^'^ more reasserted themselves, and he became 
 aware that he was lying in bed. But this w^as a 
 sad process of intense mental effort, and w^as as 
 laboriously and logically built up of premises and 
 deductions as were his theological theses learned 
 twenty years before in his seminary. There was 
 the sheet below his chin; there was a red coverlet 
 (seen at first as a blood-colored landscape of hills 
 and valleys) ; there was a ceiling overhead, at first as 
 remote as the vault of heaven. 
 
 Then, little by little, the confused roaring in his 
 ears sank to a murmur. It had been just now as 
 the sound of brazen hammers clanging in rever- 
 berating caves, the rolling of wheels, the tramp of 
 countless myriads of men. But it had become now 
 a soothing murmur, not unlike the coming in of a 
 tide at the foot of high cliffs — just one gentle con- 
 tinuous note, overlaid with light, shrill sounds. 
 This too required long argument and reasoning be- 
 
 I 
 
2 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 fore any conclusion could be reached; but it was 
 attained at last, and he became certain that he lay 
 somewhere within sound of busy streets. Then 
 rashly he leapt to the belief that he must be in his 
 own lodgings in Bloomsbury ; but another long slow 
 stare upwards showed him that the white ceiling was 
 too far away. 
 
 The effort of thought seemed too much for him; 
 it gave him a sense of inexplicable discomfort. He 
 determined to think no more, for fear that the noises 
 should roar again to the crash of hammers in his 
 hollow head. . . . 
 
 He was next conscious of a pressure on his lips, 
 and a kind of shadow of a taste of something. But 
 it was no more than a shadow: it was as if he were 
 w^atching someone else drink and perceiving some- 
 one else to swallow. . . . Then with a rush 
 the ceiling came back into view : he w^as aware that 
 he was lying in bed under a red coverlet; that the 
 room was large and airy above him ; and that two 
 persons, a doctor in white and a nurse, were watch- 
 ing him. He rested in that knowledge for a long 
 time, w^atching memory reassert itself. Detail after 
 detail sprang into view : farther and farther back 
 into his experience, far down into the .childhood he 
 had forgotten. He remembered now who he was, 
 his story, his friends, his life up to a certain blank 
 day or set of days, between him and which there 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 3 
 
 was nothing. Then he saw the faces again, and it 
 occurred to him, with a flash as of illumination, to 
 ask. So he began to ask; and he considered care- 
 fully each answer, turning it over and reflecting 
 upon it with what seemed to him an amazing degree 
 of concentration. 
 
 " So I am in Westminster Hospital," he consid- 
 ered. " That is extraordinarily interesting and af- 
 fecting. I have often seen the outside of it. It 
 is of discolored brick. And I have been here 
 . . . how long? how long, did they say? Oh! 
 that is a long time. Five days ! And wdiat in the 
 world can have happened to my work? They will 
 be looking out for me in the Museum. How can 
 Dr. Waterman's history get on without me? I 
 must see about that at once. He'll understand that 
 it's not my fault. . . . 
 
 "What's that? I mustn't trouble myself about 
 that! But — Oh! Dr. Waterman has been here, 
 has he? That's very kind — very kind and 
 thoughtful indeed. And I'm to take my time, am 
 I? Very well. Please thank Dr. Waterman for 
 his kindness and his thoughtfulness in inquiring. 
 . . . And tell him I'll be with him again in a 
 day or two at any rate. . . . Oh ! tell him that 
 he'll find the references to the thirteenth-century 
 papers in the black notebook — the thick one — on 
 the right of the fireplace. They're all verified. 
 
4 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 Thank you. Thank you very much. . . . And 
 . . . and ... by the way . . . just 
 tell him I'm not sure yet about the Piccolomini mat- 
 ter. . . . What's that ? I'm not to trouble my- 
 self? ... But ... Oh! very well. 
 Thank you. . . . Thank you very much." 
 
 There followed a long pause. He was thinking 
 still very hard about the thirteenth-century Popes. 
 It was really very tiresome that he could not ex- 
 plain to Dr. AVaterman himself. He was certain 
 that some of the pages in his thick black notebook 
 were loose; and how terrible it would be if the book 
 were taken out carelessly, and some of the pages 
 fell into the fire. They easily might! And then 
 there'd be all the work, to do again. . . . And 
 that would mean weeks and weeks. 
 
 Then there came a grave, quiet voice of a woman 
 speaking in his ear ; but for a long time he could not 
 understand. He wished it would let him alone. 
 He wanted to think about the Popes. He tried 
 nodding and murmuring a general sort of assent, as 
 if he wished to go to sleep; but it was useless: the 
 voice w^ent on and on. And then suddenly he un- 
 derstood, and a kind of fury seized him. 
 
 How did they know he had once been a priest? 
 Spying and badgering, as usual! . . . No: he 
 did not want a priest sent for. He was not a priest 
 any more ; not even a Catholic. It was all lies — 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 5 
 
 lies from the beginning to the end — all that they 
 had taught him in the seminary. It was all lies! 
 There ! Was that plain enough ? . . . 
 
 Ah ! why would not the voice be quiet ? . . . 
 He was in great danger, was he? He would be un- 
 conscious again soon, would he? Well, he didn't 
 know what they meant by that ; but what had it to 
 do with him? No : he did not want a priest. Was 
 that clear enough? ... He was perfectly 
 clear-headed ; he knew what he was saying. . . . 
 Yes ; even if he were in great danger . . . 
 even if he were practically certain to die. That, by 
 the way, was impossible; because he had to finish 
 the notes for Dr. Waterman's new History of the 
 Popes; and it would take months. Anyhow, he 
 didn't want a priest. He knew all about that: he 
 had faced it all, and he wasn't afraid. Science had 
 knocked all that religious nonsense on the head. 
 There wasn't any religion. All religions were the 
 same. There wasn't any truth in any of them. 
 Physical science had settled one-half of the matter, 
 and psychology the other half. It was all accounted 
 for. So he didn't want a priest — anyhow. Damn 
 priests! There! would they let him alone after 
 that? . . . 
 
 And now as to the Piccolomini affair. It was 
 certain that when ^neas was first raised to the 
 Sacred College . . . 
 
6 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 Why . . . what was happening to the ceil- 
 ing? How could he attend to ^neas while the ceil- 
 ing behaved like that? He had no idea that ceil- 
 ings in the Westminster Hospital could go up like 
 lifts. How very ingenious! It must be to give 
 him more air. Certainly he wanted more air. 
 . . . The walls too. . . . Ought not they 
 also to revolve? They could change the whole air 
 in the room in a moment. What an extraordinarily 
 ingenious. . . . Ah ! and he wanted it. . . . 
 He wanted more air. . . . Why don't those 
 doctors know their business better? . . . 
 What was the good of catching hold of him like 
 that? . . . He wanted air . . . more air. 
 . . . He must get to the window ! . . . Air 
 . . . air! . . . 
 
T 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 (I) 
 ■HE first objects of which he became aware 
 were his own hands clasped on his lap be- 
 fore him, and the cloth cuffs from which they 
 emerged; and it was these latter that puzzled him. 
 So engrossed was he, that at first he could not pay 
 attention to the strange sounds in the air about him ; 
 for these cuffs, though black, were marked at their 
 upper edges with a purple-red line such as prelates 
 wear. He mechanically turned the backs of his 
 hands upwards ; but there was no ring on his finger. 
 Then he lifted his eyes and looked. 
 
 He was seated on some kind of raised chair be- 
 neath a canopy. A carpet ran down over a couple 
 of steps beneath his feet, and beyond stood the 
 backs of a company of ecclesiastics — secular priests 
 in cotta, cassock, and biretta, with three or four 
 bare-footed Franciscans and a couple of Benedic- 
 tines. Ten yards away there was a temporary pul- 
 pit with a back and a sounding-board beneath the 
 open sky; and in it was the tall figure of a young 
 
 7 
 
8 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 friar, preaching, it seemed, with extraordinary fer- 
 vor. Around the pulpit, beyond it, and on all sides 
 to an immense distance, so far as he could see, 
 stretched the heads of an incalculable multitude, 
 dead silent, and beyond them again trees, green 
 against a blue summer sky. 
 
 He looked on all this, but it meant nothing to 
 him. It fitted in nowhere with his experience; he 
 knew neither where he was, nor at what he was as- 
 sisting, nor who these people were, nor who the 
 friar was, nor who he was himself. He simply 
 looked at his surroundings, then back at his hands 
 and down his figure. 
 
 He gained no knowledge there, for he was dressed 
 as he had never been dressed before. His caped 
 cassock was black, with purple buttons and a purple 
 cincture. He noticed that his shoes shone with gold 
 buckles ; he glanced at his breast, but no cross hung 
 there. He took off his biretta, nervously, lest some- 
 one should notice, and perceived that it was black 
 with a purple tassel. He was dressed then, it 
 seemed, in the costume of a Domestic Prelate. He 
 put on his biretta again. 
 
 Then he closed his eyes and tried to think; but 
 he could remember nothing. There was, it seemed, 
 no continuity anywhere. But it suddenly struck 
 him that if he knew that he was a Domestic Prelate, 
 and if he could recognize a Franciscan, he must 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 9 
 
 have seen those phenomena before. Where? 
 When? 
 
 Little pictures began to form before him as a 
 result of his intense mental effort, but they were 
 far away and minute, like figures seen through the 
 wrong end of a telescope; and they afforded no ex- 
 planation. But, as he bent his whole mind upon it, 
 he remembered that he had been a priest — he had 
 distinct memories of saying mass. But he could 
 not remember where or when; he could not even 
 remember his own name. 
 
 This last horror struck him alert again. He did 
 not know who he was. He opened his eyes widely, 
 terrified, and caught the eye of an old priest in 
 cotta and cassock who was looking back at him over 
 his shoulder. Something in the frightened face 
 must have disturbed the old man, for he detached 
 himself from the group and came up the two steps 
 to his side. 
 
 ''What is it, Monsignor?" he whispered. 
 
 ''I am ill . . . I am ill . . . father," 
 he stammered. 
 
 The priest looked at him doubtfully for an in- 
 stant. 
 
 " Can you ... can you hold out for a lit- 
 tle ? The sermon must be nearly — " 
 
 Then the other recovered. He understood that 
 at whatever cost he must not attract attention. 
 
lo THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 He nodded sharply. 
 
 " Yes, I can hold out, father; if he isn't too long. 
 But you must take me home afterwards." 
 
 The priest still looked at him doubtfully. 
 
 " Go back to your place, father. I'm all right. 
 Don't attract attention. Only come to me after- 
 wards." 
 
 The priest went back, but he still glanced at him 
 once or twice. 
 
 Then the man who did not know himself set his 
 teeth and resolved to remember. The thing was 
 too absurd. He said to himself he would begin by 
 identifying where he was. li he knew so much as 
 to his own position and the dresses of those priests, 
 his memory could not be wholly gone. 
 
 In front of him and to the right there w^ere trees, 
 beyond the heads of the crowd. There was some- 
 thing vaguely familiar to him about the arrange- 
 ment of these, but not enough to tell him anything. 
 He craned forward and stared as far to the right 
 as he could. There were more trees. Then to the 
 left; and here, for the first time, he caught sight 
 of buildings. But these seemed very odd buildings 
 — neither houses nor arches — but something be- 
 tween the two. They were of the nature of an 
 elaborate gateway. 
 
 And then in a flash he recognized where he was. 
 He was sitting, under this canopy, just to the right 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL il 
 
 as one enters through Hyde Park Corner; these 
 trees were the trees of the Park; that open space in 
 front was the beginning of Rotten Row ; and Some- 
 thing Lane — Park Lane — (that was it!) — was 
 behind him. 
 
 Impressions and questions crowded upon him 
 quickly now — yet in none of them was there a hint 
 as to how he got here, nor who he was, nor what in 
 the world was going on. This friar! What was 
 he doing, preaching in Hyde Park ? It was ridicu- 
 lous — ridiculous and very dangerous. It would 
 cause trouble. 
 
 He leaned forward to listen, as the friar with a 
 wide gesture swept his hand round the horizon. 
 
 "Brethren," he cried, "look round you! Fifty 
 years ago this was a Protestant country, and the 
 Church of God a sect among the sects. And to- 
 day — to-day God is vindicated and the truth is 
 known. Fifty years ago we were but a handful 
 among the thousands that knew not God, and to- 
 day we rule the world. ' Son of man, can these 
 dry bones live? ' So cried the voice of God to the 
 prophet. And behold! they stood up upon their 
 feet, an exceeding great army. If then He has 
 done such things for us, what shall He not do for 
 those for whom I speak? Yet he works through 
 man. *And shall they hear without a preacher?' 
 
 Do you see to it then that there are not wanting 
 2 
 
12 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 laborers in that vineyard of which you have heard. 
 Already the grapes hang ready to pluck, and it is 
 but we that are wanting. . . . Send forth then 
 laborers into My vineyard, cries the Lord of all." 
 
 The words were ill-chosen and commonplace 
 enough, and uttered in an accent indefinably strange 
 to the bewildered listener, but the force of the man 
 was tremendous, as he sent out his personality over 
 the enormous crowd, on that high vibrant voice that 
 controlled, it seemed, even those on the outskirts far 
 up the woods on either side. Then with a swift sign 
 of the cross, answered generally by those about the 
 pulpit, he ended his sermon and disappeared down 
 the steps, and a great murmur of talk began. 
 
 But what in the world was it all about, won- 
 dered the man under the canopy. What was this 
 vineyard? and why did he appeal to English people 
 in such words as these? Every one knew that the 
 Catholic Church was but a handful still in this coun- 
 try. Certainly, progress had been made, but 
 
 He broke off his meditations as he saw the group 
 of ecclesiastics coming towards him, and noticed 
 that on all sides the crowd was beginning to dis- 
 perse. He gripped the arms of his chair fiercely, 
 trying to gain self-command. He must not make 
 a fool of himself before all these people, he must be 
 discreet and say as little as possible. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 13 
 
 But there was no great need for caution at pres- 
 ent. The old priest who had spoken to him before 
 stepped a little in advance of the rest, and turning, 
 said a low sentence or two to the Benedictines ; and 
 the group stopped, though one or two still eyed, it 
 seemed, with sympathy, the man who awaited him. 
 Then the priest came up alone and put his hand on 
 the arm of the chair. 
 
 " Come out this way," he whispered. " There's 
 a path behind, Monsignor, and I've sent orders for 
 the car to be there." 
 
 The man rose obediently (he could do nothing 
 else), passed down the steps and behind the canopy. 
 A couple of police stood there in the familiar old 
 uniform, and these drew themselves up and saluted. 
 They went on down the little pathway and out 
 through a side-gate. Here again the crowd was tre- 
 mendous, but barriers kept them away, and the two 
 passed on together across the pavement, saluted by 
 half a dozen men who were pressed against the bar- 
 riers — (it was here, for the first time, that the be- 
 wildered man noticed that the dresses seemed alto- 
 gether unfamiliar) — and up to a car of a peculiar 
 and unknown shape, that waited in the roadway, 
 with a bare-headed servant, in some strange purple 
 livery, holding the door open. 
 
 " After you, Monsignor," said the old priest. 
 
 The other stepped in and sat down. The priest 
 
14 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 hesitated for an instant, and then leaned forward 
 into the car. 
 
 " You have an appointment in Dean's Yard, Mon- 
 signor, you remember. It's important, you know. 
 Are you too ill ? " 
 
 '* I can't, ... I can't, . . ." stammered 
 the man. 
 
 " Well, at least, we can go round that way. I 
 think we ought, you know. I can go in and see him 
 for you, if you wish; and we can at any rate leave 
 the papers." 
 
 " Anything, anything. Very well." 
 
 The priest got in instantly; the door closed; and 
 the next moment, through crowds, held back by the 
 police, the great car, with no driver visible in front, 
 through the clear-glass windows, moved off south- 
 ward. 
 
 (") 
 
 It was a moment before either spoke. The old 
 priest broke the silence. He was a gentle-faced old 
 man, not unlike a very shrewd and wide-awake dor- 
 mouse; and his white hair stood out in a mass be- 
 neath his biretta. But the words he used were 
 unintelligible, though not altogether unfamiliar. 
 
 " I ... I don't understand, father," stam- 
 mered the man. 
 
 The priest looked at him sharply. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 15 
 
 "I was saying," he said slowly and distinctly, 
 " I was saying that you looked very well, and I was 
 asking you what was the matter." 
 
 The other was silent a moment. How to explain 
 the thing! . . . Then he determined on mak- 
 ing a clean breast of it. This old man looked 
 kindly and discreet. 
 
 '' I . . . I think it's a lapse of memory/' he 
 said. '' I've heard of such things. I ... I 
 don't know where I am nor what I'm doing. Are 
 you ... are you sure you're not making a 
 mistake? Have I got any right — ? " 
 The priest looked at him as if puzzled. 
 "I don't quite understand, Monsignor. What 
 can't you remember? " 
 
 '' I can't remember anything," wailed the man, 
 suddenly broken down. "Nothing at all. Not 
 who I am, nor where I'm going, or where I come 
 from. . . . What am I? Who am I? Father, 
 for God's sake tell me." 
 
 " Monsignor, be quiet, please. You mustn't give 
 way. Surely — " 
 
 " I tell you I can remember nothing. . . . 
 It's all gone. I don't know who you are. I don't 
 know what day it is, or what year it is, or any- 
 thing—" 
 
 He felt a hand on his arm, and his eyes met a 
 look of a very peculiar power and concentration. 
 
i6 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 He sank back into his seat strangely quieted and 
 soothed. 
 
 " Now, Monsignor, listen to me. You know 
 who I am — " (he broke off). " I'm Father Jervis. 
 I know about these things. You'll be all right pres- 
 ently, I hope. But you must be perfectly quiet — " 
 
 " Tell me who I am," stammered the man. 
 
 *' Listen, then. You are Monsignor Masterman, 
 secretary to the Cardinal. You are going back to 
 Westminster now, in your own car — " 
 
 "What's been going on? What was all that 
 crowd about? " 
 
 Still the eyes were on him, compelling and pene- 
 trating. 
 
 " You have been presiding at the usual midday 
 Saturday sermon in Hyde Park, on behalf of the 
 Missions to the East. Do you remember now? 
 No! Well, it doesn't matter in the least. That 
 was Father Anthony who was preaching. He was 
 a little nervous, you noticed. It was his first ser- 
 mon in Hyde Park.*' 
 
 " I saw he was a friar," murmured the other. 
 
 " Oh ! you recognized his habit then? There, you 
 see ; your memory's not really gone. And . . . 
 and what's the answer to Domimis vobiscumf" 
 
 " Et cum spiritu tiio." 
 
 The priest smiled, and the pressure on the man's 
 arm relaxed. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 17 
 
 "That's excellent. It's only a partial obscurity. 
 Why didn't you understand me when I spoke to 
 you in Latin then? " 
 
 "That was Latin? I thought so. But you 
 spoke too fast; and I'm not accustomed to speak 
 it." 
 
 The old man looked at him with grave humor. 
 
 " Not accustomed to speak it, Monsignor ! 
 Why — " (He broke off again.) "Look out of 
 the window, please. Where are we ? " 
 
 The other looked out. (He felt greatly elated 
 and comforted. It was quite true ; his memory was 
 not altogether gone then. Surely he would soon 
 be well again!) Out of the windows in front, but 
 seeming to wheel swiftly to the left as the car 
 whisked round to the right, was the Victoria Tower. 
 He noticed that the hour pointed to five minutes 
 before one. 
 
 " Those are the Houses of Parliament," he said. 
 " And what's that tall pillar in the middle of Par- 
 liament Square ? " 
 
 " That's the image of the Immaculate Concep- 
 tion. But what did you call those buildings just 
 now? " 
 
 "Houses of Parliament, aren't they?" faltered 
 the man, terrified that his brain was really going. 
 
 " Why do you call them that ? " 
 
 "It is their name, isn't it?" 
 
i8 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " It used to be ; but it isn't the usual name now." 
 
 " Good God ! Father, am I mad ? Tell me. 
 What year is it?" 
 
 The eyes looked again into his. 
 
 " Monsignor, think. Think hard." 
 
 " I don't know. ... I don't know. . . . 
 Oh, for God's sake ! . . ." 
 
 " Quietly then. . . . It's the year nineteen 
 hundred and seventy-three." 
 
 "It can't be; it can't be," gasped the other. 
 " Why, I remember the beginning of the century." 
 
 " Monsignor, attend to me, please. . . . 
 That's better. It's the year nineteen hundred and 
 seventy-three. You were born in the year — in the 
 year nineteen hundred and thirty. You are just 
 forty years old. You are secretary and chaplain to 
 the Cardinal — Cardinal Bellairs. Before that you 
 were Rector of St. Mary's in the West. . . . 
 Do you remember now ? " 
 
 " I remember nothing." 
 
 " You remember your ordination? " 
 
 " No. Once I remember saying Mass some- 
 where. I don't know where." 
 
 "Stay, we're just there." (The car wheeled in 
 swiftly under an archway, whisked to the left, and 
 drew up before an archway.) " Now, Monsignor, 
 I'm going in to see the Prior myself and give him 
 the papers. You have them ? " 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 19 
 
 " I ... I don't know." 
 
 The priest dived forward and extracted a small 
 despatch-box from some unseen receptacle. 
 
 " Your keys, please, Monsignor." 
 
 The other felt wildly about his person. He saw 
 the steady eyes of the old priest upon him. 
 
 " You keep them in your left-hand breast pocket," 
 said the priest slowly and distinctly. 
 
 The man felt there, fetched out a bundle of thin, 
 flat keys, and handed them over helplessly. While 
 the priest turned them over, examining each, the 
 other stared hopelessly out of the window, past the 
 motionless servant in purple who waited with his 
 hand on the car-door. Surely he knew this place. 
 . . . Yes, it was Dean's Yard. And this was the 
 entrance to the cloister of the Abbey. But who was 
 the Prior, and what was it all about? 
 
 He turned to the other, who by now was bending 
 over the box and extracting a few papers laid neatly 
 at the top. 
 
 " What are you doing, father ? Who are you 
 going to see? " 
 
 " I am going to take these papers of yours to the 
 Prior — the Prior of Westminster. The Abbot 
 isn't here yet. Only a few of the monks have 
 come." 
 
 "Monks! Prior! Father!" 
 
 The old man looked him in the eyes again. 
 
20 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " Yes," he said quietly. " The Abbey was made 
 over again to the Benedictines last year, but they 
 haven't yet formally taken possession. And these 
 papers concern business connected with the whole 
 affair — the relations of seculars and regulars. I'll 
 tell you afterwards. I must go in now, and you 
 must just remain here quietly. Tell me again. 
 What is your name ? Who are you ? " 
 
 " I ... I am Monsignor Masterman 
 . . . secretary to Cardinal Bellairs." 
 
 The priest smiled as he laid his hand on the door. 
 
 " Quite right," he said. " And please sit here 
 quietly, Monsignor, till I come back." 
 
 (Ill) 
 
 He sat in perfect silence, waiting, leaning back 
 in his corner with closed eyes, compelling himself 
 to keep his composure. 
 
 It was, at any rate, good luck that he had fallen 
 in with such a friend as this — Father Jervis, was 
 it not ? — who knew all about him, and, obviously, 
 could be trusted to be discreet. He must just at- 
 tend to his instructions quietly then, and do what he 
 was told. No doubt things would come back soon. 
 But how very curious this all was about Hyde Park 
 and Westminster ! He could have sworn that Eng- 
 land was a Protestant country, and the Church just 
 a tiny fragment of its population. Why, it was 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 21 
 
 only recently that Westminster Cathedral was built 
 — was it not ? But then this was the year seventy- 
 three . . . and . . . and he could not re- 
 member what year the Cathedral was built in. 
 Then again the horror and bewilderment seized him. 
 He gripped his knees with his hands in an agony of 
 consternation. He would go mad if he could not 
 remember. Or at least — Ah! here was Father 
 Jervis coming back again. 
 
 The two sat quite silent again for a moment, as 
 the car moved off. 
 
 " Tell me," said the priest suddenly, " don't you 
 remember faces, or people's names? " 
 
 The other concentrated his mind fiercely for a 
 moment or two. 
 
 " I remember some faces — yes," he said. '' And 
 I remember some names. But I cannot remember 
 which faces belong to which names. ... I 
 remember the name Archbishop Bourne; and 
 . . . and a priest called Farquharson — " 
 
 "What have you been reading lately? . . . 
 Ah! I forgot. Well; but can't you remember the 
 Cardinal . . . Cardinal Bellairs?" 
 
 " I've never heard of him." 
 
 " Nor what he looks like? " 
 
 " I haven't a notion." 
 
 The priest again was silent. 
 
 " Look here, Monsignor," he said suddenly, " I'd 
 
22 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 better take you straight up to your rooms as soon 
 as we arrive ; and I'll have a notice put up on your 
 confessional that you are unable to attend there to- 
 day. You'll have the whole afternoon — after 
 four at least — to yourself, and the rest of the 
 evening. We needn't tell a soul until we're certain 
 that it can't be helped, not even the Cardinal. But 
 I'm afraid you'll have to preside at lunch to-day." 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " Mr. Manners is coming, you know, to consult 
 with the Cardinal; and I think if you weren't there 
 to entertain him — " 
 
 Monsignor nodded sharply, with compressed lips. 
 
 " I understand. But just tell me who Mr. Man- 
 ners is? " 
 
 The priest answered without any sign of discom- 
 posure. 
 
 " He's a member of the Government. He's the 
 great Political Economist. And he's coming to 
 consult with the Cardinal about certain measures 
 that affect the Church. Do you remember now?'* 
 
 The other shook his head. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well, just talk to him vaguely. I'll sit oppo- 
 site and take care that you don't make any mis- 
 takes. Just talk to him generally. Talk about the 
 sermon in Hyde Park, and the Abbey. He won't 
 expect you to talk politics publicly." 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 23 
 
 "Fll'try." 
 
 The car drew up as the conversation ended; and 
 the man who had lost his memory glanced out. To 
 his intense relief, he recognized where he was. It 
 was the door of Archbishop's House, in Ambrosden 
 Avenue ; and beyond he perceived the long northern 
 side of the Cathedral. 
 
 " I know this," he said. 
 
 " Of course you do, my dear Monsignor," said 
 the priest reassuringly. '' Now follow me : bow to 
 any one who salutes you; but don't speak a word." 
 
 They passed in together through the door, past a 
 couple of liveried servants who held it open, up the 
 staircase and beyond up the further flight. The old 
 priest drew out a key and unlocked the door before 
 them; and together they turned to the left up the 
 corridor, and passed into a large, pleasant room 
 looking out on to the street, with a further door 
 communicating with a bedroom beyond. Fortu- 
 nately they had met no one on the way. 
 
 " Here we are," said Father Jervis cheerfully. 
 " Now, Monsignor, do you know where you are? " 
 
 The other shook his head dolorously. 
 
 " Come, come ; this is your own room. Look 
 at your writing-table, Monsignor; where you sit 
 every day." 
 
 The other looked at it eagerly and yet vaguely. 
 A half-written letter, certainly in his own handwrit- 
 
24 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 ing, lay there on the blotting-pad, but the name of 
 his correspondent meant nothing to him ; nor did the 
 few words which he read. He looked round the 
 room — at the bookcases, the curtains, the prie-dieu. 
 . . . And again terror seized him. 
 
 '' I know nothing, father . . . nothing at 
 all. It's all new! For God's sake! . . ." 
 
 " Quietly then, Monsignor. It's all perfectly 
 right. . . . Now I'm going to leave you for 
 ten minutes, to arrange about the places at lunch. 
 You'd better lock your door and admit no one. 
 Just look round the rooms when I'm gone — Ah ! " 
 
 Father Jervis broke off suddenly and darted at 
 an armchair, where a book lay face downwards on 
 the seat. He snatched up the book, glanced at the 
 pages, looked at the title, and laughed aloud. 
 
 " I knew it," he said ; " I was certain of it. 
 You've got hold of Manners' History. Look! 
 you're at the very page." 
 
 He held it up for the other to see. Monsignor 
 looked at it, still only half comprehending, and just 
 noticing that the paper had a peculiar look, and 
 saw that the running dates at the top of the pages 
 contained the years 1904-1912. The priest shook 
 the book in gentle triumph. A sheet of paper fell 
 out of it, which he picked up and glanced at. Then 
 he laughed again. 
 
 " See," he said, " you've been taking notes of the 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 25 
 
 very period — no doubt in order to be able to talk 
 to Manners. That's the time he knows more about 
 than any living soul. He calls it the ' crest of the 
 wave/ you know. Everything dated from then, in 
 his opinion." 
 
 " I don't understand a word — " 
 
 *' See here, Monsignor," interrupted the priest in 
 mild glee, '' here's a subject to talk about at lunch. 
 Just get Manners on to it, and you'll have no trou- 
 ble. Tell him you've been reading his History and 
 want a bird's-eye view." 
 
 Monsignor started. 
 
 "Why, yes," he said, ''and that'll tell me the 
 facts, too." 
 
 '* Excellent. Now, Monsignor, I must go. Just 
 look round the rooms well and get to know where 
 things are kept. I'll be back in ten minutes, and 
 we'll have a good talk before lunch as to all who'll 
 be there. It'll all go perfectly smoothly, I promise 
 you." 
 
 (ivy 
 
 When the door closed Monsignor Masterman 
 looked round him slowly and carefully. He had 
 an idea that the mist must break sooner or later and 
 that all would become familiar once again. It was 
 perfectly plain, by now, to his mind, what had hap- 
 pened to him ; and the fact there were certain things 
 
26 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 which he recognized, such as the Cathedral, and 
 Hyde Park, and a friar's habit, and Archbishop's 
 House — all this helped him to keep his head. If 
 he remembered so much, there seemed no intrinsic 
 reason why he should not remember more. 
 
 But his inspection was disappointing. Not only 
 was there not one article in the room which he 
 knew, but he did not even understand the use of 
 some of the things which he saw. There was a row 
 of what looked like small black boxes fastened to 
 the right-hand wall, about the height of a man's 
 head; and there was some kind of a machine, all 
 wheels and handles, in the corner by the nearer win- 
 dow, which was completely mysterious to him. 
 
 He glanced through into the bedroom, and this 
 was not much better. Certainly there was a bed; 
 there was no mistake about that ; and there seemed 
 to be wardrobes sunk to the level of the walls on all 
 sides ; but although in this room he thought he rec- 
 ognized the use of everything which he saw, there 
 was no single thing that wore a familiar aspect. 
 
 He came back to his writing-table and sat down 
 before it in despair. But that did not reassure him. 
 He took out one or two of the books that stood 
 there in a row — directories and address-books they 
 appeared chiefly to be — and found his name writ- 
 ten in each, with here and there a note or a correc- 
 tion, all in his own handwriting. He took up the 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 2/ 
 
 half-written letter again and glanced through it 
 once more, but it brought no relief. He could not 
 even conjecture how the interrupted sentence on the 
 third page ought to end. 
 
 Again and again he tried to tear up from his in- 
 ner consciousness something which he could remem- 
 ber, closing his eyes and sinking his head upon his 
 hands, but nothing except fragments and glimpses 
 of vision rose before him. It was now a face or a 
 scene to which he could give no name; now a sen- 
 tence or a thought that owned no context. There 
 was no frame at all — no unified scheme in which 
 those fragments found cohesion. It was like re- 
 garding the pieces of a shattered jar whose shape 
 even could not be conjectured. . . . 
 
 Then a sudden thought struck him; he sprang 
 up quickly and ran into his bedroom. A tall mir- 
 ror, he remembered, hung between the windows. 
 He ran straight up to this and stood staring at his 
 own reflection. It was himself that he saw there — 
 there was no doubt of that — every line and fea- 
 ture of that keen, pale, clear-cut face was familiar, 
 though it seemed to him that his hair was a little 
 grayer than it ought to be. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 (I) 
 
 C4T SHALL be delighted, Monsignor," said the 
 thin, professional-looking statesman, in his 
 high, dry voice ; '' I shall be delighted to sketch out 
 what seem to be the principal points in the cen- 
 tury's development." 
 
 A profound silence fell upon all the table. 
 
 Really, Monsignor Masterman thought to him- 
 self, as he settled down to listen, he had done very 
 well so far. He had noticed the old priest opposite 
 smiling more than once, contentedly, as their eyes 
 met. 
 
 Father Jervis had come to him as he had prom- 
 ised, for half an hour's good talk before lunch ; and 
 they had spent a very earnest thirty minutes to- 
 gether. First they had discussed with great care 
 all the persons who would be present at lunch — 
 not more than eight, besides themselves ; the priest 
 had given him a little plan of the table, showing 
 where each would sit, and had described their per- 
 sonal appearance and recounted a salient fact or 
 two about every one. These were all priests except 
 
 2^ 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 29 
 
 Mr. Manners himself and his secretary. The rest 
 of the time had been occupied in information being 
 given to the man who had lost his memory, with re- 
 gard to a few very ordinary subjects of conversation 
 — the extraordinary fairness of the weather; a new 
 opera produced with unparalleled success by a 
 ** well-known " composer of whom Monsignor had 
 never heard ; a recent Eucharistic congress in Tokio, 
 from which the Cardinal had just returned; and 
 the scheme for re-decorating the interior of Arch- 
 bishop's House. 
 
 There had not been time for more; but these 
 subjects, under the adroit handling of Father Jer- 
 vis, had proved sufficient; and up to the precon- 
 certed moment when Monsignor had uttered the 
 sentence about his study of Mr. Manners' History 
 of Twentieth Century Development which had 
 drawn from the author the words recorded above, 
 all had gone perfectly smoothly. 
 
 There had been a few minor hitches; for exam- 
 ple, the food and the manner of serving it and the 
 proper method of consuming it had furnished a bad 
 moment or two; and once Monsignor had been 
 obliged to feign sudden deafness on being asked a 
 question on a subject of which he knew nothing 
 by a priest whose name he had forgotten, until 
 Father Jervis slid in adroitly and saved him. Yet 
 these were quite unnoticed, it appeared, and could 
 
30 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 easily be attributed to the habit of absent-minded- 
 ness for which, Monsignor Masterman was reHeved 
 to learn, he was almost notorious. 
 
 And now the crisis was past and Mr. Manners 
 was launched. Monsignor glanced almost happily 
 round the tall dining-room, from which the servants 
 had already disappeared, and, with his glass in his 
 hand, settled himself down to listen and remember. 
 
 " The crisis, to my mind, in the religious situa- 
 tion," began the statesman, looking more profes- 
 sional than ever, with his closed eyes, thin, wrinkled 
 face, and high forehead — " the real crisis is to be 
 sought in the period from 1900 to 1920. 
 
 " This was the period, you remember, of tre- 
 mendous social agitation. There was the wide- 
 spread revolution of the Latin countries, beginning 
 with France and Portugal, chiefly against Authority, 
 and most of all against Monarchy (since Monarchy 
 is the most vivid and the most ornate embodiment 
 of authority) ; and in Teutonic and Anglo-Saxon 
 countries against Capital and Aristocracy. It was 
 in these years that Socialism came most near to 
 dominating the civilized world; and, indeed, you 
 will remember that for long after that date it did 
 dominate civilization in certain places. 
 
 " Now the real trouble at the bottom of all this 
 w^as the state in which Religion found itself. And 
 you will find, gentlemen," said the quasi-lecturer in 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 31 
 
 parenthesis, glancing round the attentive faces, 
 '' that ReHgion always is and always has been at 
 the root of every world-movement. In fact it must 
 be so. The deepest instinct in man is his religion, 
 that is, his attitude to eternal issues ; and on that at- 
 titude must depend his relation to temporal things. 
 This is so, largely, even in the case of the individual ; 
 it must therefore be infinitely more so in large 
 bodies or nations; since every crowd is moved by 
 principles that are the least common multiple of 
 the principles of the units which compose it. Of 
 course this is universally recognized now ; but it was 
 not always so. There was a time, particularly at 
 this period of wdiich I am now speaking, when men 
 attempted to treat Religion as if it were one de- 
 partment of life, instead of being the whole founda- 
 tion of every and all life. To treat it so is, of 
 course, to proclaim oneself as fundamentally irre- 
 ligious — and, indeed, very ignorant and unedu- 
 cated. 
 
 '^ To resume, however : — 
 
 '' Religion at this period was at a very strange 
 crisis. That it could possibly be treated in the way 
 I have mentioned shows how very deeply irreligion 
 had spread. There is no such thing, of course, 
 really as Irreligion — except by a purely conven- 
 tional use of the word : the * irreligious ' man is one 
 who has made up his mind either that there is no 
 
32 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 future world, or that it is so remote, as regards ef- 
 fectivity, as to have no bearing upon this. And 
 that is a reHgion — at least it is a dogmatic creed — 
 as much as any other. 
 
 " The causes of this state of affairs I take to have 
 been as follows : — 
 
 " Religion up to the Reformation had been a mat- 
 ter of authority, as it is again now; but the enor- 
 mous development of various sciences and the wide 
 spread of popular ' knowledge ' had, in the first 
 flush, distracted attention from that which is now, 
 in all civilized countries, simply an axiom of 
 thought, viz., that a Revelation of God must be em- 
 bodied in a living authority safeguarded by God. 
 Further, at that time science and exact knowledge 
 generally had not reached the point which they 
 reached a little later — of corroborating in particu- 
 lar after particular, so far as they are capable of 
 doing so, the Revelation of God known as Cathol- 
 icism; and of knowing their limitations when they 
 cannot. Many sciences, at this time, had gone no 
 further than to establish certain facts which ap- 
 peared, to the very imperfectly educated persons of 
 that period, to challenge and even to refute certain 
 facts or deductions of Revelation. Psychology, 
 for example, strange as it now appears in our own 
 day, actually seemed to afford other explanations 
 of the Universe than that of Revelation. (We will 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 33 
 
 discuss details presently.) Social Science, at that 
 time, too, moved in the direction of Democracy and 
 even Socialism. I know it appears monstrous, and 
 indeed almost incredible, that men who really had 
 some claim to be called educated seriously main- 
 tained that the most stable and the most reasonable 
 method of government lay in the extension of the 
 franchise — that is, in reversing the whole eternal 
 and logical order of things, and permitting the inex- 
 pert to rule the expert, and the uneducated and the 
 ill-informed to control by their votes — that is, by 
 sheer weight of numbers — the educated and the 
 well-informed. Yet such was the case. And the 
 result was — since all these matters act and react — 
 that the idea of authority from above in matters of 
 religion was thought to be as * undemocratic,' as 
 in matters of government and social life. Men 
 had learnt, that is to say, something of the very real 
 truth in the theory of the least common multiple, 
 and, as in psychology and many other sciences, had 
 presumed that the little fragment of truth that they 
 had perceived was the whole truth." 
 
 Mr. Manners paused to draw breath. Assuredly 
 he was enjoying himself enormously. He was a 
 born lecturer, and somehow the rather pompous sen- 
 tences were strangely alive and strangely interest- 
 ing. Above all, they fascinated and amazed the 
 prelate at the head of the table, for they revealed to 
 
34 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 him an advance of thought and an assurance in the 
 position they described that seemed wholly inex.pli- 
 cable. Such phrases as " all educated men," '' the 
 well-informed," and the fest — these were vaguely 
 familiar to him, yet surely in a very different con- 
 nection. He had at the back of his mind a kind of 
 idea that these w^ere the phrases that the irreligious 
 or the agnostics applied to themselves ; yet here was 
 a man, obviously a student, and a statesman as he 
 knew, calmly assuming (scarcely even giving him- 
 self the trouble to state) that all educated and well- 
 informed persons were Catholic Christians! 
 
 He settled himself down with renewed interest to 
 listen again, as Mr. Manners began once more. 
 
 " Well," he said, " to come more directly to our 
 point; let us next consider what were those steps 
 and processes by which Catholic truth once more 
 became the religion of the civilized world, as it had 
 been five centuries earlier. 
 
 " And first we must remark that even at the very 
 beginning of this century popular thought — in 
 England as elsewhere — had retraced its steps so 
 far as to acknowledge that if Christianity were true 
 — true, really and actually — the Catholic Church 
 was the only possible embodiment of it. Not only 
 did the shrewdest agnostic minds of the time ac- 
 knowledge this — such men as Huxley in the previ- 
 ous century, Sir Leslie Stephen, Mallock, and scores 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 35 
 
 of others — but even popular Christianity itself be- 
 gan to turn in that direction. Of course there were 
 survivals and reactions, as we should expect. There 
 was a small body of Christians in England called 
 Anglicans, who attempted to hold another view; 
 there was that short-lived movement called Mod- 
 ernism, that held yet a third position. But, for the 
 rest, it was as I say. 
 
 " It was the Catholic Church or nothing. And 
 just for a few years it seemed humanly possible that 
 it might be nothing. 
 
 " And now for the causes of the revival. 
 
 " Briefly, I should say they were all included un- 
 der one head — the correlation of sciences and their 
 coincidence into one point. Let us take them one 
 by one. We have only time to glance very super- 
 ficially at each. 
 
 " First there was Psychology. 
 
 " Even at the end of the nineteenth century it 
 was beginning to be perceived that there was an in- 
 explicable force working behind mere matter. This 
 force was given a number of names — the * sub- 
 liminal consciousness,' in man, and ' nature ' in the 
 animal, vegetable, and even mineral creation; and 
 it gave birth to a series of absurd superstitions such 
 as that now wholly extinct sect called ' Christian 
 Science,' or the Mental Healers ; and among the less 
 educated of the Materialists, to Pantheism. But 
 
36 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 the force was acknowledged, and it was perceived 
 to move along definite lines of law. Further, in the 
 great outburst of Spiritualism it began gradually to 
 be evident to the world that this force occasionally 
 manifested itself in a personal, though always a 
 malevolent manner. Now it must be remembered 
 that even this marked an immense advance in the 
 circles called scientific; since in the middle of the 
 nineteenth century, even the phenomena so care- 
 fully recorded by the Church were denied. These 
 were now no longer denied, since phenomena, at 
 least closely resembling them, were matters of com- 
 mon occurrence under the eyes of the most sceptical. 
 Of course, since the inquiries were made along 
 purely * scientific ' lines — lines which in those days 
 were nothing other than materialistic — an attempt 
 was made to account for the phenomena by new 
 anti-spiritual theories hastily put together to meet 
 the emergency. But, little by little, an uneasy sense 
 began to manifest itself that the Church had already 
 been familiar with the phenomena for about two 
 thousand years, and that a body which had marked 
 and recorded facts with greater accuracy than all 
 the * scientists ' put together at least had some claim 
 to consideration with regard to her hypothesis con- 
 cerning them. Further, it began to be seen (what 
 is perfectly familiar to us all now) that Religion 
 contributed an element which nothing else could con- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 37 
 
 tribute — that, for example, ' Religious Suggestion,' 
 as it was called in the jargon of the time, could ac- 
 complish things that ordinary ' Suggestion ' could 
 not. Finally the researches of psychologists into 
 what was then called the phenomenon of * Alter- 
 nating Personality ' prepared the way for a frank 
 acceptance of the Catholic teaching concerning Pos- 
 session and Exorcism — teaching which half a cen- 
 tury before would have been laughed out of court 
 by all who claimed the name of Scientist. Psychol- 
 ogy then, up to this point, had rediscovered that a 
 Force was working behind physical phenomena, it- 
 self not physical; that this Force occasionally ex- 
 hibited characteristics of Personality; and finally 
 that the despised Catholic Church had been more 
 scientific than scientists in her observation of facts; 
 and that this Force, dealt with along Christian lines, 
 could accomplish what it was unable to accomplish 
 along any other. 
 
 '* The next advance lay along the lines of Com- 
 parative Religion. 
 
 " The study of Comparative Religion was prac- 
 tically a new science at the end of the nineteenth 
 century, and like all new sciences, claimed at once, 
 before it had constructed its own, to destroy the 
 schemes of others. For instance, there were actu- 
 ally educated persons who advanced as an argu- 
 ment against Christianity the fact that many Chris- 
 
38 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 tian dogmas and ceremonies were to be found in 
 other religions. It is exceedingly difficult for us 
 now, even in imagination, to sympathize with such 
 a mentality as this ; but it must be remembered that 
 the science was very youthful, and had all the inex- 
 perience and the arrogance of youth. As time went 
 on, however, this argument began to disappear, ex- 
 cept in very elementary rationalistic manuals, as 
 the fact became evident that while this or that par- 
 ticular religion had one or more identities with 
 Christian doctrines, Christianity possessed them all ; 
 that Christianity, in short, had all the principal doc- 
 trines of all religions — or at least all doctrines 
 that were of any strength to other religions, as well 
 as several others necessary to weld these detached 
 dogmas into a coherent whole — that, to use a sim- 
 ple metaphor, Christianity stood in the world like a 
 light upon a hill, and that partial and imperfect re- 
 flections of this light were thrown back, with more 
 or less clearness, from the various human systems 
 of belief that surrounded it. And at last it became 
 evident, even to the most unintelligent, that the only 
 scientific explanation of this phenomenon lay in the 
 theory that Christianity was indeed unique, and, at 
 the very least, was the most perfect human system 
 of faith — perfectly human, I mean, in that it em- 
 bodied and answered adequately all the religious 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 39 
 
 aspirations of the human race — the most perfect 
 system of faith the world had ever seen. 
 
 *'A third cause was to be found in the new 
 philosophy of evidence that began to prevail soon 
 after the dawn of the century. 
 
 '' Up to that period, so-called Physical Science 
 had so far tyrannized over men's minds as to per- 
 suade them to accept her claim that evidence that 
 could not be reduced to her terms was not, prop- 
 erly speaking, evidence at all. Men demanded that 
 purely spiritual matters should be, as they said, 
 ' proved,' by which they meant should be reduced to 
 physical terms. Little by little, however, the pre- 
 posterous nature of this claim was understood. 
 People began to perceive that each order of life had 
 evidence proper to itself — that there were such 
 things, for instance, as moral proofs, artistic proofs, 
 and philosophical proofs; and that these proofs 
 were not interchangeable. To demand physical 
 proof for every article of belief was as fantastic as 
 to demand, let us say, a chemical proof of the beauty 
 of a picture, or evidence in terms of light or sound 
 for the moral character of a friend, or mathematical 
 proof for the love of a mother for her child. This 
 very elementary idea seems to have come like a 
 thunderclap upon many who claimed the name of 
 'thinkers'; for it entirely destroyed a whole artil- 
 
40 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 lery of arguments previously employed against Re- 
 vealed Religion. 
 
 '' For a time, Pragmatism came to the rescue 
 from the philosophical camp; but the assault was 
 but a very short one; since tested by Pragmatic 
 methods (that is, the testing of the truth of a re- 
 ligion by its appeal to human consciousness) if one 
 fact stood out luminous and undisputed, it was that 
 the Catholic Religion, with its eternal appeal in 
 every century and to every type of temperament, 
 was utterly supreme. 
 
 " Let us turn to another point — " 
 
 (Mr. Manners lifted the glass he had been twirl- 
 ing between his fingers, and drank it off with an 
 appearance of enjoyment. Then he continued.) 
 
 " Let us turn to the realm of politics — even to 
 the realm of trade. 
 
 " Socialism, in its purely economic aspect, was a 
 well-meant attempt to abolish the law of competi- 
 tion — that is, the natural law of the Survival of the 
 Fittest. It was an attempt, I say; and it ended, 
 as we know, in disaster; for it established instead, 
 so far as it was successful, the law of the Survival 
 of the Majority, and tyrannized first over the mi- 
 nority and then over the individual. 
 
 ** But it was a well-meant attempt ; since its in- 
 stinct was perfectly right, that competition is not the 
 highest law of the Universe. And there were sev- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 41 
 
 eral other ideals in Socialism that were most com- 
 mendable in theory: for example, the idea that the 
 Society sanctifies and safeguards the individual, not 
 the individual the Society ; that obedience is a much- 
 neglected virtue, and so forth. 
 
 '^ Then, suddenly almost, it seems to have dawned 
 upon the world that all the ideals of Socialism 
 (apart from its methods and its dogmas) had been 
 the ideals of Christianity; and that the Church had, 
 in her promulgation of the Law of Love, antici- 
 pated the Socialist's discovery by about two thou- 
 sand years. Further, that in the Religious Orders 
 these ideals had been actually incarnate ; and that by 
 the doctrine of vocation — that is by the freedom 
 of the individual to submit himself to a superior — 
 the rights of the individual were respected and the 
 rights of the Society simultaneously vindicated. 
 
 " A very good example of all this is to be found 
 in the Poor-law system. 
 
 " You remember that before the Reformation, 
 and in Catholic countries long after, there was no 
 Poor-law system, because the Religious Houses 
 looked after the sick and needy. Well, when the 
 Religious Houses were destroyed in England the 
 State had to do their work. You could not simply 
 flog beggars out of existence, as Elizabeth tried to 
 do. Then the inevitable happened, and it began to 
 be a mark of disgrace to be helped by the State in 
 
'42 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 a workhouse: people often preferred to starve. 
 Then at the beginning of the twentieth century a 
 well-meant attempt was made, in the Old-Age Pen- 
 sions, to remedy this and to keep the poor in a 
 manner that would not injure their self-respect. Of 
 course that failed too. It is incredible that states- 
 men did not see it must be so. Old- Age Pensions, 
 too, began to be considered a mark of disgrace — 
 for the simple cause that it is not the giving of 
 money that is resented, but the motive for which 
 the money is given and the position of the giver. 
 The State can only give for economic reasons, how- 
 ever conscientious and individually charitable 
 statesmen may be; while the Church gives for the 
 Love of God, and the Love of God never yet de- 
 stroyed any man's self-respect. Well, you know 
 the end. The Church came forward once more 
 and, under certain conditions, offered to relieve the 
 State of the entire burden. Two results followed 
 — first, all grievances vanished; and secondly, the 
 whole pauper population of England within ten 
 years was Catholic in sympathies. And yet all this 
 is only a reversion to medieval times — a reversion 
 made absolutely necessary by the failure of every at- 
 tempt to supplant Divine methods by human. 
 
 " Now look at it all in another way — the gen- 
 eral situation, I mean. 
 
 " The Socialist saw plainly the rights of the So- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 43 
 
 ciety; the Anarchist saw the rights of the Indi- 
 vidual. How therefore were these to be recon- 
 ciled? The Church stepped in at that crucial point 
 and answered, By the Family — whether domestic 
 or religious. For in the Family you have both 
 claims recognized: there is authority and yet there 
 is liberty. For the union of the Family lies in 
 Love; and Love is the only reconciliation of au- 
 thority and liberty. 
 
 " Now, as I have put it — and as we all now see 
 it — the argument is simplicity itself. But it took 
 a long time to be recognized; and it was not until 
 after the appalling events of the first twenty years 
 of the century, and the discrediting of the absurd 
 Socialistic attempt to preach the Law of Love by 
 methods of Force, that civilization as a whole saw 
 the point. Yet for all that it was beginning to 
 mold popular opinion even as early as 19 10. 
 
 " Turn now to a completely different plane. 
 Turn to Art. This, too, drove men back to the 
 Church." 
 
 (Mr. Manners* air was becoming now less pro- 
 fessional and more vivid. He glanced quickly 
 from face to face with a kind of sharp triumph; 
 his long, thin hands waved a slight gesture now and 
 again. ) 
 
 " Art, you remember, in the end of the Vic- 
 torian era had attempted to become realistic — had 
 
44 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 attempted, that is, the absurdly impossible; and 
 photography exposed the absurdity. For no man 
 can be truly a realist, since it is literally impossible 
 to paint or to describe all that the eye sees. When 
 photography became general, this began to be un- 
 derstood; since it was soon seen that the only pho- 
 tographer who could lay any claim to artistic work 
 was the man who selected and altered and posed — 
 arranged his subject, that is to say, in more or 
 less symbolic form. Then people began to see 
 again that Symbolism was the underlying spirit of 
 Art — as they had known perfectly well, of course, 
 in mediaeval days : that Art consisted in going be- 
 neath the material surfaces that reflected light, or 
 the material events that happened, in painting and 
 literature respectively, and, by a process of selection, 
 of symbolizing (not photographically representing) 
 the Ideas beneath the Things — the Substance 
 beneath the Accidents — the Thought beneath the 
 Expression (you can call it what you like). 
 Zola in literature, Strauss in music, the French 
 school of painting — these reduced Realism ad 
 abstirdum. Thus once more the Catholic Church, 
 in this as in everything else, was discovered to 
 have possessed the secret all along. The Sym- 
 bolic Reaction therefore began, and all our music, 
 all our painting, and all our literature to-day are 
 frankly and confessedly Symbolic — that is, Catho- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 45 
 
 lie. And this too, you see, pointed to the same les- 
 son as Psychology, that beneath phenomena there 
 was a Force which transcended phenomena; and 
 that the Church had dealt with this Force, knowing 
 It to be Personal, through all her history. 
 
 " Finally — and this was the crowning argument 
 of all, that correlated all the rest — there was the 
 growing scientific and popular perception of the Re- 
 cuperative Power of the Church — that which our 
 Divine Lord Himself called the Sign of the Prophet 
 Jonas, or Resurrection. 
 
 " There were of course countless other lines of 
 advance, in practically every science, and they all 
 pointed in the same direction, and met, so to speak, 
 from every quarter of the compass the end of the 
 tunnel which the Church had been boring through 
 all the heaped-up stupidities and ignorances of man. 
 Psychology tunneled, and presently heard the voices 
 of the exorcists and the echoes of Lourdes through 
 the darkness. Human religions tunneled — Hin- 
 duism with its idea of a Divine Incarnation, Bud- 
 dhism with its coarse apprehension of the Eternal 
 Peace of a Beatific Vision, North American Re- 
 ligion with its guesses at Sacramentalism, Savage 
 Religion with its caricature of a Bloody Sacrifice; 
 all from various points ; and presently heard through 
 the tumult the historical dogma of the Incarnation 
 of Christ, the dogma of Eternal Life, the Sacra- 
 
46 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 mental System and the Sacrifice of the Cross — all 
 proclaimed in one coherent and perfectly philo- 
 sophical Creed. Ideals of Social Reform met with 
 the same experiences. The Socialist with his dream 
 of a Divine Society, the Anarchist with his passion- 
 ate nightmare of complete individual liberty, both 
 ran up together, in the heart of the black darkness, 
 against the vast outline of a Divine Family that 
 was a fact and not a far-off ambition — a Family 
 that fell in Eden and became a competitive State; 
 a Holy Family that redeemed Nazareth and all the 
 world ; a Catholic Family in whom was neither Jew 
 nor Greek, nor masters against men — in whom the 
 doctrine of Vocation secured the rights and the 
 dignities of the Society on one side and the Indi- 
 vidual on the other. Finally Art, wandering hither 
 and thither in the mazes of Realism, saw light 
 ahead, and found in Catholic Art and Symbolism 
 the secret of her life. 
 
 " This, then, was the result — that the Church 
 was found to be eternally right in every plane. In 
 plane after plane she had been condemned. Pilate 
 — the Law of Separate Nations — had found her 
 guilty of sedition; Herod — the miracle-monger at 
 one instant and the skeptic at the next — the Scien- 
 tist, in fact — had declared her guilty of fraud; 
 Caiaphas had condemned her in the name of Na- 
 tional Religion. Or, again, she had been thought 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 47 
 
 the enemy of Art b}- the Greek-spirited; the enemy 
 of Law by the Latins; the enemy of ReHgion by 
 the Hebraic Pharisee. She had borne her title 
 written in Greek and Latin and Hebrew. She had 
 been crucified, and taunted as she hung there; she 
 had seemed to die; and, lo and behold! when the 
 Third Day dawned she was alive again for ever- 
 more. From every single point she had been jus- 
 tified and vindicated. Men had thought to invent 
 a new religion, a new art, a new social order, a 
 new philosophy; they had burrowed and explored 
 and digged in every direction ; and, at the end, when 
 they had worked out their theories and found, as 
 they thought, the reward of their labors, they found 
 themselves looking once more into the serene, smil- 
 ing face of Catholicism. She was risen from the 
 dead once more, and was seen to be the Daughter 
 of God, with Power." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. 
 
 " There, gentlemen," said Mr. Manners, dropping 
 back again into the quiet professor, " that, I think, 
 in a few words, is the outline for which Mon- 
 signor asked. I hope I have not detained you too 
 long." 
 
 " It is the most extraordinary story I have ever 
 heard," said Monsignor Masterman ten minutes 
 
48 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 later, as he threw himself down in his chair up- 
 stairs, with Father Jervis sitting opposite. 
 
 " Certainly he puts it very well," said the old 
 priest, smiling. " I think every one was interested. 
 It's not often that we can hear such a clear analysis 
 of events. Of course Manners is an expert — " 
 
 '' But the amazing thing to me," interrupted the 
 other, " is that this isn't just a dream or a prophecy, 
 but a relation of facts. ... Do you mean to 
 tell me that the whole world is Christian ? " 
 
 The priest looked at him doubtfully. 
 
 " Monsignor, surely your memory isn't — " 
 
 Monsignor made an impatient gesture. 
 
 " Father," he said, " it's exactly as I told you be- 
 fore lunch. I'll promise to tell you if my memory 
 comes back. At present I remember practically 
 nothing at all, except instinctively. All I know is 
 that this story we have heard simply astounds me. 
 I had a sort of idea that Christianity was ebbing 
 from the world ; that most thinking men had given 
 up all belief in it; and now I find it's exactly the 
 other way. Please treat me as if I had stepped 
 straight out of the beginning of the century. Just 
 tell me the facts as if for the first time. Is it really 
 true that practically the whole world is Christian? " 
 
 The priest hesitated. 
 
 " You mean that, Monsignor ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 49 
 
 " Very well then." He paused again. " But it's 
 extraordinarily hard to know where to begin." 
 
 '* Begin anywhere. It's all new to me." 
 
 " Very good. Well, yes : roughly we may say 
 that the world is Christian, in the same sort of way, 
 at least, in which Europe was Christian, say in 
 the twelfth century. There are survivals, of 
 course, particularly in the East, where large districts 
 still cling to their old superstitions; and there are 
 even eminent men here and there who are not ex- 
 plicitly Catholics ; but, as a whole, the world is Chris- 
 tian." 
 
 " Do you mean Catholic ? " 
 
 The priest stared a moment. 
 
 *^ Why yes. What else— ?" 
 
 "All right; go on." 
 
 " Well then, to begin with England. Catholi- 
 cism is not yet established as the State Religion; 
 but it'll only be a question of time, and it may be 
 said that all the laws are Christian." 
 
 "Divorce?" 
 
 " Divorce was abolished thirty years ago, and 
 fornication was made a felony ten years later," said 
 the priest quietly. " Benefit of clergy also was re- 
 stored three years ago ; and we have our own courts 
 for heresy, with power to hand over convicted 
 criminals to the secular arm." 
 
so THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " Certainly. It has been in force now for three 
 years." 
 
 " Then what do you mean by saying that the 
 Church isn't established?" 
 
 "I mean that no religious test is demanded of 
 officers of state and that bishops and abbots have 
 no seat in Parliament. It was the enfranchisement 
 of women that turned the tide once and for all." 
 
 " Do you mean that all women have the 
 vote?" 
 
 " They are under the same conditions as men. 
 There's a severe educational test now, of course. 
 Not more than about one in seventy adults ever get 
 the vote at all. But the result is that we're gov- 
 erned by educated persons." 
 
 " Stop. Is it a Monarchy? " 
 
 " Certainly. Edward IX — a young man — is 
 on the throne." 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 " Christianity, then, holds the field. Of course 
 there are infidels left, who write letters to the news- 
 papers sometimes, and hold meetings, and so on. 
 But they are practically negligible. As regards 
 Church property, practically everything has finally 
 been given back to us. I mean in the way of 
 buildings, and, very largely, revenues too. All the 
 cathedrals are ours, and all parish churches built be- 
 fore the Reformation, as well as all other churches 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 51 
 
 in parishes where there was not organized Protes- 
 tant resistance." 
 
 " I thought you said there were no Protestants." 
 
 Father Jervis suddenly laughed aloud. 
 
 " Monsignor, are you really serious ? Do you 
 really mean you wish me to go on? " 
 
 " Good God, man! Fm not playing a game. Go 
 on, please. Tell me about the Protestants." 
 
 " Well, of course there are some Protestants left. 
 I think they've got four or five churches in London, 
 and . . . and . . . yes, Fm sure of it, 
 they've got some kind of bishop. But really I 
 scarcely know. I shall have to look it up." 
 
 " Well, go on." 
 
 " Well, that's the state of England. Practically 
 everybody is a Catholic — from the King down- 
 wards. The last remains of Church property was 
 only actually given back to us last year. That's 
 why the monks haven't come back to Westminster 
 yet." 
 
 "What about the rest of the world? " 
 
 " Well, first Rome. Austria drove out the House 
 of Savoy nearly twenty-five years ago; and the 
 Holy Father—" 
 
 "What's his name?" 
 
 " Gregory the Nineteenth. He's a Frenchman. 
 Well, the Holy Father is Temporal Ruler of the 
 whole of Italy; but the Emperor of Austria ad- 
 
52 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 ministers it. Then France is, of course, a very 
 small country." 
 
 "Why small?" 
 
 "Well, you know the Emperor War of 1914?" 
 
 Monsignor interrupted by a large sigh. 
 
 " Good heavens ! " he said. " How I shall have 
 to read. I'm sorry. Go on, please." 
 
 " Well, France is a very small country, but in- 
 tensely Catholic. The Church is reestablished 
 there." 
 
 " Is it a monarchy too ? " 
 
 " Certainly. The Orleans line came back after 
 the war. Louis XXII is king. I was saying that 
 the Church is reestablished there, and is practically 
 supreme. That is traceable entirely to Pius X's 
 policy." 
 
 "Pius X! Why—" 
 
 " Yes, Monsignor." 
 
 " I know all about that. But I thought Pius X 
 simply ruined everything." 
 
 " So they said at the time. His policy was to 
 draw the lines tight and to make no concessions. 
 He drove out every half-hearted Catholic by his 
 regulations, and the result was a small but extraor- 
 dinarily pure body. The result has been that the 
 country was re-evangelized, and has become almost 
 a land of saints. They say that our Lady — " 
 
 " Well, go on with the other countries." 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 53 
 
 " Spain and Portugal, are, of course, entirely 
 Catholic, like France. The Monarchy was rees- 
 tablished in both of them in about 1935. But Ger- 
 many — Germany's the weak spot." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " You see the Emperor isn't a Christian yet ; and 
 Socialism lingers on there with extraordinary per- 
 tinacity. Practically Berlin is the Holy City of 
 Freemasonry. It's all organized from there — 
 such as it is. And no one is quite comfortable 
 about Germany. The Emperor Frederick is a per- 
 fectly sincere man, but really rather uneducated; 
 he still holds on to some sort of materialism; and 
 the result is — " 
 
 " I see." 
 
 " But there are hopes of his conversion. He's 
 to be at Versailles next week; and that's a good 
 sign." 
 
 *' Well, what about America? " 
 
 " Oh ! America's chiefly English ; and very like 
 England." 
 
 " You mean she isn't republican? " 
 
 " Of course not. My dear Monsignor — " 
 
 " Please go on, as I asked you. Tell me when 
 she ceased to be republican." 
 
 ** Why, I scarcely know," murmured the priest. 
 " It must have been about 1930, I suppose. I know 
 there was a lot of trouble before that — civil wars 
 
54 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 and so forth. But at any rate that was the end. 
 Japan got a good deal of the Far West; but the 
 Eastern States came in with Canada and formed 
 the American Colonies; and the South of course 
 became Latinized, largely through ecclesiastical 
 influence. Well, then America asked Eng- 
 land — " 
 
 " Stop, please. I shall get bewildered. What 
 about the religion ? " 
 
 "Well, the Empire of Mexico — " 
 
 "Eh?'' 
 
 " The Empire of Mexico." 
 
 " Who's Emperor ? " 
 
 " The King of Spain, Monsignor," said the priest 
 patiently. " Well, that used to be called South 
 America. It's all the Empire of Mexico now, and 
 belongs to Spain. That's solidly Catholic, of 
 course. And the American Colonies — old North 
 America — that's like England. It's practically 
 Catholic, of course; but there are a few infidels and 
 Socialists." 
 
 "Australia?" 
 
 " Australia's entirely Irish, and Catholic." 
 
 "And Ireland itself?" 
 
 " Oh ! Ireland developed enormously as soon as 
 she had gained independence, but emigration con- 
 tinued, and the Irish strength really lies abroad. 
 Then an odd thing happened. Ireland continued 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 55 
 
 to empty, obeying some social law we don't even 
 yet understand properly; and the Religious began 
 to get possession of the country in an extraordinary 
 way, until they owned all the large estates, and 
 even most of the towns. You may say that Ireland 
 is practically one Religious Enclosure now. Of 
 course she's a part of the British Empire; but her 
 real social life lies in her colonies. Australia suc- 
 ceeded in getting Home Rule from Ireland about 
 twenty-five years ago." 
 
 Monsignor pressed his hands to his head. 
 
 " It sounds like the wildest dream," he said. 
 
 "Hadn't I better — ?" 
 
 " No ; go on. I only want an outline. What 
 about the East ? " 
 
 " Well, old superstitions still linger on in the 
 East, especially in China. But the end is quite cer- 
 tain. It is simply a matter of time — " 
 
 " But ... but I don't understand. If the 
 whole world is practically Christian, what is there 
 left to do?" 
 
 The priest smiled. 
 
 " Ah ! but you must remember Germany. There 
 are great forces in Germany. It's there that the 
 danger lies. And you must remember too that 
 there is no Universal i\rbitrator yet. Nationalism 
 is still pretty strong. There might easily be an- 
 other big European war." 
 
S6 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 '' Then you hope — " 
 
 " Yes. We're all working for the recognition of 
 the Pope as Universal Arbitrator, as he was prac- 
 tically in Europe in the Middle Ages. Of course, 
 as soon as the sovereigns acknowledge officially 
 that they hold all their rights at the will of Rome, 
 the thing will be done. But it's not done yet, ex- 
 cept — " 
 
 "Good God!" 
 
 ** Look here, Monsignor, you've had enough," 
 said the priest, rising. '' Though I must say you 
 have followed it closely enough. Are you certain 
 that it is quite new to you? Don't you remem- 
 ber—" 
 
 " It's not only new ; it's inconceivable ! I under- 
 stand it perfectly; but — " 
 
 " Well, you've had enough. Now what about 
 coming to see the Cardinal ? I feel sure he'll insist 
 upon your taking a rest instantly. I feel rather 
 guilty—" 
 
 " Stop. Tell me about languages. Why did you 
 talk to me in Latin this morning ? " 
 
 " Ecclesiastics generally do. And so do the laity 
 a good deal. Europe is practically bi-lingual. 
 Each country keeps up its own tongue, and learns 
 Latin as well. You must rub up your Latin, Mon- 
 signor." 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 57 
 
 *' Wait a moment. What are you going to say 
 to the Cardinal ? " 
 
 " Well, hadn't I better tell him the whole thing, 
 just as it happened? Then you needn't explain." 
 
 The other pondered a moment. 
 
 " Thanks very much, father. . . . Stop. 
 Do I talk English all right?" 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 '' But — Oh well. . . . And I ... did 
 I do all right at lunch? Did any one suspect any- 
 thing?" 
 
 " You did perfectly. You seemed a little absent- 
 minded once or twice; but that was quite in keep- 
 ing." 
 
 The two smiled at one another pleasantly. 
 
 " Then Fll be going," said the priest. " Will you 
 wait here till I come for you ? " 
 
CHAPTER III 
 (I) 
 
 J 
 
 44 yUST be natural," whispered Father Jervis a 
 quarter of an hour later, as they passed 
 through the big ante-room. '' You needn't explain 
 a word. I've told him everything." 
 
 He tapped ; and a voice answered. 
 
 Sitting in a big armchair drawn up to the writ- 
 ing-table, the man who had lost his memory saw a 
 tall, thin figure, in black with scarlet buttons, and 
 a small scarlet skull-cap crowning his iron-gray hair. 
 It was a little hard to make out the face at first, as 
 the window was immediately beyond it; but he saw 
 almost immediately that, although the face smiled 
 at him reassuringly and welcomingly, it was entirely 
 unfamiliar. 
 
 The Cardinal stood up as the two approached, 
 pushing back his chair, and held out both his hands. 
 
 " My dear Monsignor," he said, and grasped the 
 other's hands firmly and kindly. 
 
 "I . . . your Eminence . . ." stam- 
 mered the man. 
 
 58 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 59 
 
 " Now, now ; not one word till I've done. I've 
 heard everything. Come and sit down." 
 
 He led him to a chair on the hearth-rug, placed 
 him in it, and himself sat down in his own, facing 
 him. The priest remained standing. 
 
 " Now, I'm going to begin with an order, on holy 
 obedience," smiled the Cardinal. " You and Father 
 jervis — if the doctor approves — are to start for a 
 little European tour by the midnight volor." 
 
 "The . . .?" 
 
 " The volor," said the Cardinal. " It'll do you 
 good. Father Jervis will undertake all responsibil- 
 ity, and you needn't worry yourself at all. I shall 
 telegraph to Versailles in my own name, and make 
 one or two arrangements, and a couple of my 
 servants will attend you. You will have nothing 
 to do but get better. You can't be spared. It'll 
 all come perfectly right, I have no manner of doubt. 
 Father Jervis, just ask the doctor to step here." 
 
 The Cardinal talked a minute or two longer, still 
 with that soothing, peaceful air ; and Monsignor, as 
 he listened, watched the priest go up to a row of 
 black boxes, resembling those in his own room, and 
 take down a shutter from one of them. He then 
 said a rapid sentence or two in a whisper, reclosed 
 the shutter, and came back. 
 
 " If things don't clear themselves, you will just 
 have to learn your business over again, Monsignor," 
 
6o THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 went on the Cardinal, still smiling. ** Father Jervis 
 has told me how well you did at lunch; and Mr. 
 Manners said nothing, except that you were a very 
 good host and a very graceful listener. So you 
 need not fear that any one will notice. So please 
 put out of your mind any thought that any one 
 else will take your place here. I shall expect you 
 back in a month or two, and not a soul will be any 
 the wiser. I shall just let it be known that you've 
 gone for a holiday. You have always worked hard 
 enough, anyhow, to deserve one." 
 
 At that moment, somewhere out of the air, from 
 the direction of the boxes on the wall, a very defer- 
 ential, quiet voice uttered a few words in Latin. 
 
 The Cardinal nodded. Father Jervis went to the 
 door and opened it, and there came through a man 
 in a black cloak, resembling a gown, followed by a 
 servant carrying a bag. The bag was set down, the 
 servant went out, and the doctor came forward to 
 kiss the Cardinal's ring. 
 
 " I want you just to examine Monsignor Master- 
 man," said the Cardinal. " And, doctor, please ob- 
 serve absolute silence afterwards. Just say that 
 you have found him a little run down." 
 
 Monsignor made a movement to stand up, but the 
 Cardinal restrained him. 
 
 ''Do you remember this gentleman?" he asked. 
 
 Monsignor stared blankly at the doctor. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 6i 
 
 *' I have never seen him in my life," he said. 
 
 The doctor smiled, simply and frankly. 
 
 "Well, well, Monsignor," he said. 
 
 " It seems just a loss of memory," went on the 
 Cardinal. "Just tell the doctor how it hap- 
 pened." 
 
 The invalid made an effort ; he shut his eyes for 
 an instant to recover himself; and then he related 
 at length his first apparent consciousness in Hyde 
 Park, and all that had followed. Father Jervis put 
 a question from time to time, which he answered 
 quite rationally; and at the close the doctor, who 
 was sitting opposite, watching every movement of 
 his face, leaned back, smiling. 
 
 " Well, Monsignor," he said, '' it seems to me that 
 your memory is sufficiently good. Just put 
 another question, father — a really difficult one — 
 about something that has happened since noon." 
 
 " Can you remember the points of Mr. Manners' 
 speech? " asked the priest doubtfully. 
 
 The other paused for a moment. 
 
 " Psychology, Comparative Religion, the Philoso- 
 phy of Evidence, Pragmatism, Art, Politics, and 
 finally Recuperation. These were the — " 
 
 "Now that's astonishing!" said the priest. "I 
 could only remember four myself." 
 
 " When did you see the Cardinal last? " asked the 
 doctor suddenly. 
 
52 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " I have never seen him before, to my knowl- 
 edge/' faltered the sick man. 
 
 The Cardinal leaned forward and patted him 
 gently on the knee. 
 
 ''Never mind," he said. "Then, doctor—" 
 
 " Would your Eminence put a question to him on 
 some very important matter? Something that 
 would make a deep impression ? " 
 
 The Cardinal considered. 
 
 " Well," he said, '' yes. Do you remember the 
 message brought by special messenger from Wind- 
 sor yesterday evening ? " 
 
 Monsignor shook his head. 
 
 " That'll do," said the doctor. " Don't attempt 
 to strain yourself." 
 
 He rose from his chair, fetched his bag and 
 opened it. Out of it he took an instrument faintly 
 resembling a small camera, but with a bundle of 
 minute wires of some very pliable material, each 
 ending in a tiny disk. 
 
 " Do you know what this is, Monsignor? " asked 
 the doctor, busying himself with the wires. 
 
 *' I have no idea." 
 
 " Well, well. . . , Now, Monsignor, kindly 
 loosen your waistcoat, so that I can get at your 
 breast and back." 
 
 " Is it a stethoscope ? " 
 
 " Something like it," smiled the doctor. " But 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 63 
 
 how did you know that name? Never mind. 
 Now then, please." 
 
 He placed the camera affair on the corner of the 
 table near the armchair; and then, very rapidly, 
 began to affix the disks — it seemed by some 
 process of air-exhaustion — all over the head, 
 breast, and back of the amazed man. No sen- 
 sation followed this at all, except the very faint 
 feeling of skin-contraction at each point of con- 
 tact. 
 
 " May I have that blind down, your Eminence ? 
 . . . Ah! that's better. Now then." He bent 
 closely over the square box on the table, and seemed 
 to peer at something inside. The others kept si- 
 lence. 
 
 "Well?" asked the Cardinal at last. 
 
 " Perfectly satisfactory, your Eminence. There 
 is a very faint discoloration, but no more than is 
 usual in a man of Monsignor's temperament at any 
 excitement. There is absolutely nothing wrong, 
 and — Monsignor," he continued, looking straight 
 at the wire-bedecked invalid, " not the very faintest 
 indication of anything even approaching insanity or 
 imbecility." 
 
 The man who had lost his memory drew a swift 
 breath. 
 
 ''May I see, doctor?" asked the Cardinal 
 suavely. - . 
 
64 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 ''Certainly, your Eminence; and Monsignor can 
 look himself, if he likes." 
 
 When the other two had looked, the sick man 
 himself was given the box. 
 
 "(Carefully with that wire, please.) There!" 
 said the doctor. '* Look down there." 
 
 In the center of the box, shielded by a little plate 
 of glass, there appeared a small semi-luminous 
 globe. This globe seemed tinted with slightly 
 wavering colors, in which a grayish blue predom- 
 inated ; but, almost like a pulse, there moved across 
 it from time to time a very pale red tint, suffusing 
 it, and then dying away again. 
 
 "What is it?" asked the man in the chair 
 hoarsely, lifting his head. 
 
 " That, my dear Monsignor," explained the doc- 
 tor carefully, " is a reflection of your physical con- 
 dition. It is an exceedingly simple, though of 
 course very delicate instrument. The method was 
 discovered — " 
 
 " Is it anything to do with magnetism? " 
 
 " They used to call it that, I think. It's got sev- 
 eral names now. All mental disturbance has, of 
 course, a physical side to it, and that is how we 
 are able to record it physically. It was discovered 
 by a monk, of course." 
 
 " But . . . but it's marvelous." 
 
 " Everything is marvelous, Monsignor. Ccr- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 65 
 
 tainly this, however, caused a revolution. It be- 
 came the symbol of the whole modern method of 
 medicine." 
 
 *' What's that?" 
 
 The doctor laughed. 
 
 " That's a large question," he said. 
 
 "But . . . but." 
 
 " Well, in a word, it's the old system turned up- 
 side down. A century ago when a man was ill 
 they began by doctoring his body. Now, when a 
 man's ill, they begin by doctoring his mind. You 
 see the mind is much more the man than the body 
 is, as Theology always taught us. Therefore by 
 dealing with the mind — " 
 
 '' But that's Christian Science ! " 
 
 The doctor looked bewildered. 
 
 " It was an old heresy, doctor," put in the Car- 
 dinal, smiling, " that denied the reality of matter. 
 No, Monsignor, we don't deny the reality of mat- 
 ter. It's perfectly real. Only, as the doctor says, 
 we prefer to attack the real root of the disease, 
 rather than its physical results. We still use drugs ; 
 but only to remove painful symptoms." 
 
 "That . . . that sounds all right," stam- 
 mered the man, bewildered by the simplicity of it. 
 " Then . . . then do you mean, your Emi- 
 nence, that physical diseases are located — ? " 
 
 " There are no physical diseases left," put in the 
 
66 THE DAWN OF ALU 
 
 doctor. " Of course there are accidents and exter- 
 nal physical injuries; but practically all the rest 
 have disappeared. Very nearly all of them had 
 their seat in the state of the blood ; and, by injection, 
 the blood is made immune." 
 
 " But . . . but ... are there no dis- 
 eases then ? '* 
 
 " Why, yes, Monsignor," interrupted the Car- 
 dinal, with the patient air of one talking to a child ; 
 "there are hundreds of those; and they are very 
 real indeed ; but they are almost entirely mental — 
 or psychical, as some call them. And there are 
 specialists on all of these. Bad habits of thought, 
 for example, always set up some kind of disease; 
 and there are hospitals for these ; and even isolation 
 homes." 
 
 " Forgive me, your Eminence," put in the doctor, 
 with a certain imperiousness, " but I think we 
 ought not to talk to Monsignor too much on this 
 subject. May I put a question or two? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon, doctor. Certainly. Put 
 any question you wish." 
 
 The doctor sat down again. 
 
 " Have you been in the habit of saying Mass 
 every day, Monsignor ? " 
 
 " I ... I don't know," said the invalid. 
 
 " Yes, doctor," put in Father Jervis. 
 
 " And confession once a week? " 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 67 
 
 " Twice a week," said Father Jervis. '' I am 
 Monsignor's confessor." 
 
 " Very good," said the doctor. " For the pres- 
 ent, as far as I am concerned, I should recommend 
 confession only once a fortnight as a general rule. 
 Mass can be as before. Then Monsignor may say 
 half of his office every day, or the rosary; but not 
 both. And no other devotions of any kind, except 
 the particular Examen. If Monsignor and Father 
 Jervis both consent, I should like the Examen to 
 be forwarded to a priest-doctor for a few weeks." 
 
 An exclamation broke from the invalid. 
 
 "Well, Monsignor?" 
 
 " I don't understand. What are you talking 
 about ? " 
 
 The Cardinal leaned forward. 
 
 " Monsignor, listen to me. In those cases the 
 doctor always gives his advice. You see even the 
 sacraments have their mental side ; and on this men- 
 tal side the doctor speaks. But the whole decision 
 rests entirely with the patient and his confessor ; or 
 they can call in an expert priest-doctor. Only a 
 priest can possibly decide finally the relations be- 
 tween the grace of the sacraments and their purely 
 mental effect. A lay doctor only recommends. Are 
 you satisfied? " 
 
 The man nodded. It seemed very simple, so 
 stated. 
 
68 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 '' For the rest," continued the doctor, with a cer- 
 tain statehness of manner, " I order a complete 
 change of scene. This must be for a fortnight at 
 least, if not longer. If the priest-doctor's report 
 — to whom the Examen may be sent — is not satis- 
 factory, it will have to be for longer. The patient 
 must engage in no business that does not honestly 
 interest him." 
 
 " May he travel to-night? " asked the Cardinal. 
 
 " The sooner the better," said the doctor, rising. 
 
 " What is the matter with me? " asked the invalid 
 hoarsely. 
 
 " It is a small mental explosion, that has affected 
 a certain spot in the brain. There is not, as I have 
 said, a trace of insanity or of loss of balance. I 
 cannot promise that the injury will be repaired; but 
 defects that may follow from this can easily be 
 remedied by study. It simply depends upon your- 
 self, Monsignor, as to how long before you can be 
 at your post again here. As soon as you have 
 learned the threads of business, you will be able to 
 apply yourself as before. I shall look for a report 
 in a fortnight's time at the latest. Good day, your 
 Eminence." 
 
 (n) 
 
 The clocks of London were all striking the single 
 stroke of midnight as the two priests stood on the 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 69 
 
 wind-sheltered platform of the volor, waiting for the 
 start. 
 
 To Monsignor Masterman the scene was simply 
 overwhelming. There was hardly a detail that was 
 not new and unfamiliar. From where he stood 
 on the upper deck, grasping the rail before him, his 
 eyes looked out over a luminous city as lovely as 
 fairyland. There were no chimneys, of course 
 (these, he had just learnt, had altogether disap- 
 peared more than fifty years ago), but spires and 
 towers and pinnacles rose before him like a dream, 
 glowing against the dark sky, lit by the soft radi- 
 ance of the streets beneath. To the right, not a 
 hundred yards aw^ay, rose Saint Edward's tower, 
 mellowed now to clear orange by the lapse of three- 
 quarters of a century; to the left a flight of build- 
 ings, of an architectural design which he did not 
 understand, but which gave him a sense of extreme 
 satisfaction; in front towered the masses of Buck- 
 ingham Palace as he seemed always to have known 
 it. 
 
 The platform of the flying ship on which he stood 
 hung in dock at least a hundred and fifty feet high 
 above the roads beneath. He had examined the 
 whole vessel just now from stem to stern, and had 
 found it vaguely familiar; he determined to ex- 
 amine it again presently. There was no gas-bag to 
 sustain it — so much he had noticed — though he 
 
70 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 could not say whence he had the idea that gas-bags 
 were usual. But it seemed to him as if the notion 
 of air-ships did carry some faint association to his 
 mind, although far less distinct than that of motor- 
 cars and even trains. He had inquired of his com- 
 panion an hour or two earlier as they had discussed 
 their journey as to whether they would not go by 
 train and steamer, and had received the answer that 
 these were never used except for very short jour- 
 neys. 
 
 Here, then, he stood and stared. 
 
 It was very quiet up here; but he listened with 
 considerable curiosity to the strange humming 
 sound that filled the air, rising and falling, as of a 
 beehive. At first he thought it was the working 
 of engines in the ship ; but he presently perceived it 
 to be the noise of the streets rising from below ; and 
 it was then that he saw for the first time that foot- 
 passengers were almost entirely absent, and that 
 practically the whole roadway, so far as he could 
 make out from the high elevation at which he stood, 
 was occupied by cars of all descriptions going this 
 way and that. They sounded soft horns as they 
 went, but they bore no lights, for the streets were 
 as light as day with a radiance that seemed to fall 
 from beneath the eaves of all the buildings that lined 
 them. This effect of lighting had a curious result 
 of making the city look as if it were seen through. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 71 
 
 glass or water — a beautifully finished, clean pic- 
 ture, moving within itself like some precise and 
 elaborate mechanism. 
 
 He turned round at a touch on his arm. 
 
 " You would like to see the start, perhaps," said 
 the old priest. '' We are a little late to-night. The 
 country mails have only just arrived. But we shall 
 be off directly now. Come this way." 
 
 The upper deck, as the two turned inwards, pre- 
 sented an extremely pleasant and comfortable pic- 
 ture. From stem to stern it ran clear, set out, how- 
 ever, with groups of tables and chairs clamped to 
 the floor, at which sat a dozen parties or so, settling 
 themselves down comfortably. There were no fun- 
 nels, no bridge, no break at all to the delightful 
 vista. The whole was lighted by the same device as 
 were the streets, for round the upper edges of the 
 transparent walls that held out the wind shone a 
 steady, even glow from invisible lights. 
 
 In the very center of the deck, however, was a 
 low railing that protected the head of a staircase, 
 and down this well the two looked. 
 
 " Shall I explain? " asked the old priest, smiling. 
 " This is the latest model, you know. It has not 
 been in use for more than a few months." 
 
 The other nodded. 
 
 " Tell me everything, please." 
 
 " Well, look right down there, below the second 
 
72 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 flight. The first flight leads to the second-class 
 deck, and the flight below to the working parts of 
 the ship. Now do you see that man's head, straight 
 in the middle, in the bright light ? — yes, immedi- 
 ately under. Well, that's the first engineer. He's 
 in a glass compartment, you see, and can look down 
 passages in every direction. The gas arrangements 
 are all in front of him, and the — " 
 
 " Stop, please. What power is it that drives the 
 ship? Is it lighter than air, or what? " 
 
 *' Well, you see the entire framework of the ship 
 is hollow. Every single thing you see — even the 
 chairs and tables — they're all made of the metal 
 aerolite (as it's generally called). It's almost as 
 thin as paper, and it's far stronger than any steel. 
 Now it's the framework of the ship that takes the 
 place of the old balloon. It's infinitely safer, too, 
 for it's divided by automatically closing stops into 
 tens of thousands of compartments, so a leak here 
 or there makes practically no difference. Well, 
 when the ship's at rest, as it is now, there's simply 
 air in all these tubes; but when it's going to start, 
 there is forced into these tubes, from the magazine 
 below, the most volatile gas that has been discov- 
 ered—" 
 
 "What's it called?" 
 
 " I forget the real name. It's generally called 
 Qerolifw. Well, this is forced in, until the specific 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 73 
 
 gravity of the whole affair, passengers and all, is as 
 nearly as possible the same as the specific gravity of 
 the air." 
 
 '* I see. Good Lord, how simple ! " 
 
 " And the rest is done with planes and screws, 
 driven by electricity. The tail of the boat is a re- 
 cent development. (You'll see it when we've once 
 started.) It's exactly like the tail of a bird, and 
 contracts and expands in every direction. Then 
 besides that there are two wings, one on each side, 
 and these can be used, if necessary, in case the 
 screws go wrong, as propellers. But usually they 
 are simply for balancing and gliding. You see, 
 barring collisions, there's hardly the possibility of 
 an accident. If one set of things fails, there's al- 
 ways something else to take its place. At the very 
 worst, we can but be blown about a bit." 
 
 '' But it's exactly like a bird, then." 
 
 " Of course, Monsignor," said the priest, with 
 twinkling eyes, " it isn't likely that we could im- 
 prove upon Almighty God's design. We're very 
 simple, you know. Look, he's signaling. We're 
 going to start. Come to the prow. We shall see 
 better from there." 
 
 The upper deck ended in a railing, below which 
 protruded, from the level of the lower deck, the 
 prow proper of the boat. Upon this prow, in a 
 small compartment of which the roof, as well as 
 
74 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 the walls, was of hardened glass, stood the steers- 
 man amid his wheels. But the wheels were unlike 
 anything that the bewildered man who looked down 
 had ever dreamed of. First, they were not more 
 than six inches in diameter; and next, they were 
 arranged, like notes on a key-board, with their edges 
 towards him, with the whole set curved round him 
 in a semicircle. 
 
 " Those to right and left," explained the priest, 
 ''control the planes on either side; those in front, 
 on the left, control the engines and the gas supply; 
 and on the right, the tail of the boat. Watch him, 
 and you'll see. We're just starting." 
 
 As he spoke three bells sounded from below, fol- 
 lowed, after a pause, by a fourth. The steersman 
 straightened himself as the first rang out and 
 glanced round him ; and upon the fourth, bent him- 
 self suddenly over the key-board, like a musician 
 addressing himself to a piano. 
 
 For the first instant Monsignor was conscious of 
 a slight swaying motion, which resolved itself pres- 
 ently into a faint sensation of constriction on his 
 temples, but no more. Then this passed, and as 
 he glanced away again from the steersman, who 
 was erect once more, his look happened to fall over 
 the edge of the boat. He grasped his friend con- 
 vulsively. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 75 
 
 " Look," he said, " what's happened? " 
 
 '' Yes, we're off," said the priest sedately. 
 
 Beneath them, on either side, there now stretched 
 itself an almost illimitable and amazingly beautiful 
 bird's-eye view of a lighted city, separated from 
 them by what seemed an immeasurable gulf. From 
 the enormous height up to which they had soared 
 the city looked like a complicated flat map, of which 
 the patches were dark and the dividing lines rivers 
 of soft fire. This stretched practically to the hori- 
 zon on all sides ; the light toned down at the edges 
 into a misty luminosity, but as the bewildered 
 watcher stared in front of him, he saw how directly 
 in their course there slid towards them two great 
 patches of dark, divided by a luminous stream in 
 the middle. 
 
 " What is it? What is it? " he stammered. 
 
 The priest seemed not to notice his agitation; he 
 just passed his hand quietly into the trembling 
 man's elbow. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " there are houses all the way to 
 Brighton now, of course, and we go straight down 
 the track. We shall take in passengers at Brighton, 
 I think.'' 
 
 There was a step behind them. 
 
 " Good evening, Monsignor," said a voice. " It's 
 a lovely night." 
 
76 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 The prelate turned round, covered with con- 
 fusion, and saw a man in uniform saluting him 
 deferentially. 
 
 '* Ah! captain," slipped in the priest. '' So we're 
 crossing with you, are w^e? " 
 
 " That's it, father. The Michael line's running 
 this week." 
 
 ** It's a wonderful thing to me — " began Mon- 
 signor, but a sharp pressure on his arm checked 
 him — " how you keep the whole organization 
 going," he ended lamely. 
 
 The captain smiled. 
 
 ** It's pretty straightforward," he said. ** The 
 Michael line runs the first week of every month; 
 the Gabriel the second, and so on." 
 
 "Then-^" 
 
 " Yes," put in Father Jervis. " Whose idea was 
 it to dedicate the lines to the archangels? I for- 
 get." 
 
 " Ah ! that's ancient history to me, father. 
 . . . Excuse me, Monsignor; I think I hear my 
 bell." He w^heeled, saluting again, and was off. 
 
 '* Do you mean — ?" began Monsignor. 
 
 " Of course," said Father Jervis, *' everything 
 runs on those lines now. You see we're very mat- 
 ter-of-fact, and it's really rather obvious, when you 
 think of it, to dedicate the volor lines to the angels. 
 We've been becoming more and more obvious for 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL j^ 
 
 the last fifty years. ... By the way, Monsig- 
 nor, you must take care not to give yourself away. 
 You'd better not ask many questions except of 
 me." 
 
 Monsignor changed the subject. 
 
 "When shall we get to Paris?" he asked. 
 
 "We shall be a little late, I think, unless they 
 make up time. We're due at three. I hope there 
 won't be any delay at Brighton. Sometimes on 
 windy nights — " 
 
 " I suppose the descending and the starting again 
 take some time." 
 
 The priest laughed. 
 
 " We don't descend at places en routed' he said. 
 " The tender comes up to us. It'll probably be in 
 its place by now. We aren't ten minutes away." 
 
 The other compressed his lips and was silent. 
 
 Presently, far away to the southward beneath 
 the soft starlit sky, the luminous road down which 
 th€y traveled seemed to expand once more almost 
 abruptly into another vast spread of lights. But as 
 they approached this did not extend any farther, 
 but lay cut off sharp by a long, curving line of al- 
 most complete darkness. 
 
 "Brighton . . . the sea . . . and 
 there's the tender waiting." 
 
 At first the prelate could not make it out against 
 the radiance below, but an instant later, as they 
 
78 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 rushed on, it loomed up, sudden and enormous, it- 
 self blazing with lights against the dark sea. It 
 looked to him something like a floating stage, out- 
 lined with fire ; and there were glimmering, perpen- 
 dicular lines beneath it which he could not under- 
 stand, running down to lose themselves in the misty 
 glow three hundred feet beneath. 
 
 " How's it done? " he asked. 
 
 " It's a platform, charged of course with aeroline. 
 It runs on lines straight up from the stage beneath, 
 and keeps itself steady with screws. You'll see it 
 go down after we've left again. Come to the stern, 
 we shall see better from there." 
 
 By the time that they had reached the other end 
 of the ship, the pace had rapidly diminished almost 
 to motionlessness ; and as soon as Monsignor could 
 attend again, he perceived that there was sliding at 
 a footpace past their starboard side the edge of the 
 huge platform that he had seen just now half a 
 mile away. For a moment or two it swayed up and 
 down ; there was a slight vibration ; and then he 
 heard voices and the tramping of footsteps. 
 
 " The bridges are fixed," remarked the priest. 
 " They're on the lower deck, of course. Pretty 
 prompt, aren't they?" 
 
 The prelate stood, staring with all his eyes ; now 
 at the motionless platform that hung alongside, now 
 at the gulf below with the fairy lights strewed like 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 79 
 
 stars and neb nice at its bottom. It seemed impossi- 
 ble to realize that this station in the air was not 
 the normal level, and the earth not a strange for- 
 eign body that attended on it. There came up on 
 deck presently a dozen figures or so, carrying wraps, 
 and talking. It was amazing to him that they could 
 behave with such composure. Two were even 
 quarreling in subdued voices. . . . 
 
 It was hardly five minutes before the three bells 
 rang again; and before the fourth sounded, sud- 
 denly he saw drop beneath, like a stone into a pit, 
 the huge immovable platform that just now he had 
 conceived of as solid as the earth from which it had 
 risen. Down and down it went, swaying ever so 
 slightly from side to side, diminishing as it went; 
 but before the motion had ceased the fourth bell 
 rang, and he clutched the rail to steady himself as 
 the ship he w^as on soared again with a strange in- 
 toxicating motion. The next instant, as he glanced 
 over the edge, he saw that they were far out over the 
 blackness of the sea. 
 
 " I think we might go below for a bit," said the 
 priest in his ear. 
 
 There was no kind of difficulty in descending the 
 stairs; there was practically no oscillation of any 
 kind in this still and windless summer night, and 
 the two came down easily and looked round the 
 lower deck. 
 
8o THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 This was far more crowded with figures: there 
 w^ere padded seats fully occupied running round all 
 the sides, beneath the enormous continuous win- 
 dows. In the center, sternwards, ran a narrow re- 
 freshment bar, where a score of men were standing 
 to refresh themselves. Forward of the farther stairs 
 (down the well of \vhich they had seen the en- 
 gineer's head), by which they were standing, the 
 deck was closed in, as with cabins. 
 
 '^ Like to see the shrine? " asked Father Jervis. 
 
 "The what?" 
 
 " Shrine. The long- journey boats, that have 
 chaplains, carry the Blessed Sacrament, of course; 
 but there is only a little oratory on these conti- 
 nental lines." 
 
 Monsignor followed him, unable to speak, up the 
 central passage running forwards; through a pair 
 of heavy curtains; and there, to his amazed eyes, 
 appeared a small altar, a hanging lamp, and an image 
 of St. Michael. 
 
 " But it's astounding ! " whispered the prelate, 
 watching a man and a woman at their prayers. 
 
 " It's common sense, isn't it? " smiled the priest. 
 " Why, the custom began a hundred years ago." 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " Indeed it did! I learnt it from one of the lit- 
 tle guide-books they give one on these boats. A 
 company called the Great Western had mosaic pic- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 8i 
 
 tures of the patron saint of each boat in the saloon. 
 And their locomotives, too, were called after saints' 
 names. It's only plain common sense, if you come 
 to think of it." 
 
 " Are lines like this — and railways, and so on 
 — owned by the State now? I suppose so." 
 
 The other shook his head. 
 
 " That was tried under Socialism," he said. " It 
 was one of their smaller failures. You see, when 
 competition ceases, effort ceases. Human nature is 
 human nature, after all. The Socialists forgot that. 
 No; we encourage private enterprise as much as 
 possible, under State restrictions." 
 
 They paused as they came out again. 
 
 ** Care to lie down for a bit ? We shan't be in 
 till three. The Cardinal engaged a room for us." 
 
 He indicated a small cabin that bore his own 
 name on a card. 
 
 Monsignor paused. 
 
 " Yes, I will, I think. I've a lot to think about." 
 
 But he could not sleep. The priest promised to 
 awaken him in plenty of time, and he sHpped off 
 his buckled shoes and tried to compose his mind. 
 But it was useless. His mind whirled with won- 
 der. 
 
 Once he slipped to a sitting position, drew back 
 the little curtain over the porthole, and stared out. 
 There was little to be seen; but by the sight of a 
 
82 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 lake of soft light that slid past at some incalculable 
 depth a dozen miles away, he perceived that they 
 had left the sea far behind and were spinning over 
 the land of France. He looked out long, revolving 
 thoughts and conjectures, striving to find some glim- 
 mer of memory by w^hich he might adjust these new 
 experiences; but there was none. He was like a 
 child, with the brain of a man, plunged into a new 
 mode of existence, where everything seemed re- 
 versed, and yet astonishingly obvious; it was the 
 very simplicity that baffled him. The Christian re- 
 ligion was true down (or up) even to the arch- 
 angels that stand before God and control the powers 
 of the air. 
 
 The priesthood was the priesthood; the Blessed 
 Sacrament was the God-Man tabernacling with men. 
 Then where was the cause for amazement that the 
 world recognized these facts and acted upon them; 
 that men should salute the priest of God as His rep- 
 resentative and agent on earth; that air-ships (them- 
 selves constructed on the model of the sea-gull — 
 hollow feathers and all) should carry the Blessed 
 Sacrament on long journeys, that communicants 
 might not be deprived of their Daily Bread, and even 
 raise altars on board to the honor of those Powers 
 under whose protection they placed themselves. It 
 was curious, too, he reflected, that those who insist 
 most upon the claims of Divinity insist also upon 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 83 
 
 the claims of humanity. It seemed suggestive that 
 it was the Catholics v/ho were most aware of the 
 competitive passions of men and reckoned with 
 them, while the Socialists ignored them and failed. 
 
 So he sat — this poor man bewildered by sim- 
 plicity and almost shocked by the obvious — listen- 
 ing with unheeding ears to the steady rush of air 
 past the ship, voices talking naturally and easily, 
 heard through the roof above his head, an occa- 
 sional footstep, and once or twice a bell as the 
 steersman communicated some message to one of 
 his subordinates. Here he sat — ^John Masterman, 
 Domestic Prelate to His Holiness Gregory XXH, 
 Secretary to His Eminence Gabriel Cardinal Bel- 
 lairs, and priest of the Holy Roman Church, trying 
 to assimilate the fact that he was on an air-ship, 
 bound to the court of the Catholic French King, 
 and that practically the whole civilized world be- 
 lieved and acted on the behef that he, as a priest, 
 naturally also had taught and was accustomed to 
 teach. 
 
 A tap on his door roused him at last. 
 
 " It's time to be moving, Monsignor," said Father 
 Jervis through the half-open door. ''We're in 
 communication with St. Germain." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 (I) 
 
 CC'TpELL me a little about the costumes," said 
 **■ Monsignor, as the two set out on foot from 
 their lodgings in Versailles after breakfast next 
 morning, to present their letters of introduction. 
 ** They seem to me rather fantastic, somehow." 
 
 Their lodgings were situated in one of the great 
 palaces on the vast road that runs straight from the 
 gates of the royal palace itself into Paris. They 
 had come straight on by car from St. Germain, had 
 been received with immense respect by the proprie- 
 tor, w4io, it appeared, had received very particular 
 instructions from the English Cardinal; and had 
 been conducted straight upstairs to a little suite of 
 rooms, decorated in eighteenth-century fashion, and 
 consisting of a couple of bedrooms for themselves, 
 opening to a central sitting-room and oratory; the 
 two men-servants they had brought with them were 
 lodged immediately across the landing outside. 
 
 "Fantastic?" asked Father Jervis, smiling. 
 " Don't you think they're attractive ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes; but— " 
 
 84 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 85 
 
 "Remember human nature, Monsignor. After 
 all, it was only intense self-importance that used to 
 make men say that they were independent of ex- 
 terior beauty. It's far more natural and simple to 
 like beauty. Every child does, after all." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I see that, I suppose. But I didn't 
 mean only that. I was on the point of asking you 
 yesterday, again and again, but something marvel- 
 ous distracted me each time," said the prelate, smil- 
 ing. " They're extraordinarily picturesque, of 
 course ; but I can't help thinking that they must all 
 mean something." 
 
 '' Of course they do. And I never can imagine 
 how people ever got on without the system. Why, 
 even less than a hundred years ago, I understand 
 that every one dressed, or tried to dress alike. How 
 in the world could they tell who they were talking 
 to?" 
 
 " I ... I expect that was deliberate," fal- 
 tered the other. " You see, I think people used to 
 be ashamed of their trades sometimes, and wanted 
 to be thought gentlemen." 
 
 Father Jervis shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Well, I don't understand it," he said. "If a 
 man was ashamed of his trade, why did he follow 
 it?" 
 
 " I've been thinking," said Monsignor animatedly, 
 "that perhaps it's the new teaching on Vocation 
 
86 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 that has made the difference. Once a man under- 
 stands that his vocation is the most honorable thing 
 he can do, I suppose — There! who's that man," 
 he interrupted suddenly, " in blue with the 
 badge?" 
 
 A tremendous figure was crossing the road just 
 in front of them. He wore a short, full blue cloak, 
 with a silver badge on the left breast, a tight-fitting 
 cap of the same color repeating the same badge and, 
 from beneath his cloak in front hung a tunic, with 
 enormous legs in tight blue hose and shoes moving 
 underneath. 
 
 " Ah ! that's a great man," said the priest. '' He's 
 a butcher, of course — " 
 
 "A butcher!" 
 
 " Yes ; that's obvious — it's the blue, for one 
 thing, and the cut, for another. Wait an instant. 
 I shall see his badge directly." 
 
 As the great man came past them he saluted 
 deferentially. The priests bowed with equal defer- 
 ence, lifting their hands to their broad-leaved hats. 
 
 " Yes : he's very high up," said the priest quietly. 
 ** A member of the Council of the National Guild, 
 at least." 
 
 " Do you mean that man kills oxen? " 
 
 " Not now, of course ; he's worked his way up. 
 He probably represents the Guild in the Assem- 
 bly." 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 87 
 
 " Do all the trades have guilds, and are they all 
 represented in the Assembly?" 
 
 "Why of course! How else could you be cer- 
 tain that the trade was treated fairly? If all the 
 citizens voted as citizens, there's simply no fair rep- 
 resentation at all. Look ; there's a goldsmith — 
 he has probably been to the King; that's a journey- 
 man with him." 
 
 An open car sped past them. Two men were 
 seated in it; both in clothes of some really beautiful 
 metallic color; but the cap of one was plain, while 
 the cap of the other blazed with some device. 
 
 " And the women ? I can't see any system among 
 them." 
 
 '' Ah ! but there is, though it is harder to detect. 
 They have much more liberty than the men; but, 
 as a rule, each woman has as a predominating color 
 the color of the head of her family, and all, of 
 course, wear badges. There are sumptuary laws, I 
 needn't say." 
 
 " I shouldn't have guessed it ! " 
 
 " Well, not as regards price or material, cer- 
 tainly — only size. There are certain absolute lim- 
 its on both sides ; and fashions have to manage be- 
 tween the two. You see it's the same thing as in 
 trades and professions, as I told you yesterday. 
 We encourage the individual to be as individualistic 
 as possible, and draw the limits very widely, beyond 
 
S8 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 which he mustn't go. But those limits are impera- 
 tive. We try to develop both extremes at once — 
 liberty and law. We had enough of the zna media 
 — the mediocrity of the average — under Social- 
 ism." 
 
 " But do you mean to say that people submit to 
 all this?" 
 
 ''Submit! Why it's perfectly obvious to every 
 one that it's simply human — besides being very 
 convenient practically. Of course in Germany they 
 still go in for what they call Liberty ; and the result 
 is simple chaos." 
 
 " Do you mean to say there's no envy or jealousy 
 between the trades?" 
 
 ** Not in the social sense, in the very least, though 
 there's tremendous competition. Why, every one 
 under Royalty has to be a member of some trade. 
 Of course only those who practice the trade wear 
 the full costume; but even the dukes have to wear 
 the badges. It's perfectly simple, you know." 
 
 " Tell me an English duke who's a butcher." 
 
 "Butcher? ... I can't think of one this 
 minute. Southminster's a baker, though." Mon- 
 signor was silent. But it certainly seemed simple. 
 
 They were passing up now between the sentr>^- 
 guarded gates of the enormous and exquisite palace 
 of Versailles; and beyond the great expanse of 
 gravel on which they had just set foot rose up the 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 89 
 
 myriad windows, pinnacles, and walls where the 
 Kings of France lived again as they had lived two 
 hundred years before. Far up against the tender 
 summer sky flapped the Royal Standard; and the 
 lilies of France, once more on their blue ground, 
 indicated that the King was in residence. Even as 
 they looked, however, the banner seemed to waver 
 a little; and simultaneously a sudden ringing sound 
 from a shadowed portico a couple of hundred yards 
 away brought Father Jervis to a sudden stop. 
 
 ''We'd better step aside," he said. ''We're 
 right in the way." 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 " Someone's coming out. Look." 
 
 From out of the shadow into the full sunlight 
 with a flash of silver lightning whirled a body of 
 cuirassiers, wheeled into line, and came on, re-form- 
 ing as they came, at a canter. 
 
 A couple of heralds rode in front; and a long 
 trumpet-cry pealed out, was caught, echoed, and 
 thrown back by the crowding walls of the palace. 
 
 Behind, as Father Jervis drew him to one side, 
 Monsignor caught a glimpse of white horses and a 
 gleam of gold. He glanced hastily back at the gates 
 through which they had just come, and, as if sprung 
 out of the ground, there was the crowd standing 
 respectfully on either side of the avenue to see its 
 Sovereign. (It was up this avenue to Paris, Mon- 
 
90 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 signer reflected, that the women had come on their 
 appalling march to the Queen who ruled them then. ) 
 
 As he glanced back again the heralds were upon 
 them, and the thunder of hoofs followed close be- 
 hind. But beyond the line of galloping guards, in 
 the midst, drawn by white horses, ran the great 
 gilded coach with glass windows, and the crown of 
 France atop. 
 
 Two men were seated in the coach, bowing me- 
 chanically as they came — one a small, young, vi- 
 vacious-looking man with a pointed dark beard; 
 the other a heavy, fair-haired, sanguine-featured, 
 clean-shaven man. Both alike were in robes in 
 which red and gold predominated; and both wore 
 broad feathered hats, shaped like a priest's. 
 
 Then the coach was gone through the tall gilded 
 gates, and a cloud of dust, beaten up by the gal- 
 loping hoofs on all sides, hid even the cuirassiers 
 who closed the company. 
 
 " The King and the German Emperor," observed 
 Father Jervis, replacing his hat. '' Now there's the 
 other side of the picture for you." 
 
 ''I don't understand." 
 
 " Why, we treat our kings like kings," smiled 
 the other. " And, at the same time, we encourage 
 our butchers to be really butchers and to glory in 
 it. Law and liberty, you see. Absolute discipline 
 and the cultivation of individualism. No repub- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 91 
 
 lican stew-pot, you see, in which everything tastes 
 aHke." 
 
 (n) 
 
 They had to wait a few minutes in an ante-room 
 before presenting their letters, as the official was 
 engaged, and Father Jervis occupied the time in run- 
 ning over again the names and histories of three or 
 four important personages to whom they would 
 probably have to speak. He had given an outline 
 of these at breakfast. 
 
 There were three in particular about whom Mon- 
 signor must be informed. 
 
 First, the King; and Monsignor learned again 
 thoroughly of the sensational reaction which, after 
 the humiliation of France in the war of 1914 — 
 the logical result of a conflict between a republican- 
 ism worked out to mediocrity and a real and vivid 
 monarchy — had placed this man's father — the un- 
 doubted legitimate heir — upon the throne. He 
 had died only two years ago, when the Dauphin, 
 who had ascended the throne, was only eighteen 
 years old. The present King was not yet married, 
 but there were rumors of a love-match with a Span- 
 ish princess. He was a boyish king, it seemed, but 
 he played his royal part with intense enjoyment and 
 dignity, and had restored, to the delight of this es- 
 sentially romantic and imaginative people, most of 
 7 
 
92 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 the glories of the eighteenth-century court, without 
 its scandals. Certainly France was returning to its 
 old chivalry, and thence to its old power. 
 
 Next there was the Cardinal Archbishop of Paris, 
 Monsignor Guinet, a very old ecclesiastic, very high 
 in the counsels of the Church, who would almost 
 certainly have been elected Pope at the last vacancy 
 if it had not been for his age. He was an " intel- 
 lectual," it seemed, and, among other things, was 
 one of the first physicists of Europe. He had been 
 ordained comparatively late in life. 
 
 Thirdly there was the Archbishop's secretary — 
 Monsignor Allet — a rising man and an excellent 
 diplomatist. 
 
 There were two or three more, but Father Jervis 
 was content with scarcely more than recounting 
 their names. The King's brother, and the heir- 
 presumptive, was something of a recluse and sel- 
 dom appeared at court. Of the German Emperor, 
 Monsignor had already learned, it seemed, suffi- 
 cient. 
 
 In the middle of these instructions, the door sud- 
 denly opened, and an ecclesiastic hurried in with 
 outstretched hands, and apologies in a torrent of 
 Latin. 
 
 (" Monsignor Allet,'^ whispered Father Jervis, as 
 he appeared.) 
 
 Monsignor Masterman stood bewildered. The 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 93 
 
 dilemma had not occurred to him ; but Father Jervis, 
 it seemed, was prepared. He said a rapid sentence 
 to the secretary, who turned, bowing, and immedi- 
 ately began in English without the trace of any ac- 
 cent. 
 
 ''I perfectly understand — perfectly indeed. 
 These doctors rule us with a rod of iron, don't 
 they ? It'll be arranged directly. We all talk Eng- 
 lish here; and I'll say a word to His Eminence. 
 The very same thing happened to himself a year or 
 two back. He was forbidden to talk in French. It 
 is astonishing, is it not? the subtlety of those doc- 
 tors! And yet how natural. No two languages 
 have the same mental reaction, after all. They're 
 perfectly right." 
 
 Monsignor caught a glimmering of what he was 
 at. But he thought he had better be cautious. 
 
 "I'm afraid I shall give a lot of trouble," he 
 murmured, looking doubtfully at this sparkling- 
 eyed, blue-chinned young man, who spoke with such 
 rapidity. 
 
 " Not in the least, I assure you." He turned to 
 the older priest. " The Cardinal left here only half 
 an hour ago. How unfortunate ! He came over to 
 arrange the final details of the disputation. You've 
 heard of that?" 
 
 " Not a word." 
 
 The young prelate beamed. 
 
94 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " Well, you'll hear the finest wit in France ! It's 
 for this afternoon." (His face fell.) "But it's 
 Latin. Perhaps Monsignor might not — " 
 
 "Ah! So long as he doesn't talk!" (Father 
 Jervis turned to his friend. ) "I was telling Mon- 
 signor here that the doctor ordered you to engage 
 in no business that did not interest you; and that 
 Latin was rather a strain to you just now — ■" 
 
 This seemed adroit enough. But Monsignor was 
 determined to miss no new experience. 
 
 " It will simply delight me," he said. " And 
 what is the subject ? " 
 
 " Well," said the Frenchman, " it's for the benefit 
 of the Emperor. Two of the Parisian theologians 
 are disputing De Ecclesia. The thesis of the ad- 
 versary, who opens, is that the Church is merely 
 the representative of God on earth — a society that 
 must, of course, be obeyed; but that infallibility is 
 not necessary to her efficiency." 
 
 Father Jervis' eyes twinkled. 
 
 " Isn't that a little too pointed ? Why, that's the 
 Emperor's one difficulty ! I understand that he al- 
 lows, politically speaking, the need for the Church, 
 but denies her divinity." 
 
 " I assure you," said the French priest solemnly, 
 " that the thesis is his owm selection. You see, he's 
 sick of these Socialists. He understands perfectly 
 that the one sanction of human authority must come 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 95 
 
 from God, or from the people ; and he's entirely on 
 God's side! But he cannot see the infallibility, and 
 therefore, as he's a sincere man — !" He ended 
 with an eloquent shrug. 
 
 " Well," said Father Jervis, *' if the Cardinal's 
 not here — " 
 
 " Alas ! he is back in Paris by now. But give me 
 your letters! Til see that they are presented prop- 
 erly ; and you shall receive a royal command for the 
 disputation in plenty of time." 
 
 They handed over their letters; they exchanged 
 compliments once more; they were escorted as far 
 as the door of the room by the prelate, across the 
 next ante-chamber by an imposing man in black 
 velvet with a chain, across the third by a cuirassier, 
 and across the hall to the bottom of the steps by two 
 tremendous footmen in the ancient royal livery. 
 
 Monsignor was silent for a few yards. 
 
 " Aren't you afraid of an anti-clerical reaction? " 
 he asked suddenly. 
 
 "How do you mean? I don't understand." 
 
 Then Monsignor launched out. He had accepted 
 by now the theory that he had had a lapse of mem- 
 ory, and that so far as his intellect was concerned, 
 he was practically a man of a century ago, owing 
 to the history he had happened to be reading shortly 
 before his collapse; and he talked therefore from 
 that standpoint. 
 
96 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 He produced, that is to say, with astonishing 
 fluency all those arguments that were common in 
 the mouths of the more serious anti-clericals of the 
 beginning of the century — the increase of Re- 
 ligious Orders, the domineering tendency of all ec- 
 clesiastics in the enjoyment of temporal power, the 
 impossibility of combating supernatural arguments, 
 the hostility of the Church to education — down 
 even to the celibacy of the clergy. He paused for 
 breath as they turned out of the great gateway. 
 
 Father Jervis laughed aloud and patted him on 
 the arm. 
 
 *' My dear Monsignor, I can't compete with you. 
 You're too eloquent. Of course, I remember from 
 reading history that those things used to be said, 
 and I suppose Socialists say them now. But, you 
 know, no educated man ever dreams of such argu- 
 ments; nor indeed do the uneducated! It's the 
 half -educated, as usual, who's the enemy. He al- 
 ways is. The Wise Men and the shepherds both 
 knelt in Bethlehem. It was the bourgeois who 
 stood apart." 
 
 " That's no answer,'* persisted the other. 
 
 " Well, let's see," said the priest good-humoredly. 
 " We'll begin with celibacy. Now it's perfectly true 
 that it's thought almost a disgrace for a man not to 
 have a large family. The average is certainly not 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 97 
 
 less than ten in civilized nations. But for all that 
 a priest is looked upon without any contempt at all. 
 Why ? Because he's a spiritual father ; because he 
 begets spiritual children to God, and feeds and nour- 
 ishes them. Of course to an atheist this is non- 
 sense; and even to an agnostic it's a very doubtful 
 benefit. But, my dear Monsignor, you must re- 
 member that these hardly exist amongst us. The 
 entire civilized world of to-day is as absolutely con- 
 vinced of Heaven and Grace and the Church, and 
 the havoc that Sin makes not only as regards the 
 next world but in this — so absolutely convinced 
 that he understands perfectly that a priest is far 
 more productive of general good than a physical 
 father possibly can be. It's the priest who keeps 
 the whole thing going. Don't you see ? And then, 
 in a Catholic world, the instinct that the man who 
 serves the altar should be without physical ties — 
 well, that's simply natural." 
 
 " Go on. What about education? " 
 "My dear friend," said Father Jervis. ''The 
 Church controls the whole of education, as she did, 
 in fact, up to the very time when the State first took 
 it away from her and then abused her for neglect- 
 ing it. Practically all the scientists ; all the special- 
 ists in medicine, chemistry, and mental health ; nine- 
 tenths of the musicians ; three-quartexs of the artists 
 
98 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 — practically all those are religious. It's only the 
 active trades, which are incompatible with religion, 
 that are in the hands of the laity. It's been found 
 by experience that no really fine work can be done 
 except by those who are familiar with divine things ; 
 because it's only those who see things all round, who 
 have, that is to say, a really comprehensive intuition. 
 Take history. Unless you have a really close grasp 
 of what Providence means — of not only the End, 
 but the Means by w^hich God works ; unless you can 
 see right through things to their Intention, how in 
 the world can you interpret the past? Don't you 
 remember w^hat Manners said about Realism? We 
 don't want misleading photographs of externals any 
 more. We want Ideas. And how can you cor- 
 relate Ideas, unless you have a real grasp of the 
 Central Idea? It's nonsense." 
 
 " Go on with the other things." 
 
 " There's a lot more about education. There's 
 the graduated education we have now (entirely an 
 ecclesiastical notion, by the way). We don't try to 
 teach everybody everything. We teach a certain 
 foundation to every one — the Catechism, of course, 
 two languages perfectly, the elements of physical 
 science, and a great deal of history. (You can't 
 understand the Catechism without history, and vice 
 versa) ; but after that we specialize. Well, the 
 world understands now — " 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 99 
 
 " That's enough, thank you. Go on with the 
 other things." 
 
 Father Jervis laughed again. 
 
 " We're nearly home. Let's turn in here, and 
 get into the gardens for a bit. . . . Well, I 
 think you'll find that the root of all your difficulties 
 is that you seem not to be able to get into your 
 head that the world is really and intelligently Chris- 
 tian. There are the Religious Orders you spoke 
 of. Well, aren't the active Religious Orders the 
 very finest form of association ever invented? 
 Aren't they exactly what Socialists have always been 
 crying for, with the blunders left out and the gaps 
 filled up? As soon as the world understood finally 
 that the active Religious Orders could beat all other 
 forms of association at their own game — that they 
 could teach and work more cheaply and efifectively, 
 and so on — well, the most foolish Political Econo- 
 mist had to confess that the Religious Orders made 
 for the country's welfare. And as for the Con- 
 templative Orders — " 
 
 Father Jervis' face grew grave and tender. 
 
 **Yes?" 
 
 "Why, they're the princes of the world! They 
 are models of the Crucified. So long as there is 
 Sin in the world, so long must there be Penance. 
 The instant Christianity was accepted, the Cross 
 stood up dominant once more. . . . And then 
 
loo THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 . . . then people understood. Why, they're the 
 Holy Ones of the universe — higher than angels; 
 for they suffer. . . ." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. 
 
 " Yes," said Monsignor softly. 
 
 " My dear Monsignor, just force upon your mind 
 the fact that the world is really and intelligently 
 Christian. I think it'll all be plain then. You 
 seem to me, if I may say so, to be falling into the 
 old-fashioned way of looking at ' Clericalism,' as it 
 used to be called, as a kind of department of life, 
 like Art or Law. No wonder men resented its in- 
 trusion when they conceived of it like that. Well, 
 there is no * Clericalism ' now, and therefore there 
 is no anti-Clericalism. There's just religion — as 
 a fact. Do you see ? Shall we sit down for a few 
 minutes? Aren't the gardens exquisite?" 
 
 (m) 
 
 Monsignor Masterman sat that night at his win- 
 dow, looking out at the stars and the night and the 
 blotted glimmering gardens beneath; and it seemed 
 to him as if the dream deepened every day. Things 
 grew more, not less marvelous, with his appreciation 
 of the simplicity of it all. 
 
 From three to seven he had sat in one of the seats 
 on the right of the royal dais, reserved for prelates, 
 almost immediately opposite the double-pulpited 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL loi 
 
 platform, itself set in the midst of the long outer 
 side of the great gallery of Versailles, through 
 which access was to be had to the little old private 
 rooms of Marie Antoinette, and had listened spell- 
 bound to two of the greatest wits of France, re- 
 spectively attacking and defending, with extraor- 
 dinary subtlety and fire, the claim of the Church 
 to Infallibility. The disputation had been con- 
 ducted on scholastic lines, all verbal etiquette being 
 carefully observed; again and again he had heard, 
 first on one side a string of arguments adduced 
 against the doctrine, then on the other a torrent of 
 answers, with the old half-remembered words " Dis- 
 tinguo," " Nego," " Concedo " ; and the reasoning 
 on both sides had appeared to him astonishingly 
 brilliant. And all this before two sovereigns — 
 the one keen, vivacious, and appreciative ; the other 
 heavy, patient, considerate — two sovereigns, 
 treated, as the elaborate etiquette of the whole af- 
 fair showed plainly enough, as kings indeed — men 
 who stood for authority, and the grades and the dif- 
 ferentiation of functions, as emphatically as the 
 old democratic hand-shaking statesmen, dressed like 
 their own servants, stood for the other comple- 
 mentary principle of the equality of men. For 
 alongside of all this tremendous pomp there was a 
 very practical recognition of the " People " ; since 
 the whole disputation was conducted in the presence 
 
I02 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 of a crowd drawn, it seemed, from almost every 
 class, who pressed behind the barriers, murmured, 
 laughed gleefully, and now and again broke out into 
 low thunders of applause, as the Catholic cham- 
 pion drove logic home, or turned aside the infidel 
 shaft. 
 
 The very thesis amazed the man, for the absolute 
 necessity of an authoritative supernatural Church, 
 with supernatural sanctions, seemed assumed as an 
 axiom of thought, not merely by these Catholics, 
 but by the entire world, Christian and un-Christian 
 alike. More than once the phrase '' It is conceded 
 by all men " flashed out, and passed unrebuked, in 
 support of this claim. The only point of dispute 
 between reasoning beings seemed to be not as to 
 whether or no the Church must be treated practically 
 as infallible, but whether dogmatically and actually 
 she were so. 
 
 As he sat here now at his window, Father Jervis' 
 words began to come back with new force. Was it 
 indeed true that the only reason why he found these 
 things strange was that he could not yet quite bring 
 home to his imagination the fact that the world 
 now was convincedly Christian as a whole? It be- 
 gan to appear so. 
 
 For somew^here in the back of his mind (why he 
 knew not) there lurked a sort of only half -per- 
 ceived assumption that the Catholic religion was but 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 103 
 
 one aspect of truth — one point of view from which, 
 with sufficient though not absohite truth, facts could 
 be discerned. He could not understand this; yet 
 there it was. And he understood, at any rate in- 
 tellectually, that if he could once realize that the 
 dogmas of the Church were the dogmas of the uni- 
 verse, and not only that, but that the world con- 
 vincedly realized it too, why then the fact that the 
 civilization of to-day was actually molded upon it 
 would no longer bewilder him. 
 
 (IV) 
 
 It was on the following morning that he spoke 
 with the King. 
 
 The two priests had said Mass in their oratory, 
 and an hour later were walking in the park beneath 
 the palace windows. 
 
 It was one more of that string of golden days, 
 of which they had already enjoyed so many, and 
 the splendor of that amazing landscape was com- 
 plete. 
 
 They had passed below the enclosure known as 
 the " King's Garden," and were going in the direc- 
 tion of the Trianon, which Monsignor had ex- 
 pressed a desire to see, and had just emerged into 
 the immense central avenue which runs straight 
 from the palace to the lake. Above them rose the 
 forest trees, enormous now, yet tamed by Lenotre's 
 
104 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 marvelous art, resembling a regiment of giants per- 
 fectly drilled ; the grass was like carpets on all sides ; 
 the sky blazed like a blue jewel overhead; the noise 
 of singing birds and falling water was in the air. 
 But above all there towered on their right, beyond 
 the almost endless terraces, the splendid palace of 
 the kings of France, royal at last once more. And 
 there, as symbol of the restoration, there hung 
 round the flagstaff as he had seen it yesterday the 
 blue folds and the lilies of the monarchy. 
 
 It was no good trying to frame words as to what 
 he felt. He had said all he could, and it was use- 
 less. Father Jervis seemed unable to understand 
 the fierce enthusiasm of a man who now experi- 
 enced all this, as it appeared, for the first time. He 
 walked silently, exulting. 
 
 There seemed not many people abroad this morn- 
 ing. The two had presented an order, obtained 
 through Monsignor Allet, at the gates below the 
 Orange Gardens, and had learned from the sentry 
 that until the afternoon this part of the park was 
 closed to the public. Here and there, however, in 
 the distance a single figure made its appearance, 
 w^alking in the shade or hurrying on some errand. 
 
 The priests had just come out from the line of 
 trees and had set foot in the avenue itself, when, 
 twenty yards farther up, from the entrance to some 
 other path parallel to their own, a group came out, 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 105 
 
 and an instant later they heard themselves hailed 
 and saw Monsignor Allet himself, in all his purple, 
 hurrying towards them. 
 
 *' You are the very men," he cried, again stretch- 
 ing out his hands in a welcoming French gesture. 
 " His Majesty was speaking of you not five minutes 
 ago. He is here, in the garden. Shall I present 
 you now ? " 
 
 Father Jervis glanced at his friend. 
 
 *' His Majesty is very kind — " he began. 
 
 " Not a word more! If you will follow me and 
 wait an instant at the entrance, I will speak with 
 His Majesty and bring you in." 
 
 " I have not my ferraiuolo — " began Monsignor. 
 
 " The King will excuse travelers," smiled the 
 Frenchman. 
 
 The entrance to the " King's Garden '* on this side 
 passes beneath an arch of yew, and here the two 
 waited. 
 
 Somewhere beyond the green walls they could 
 hear talking, and now and again a burst of laugh- 
 ter. Then the talking ceased, and they heard a 
 single voice. 
 
 " In what language — " began Monsignor Mas- 
 terman nervously. 
 
 •'Oh! English, no doubt. You can't talk 
 French?" 
 
 Monsignor shook his head. 
 
io6 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 '' Not a hundred words," he said. 
 
 Again came the quick footstep, and the French 
 priest appeared, still gay, but with a certain solem- 
 nity. '' Come this way, gentlemen," he said. " The 
 King will see you." (He glanced at the prelate.) 
 " You won't forget to kneel, Monsignor." 
 
 To the English prelate the scene that he saw, on 
 emerging at last into the open space in the middle, 
 protected by the ancient yews — even though he 
 should have been prepared for it by all that he had 
 already seen — simply once more dazed and stupe- 
 fied him. 
 
 The center of the space was occupied by a round 
 pond, perhaps thirty yards across, of absolutely 
 still water, and in this mirror, shaded by the masses 
 of foliage overhead, was reflected a picture that 
 might have been taken straight from some painting 
 two hundred years old. For, on the semicircle of 
 marble seats that stood beyond the water, sat a 
 company of figures dressed once more in all the 
 bravery of real color and splendor, as from days 
 when men were not ashamed to use publicly and 
 commonly these glittering gifts of God. 
 
 Monsignor hardly noticed the rest (there were 
 perhaps twelve or fifteen all told, with half a dozen 
 women amongst them) ; he looked only, as he came 
 round the pond, at the central figure that advanced 
 to meet him. Twice he had seen him yesterday — 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 107 
 
 yet those occasions had been public. But to see the 
 King now, at ease amongst his friends, yet still 
 royally dressed in his brilliant blue suit and feath- 
 ered hat, with his tall cane — to see the whole com- 
 pany, gay and brilliant, talking and laughing, taking 
 their pleasure in the air before breakfast — the 
 thing somehow brought home to him the reality of 
 what appeared to him as a change, more than had 
 all the pomps and glories of the day before. Splen- 
 dor seemed no longer ceremonial, but natural. 
 
 Monsignor Allet was explaining something in 
 rapid French in the King's ear, and as the two came 
 up, the face that listened smiled suddenly with in- 
 telligence. 
 
 '' I give you welcome,'* he said in excellent Eng- 
 lish. 
 
 *' Come, gentlemen" (he turned to the others, 
 who had risen to their feet as he rose), "we must 
 be getting homewards. Monsignor!" (and he 
 beckoned to the two English priests to walk with 
 him.) 
 
 That walk seemed like a dream. 
 
 They went leisurely upwards towards the palace, 
 through yew alley after yew alley, French chatter- 
 ing sounding behind them as they went; and the 
 King, still in fluent English, though with an ac- 
 cent that increased as he talked, questioned them 
 
 courteously as to England, spoke of the disputation 
 8 
 
io8 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 of yesterday, discussed frankly enough the situa- 
 tion in Germany, and Hstened with attention to the 
 remarks of Father Jervis; for Monsignor Master- 
 man was discreetly silent for the most part. 
 
 It was not until the great doors of the palace flew 
 open at last, and the rows of liveried men showed 
 within, that the King dismissed them. He turned 
 on the steps and gave them his hand to kiss. Then 
 he raised them from their knees with a courteous 
 gesture. 
 
 " And you go to Rome, you say? " 
 
 " Almost immediately, sire. We shall be there 
 for SS. Peter and Paul." 
 
 " Present my homage at the feet of the Holy 
 Father," smiled the King. " You are fortunate in- 
 deed. I have not seen His Holiness for three 
 months. Good day, gentlemen." 
 
 The two passed again in silence down the ter- 
 races on their way to the Trianon. 
 
 " It is amazing," burst out Monsignor suddenly. 
 "And the people. What of them? Is there no 
 resentment? " 
 
 "Why should there be?" asked the other. 
 
 " But they are excluded from the palace and the 
 park. It was not so a hundred years ago." 
 
 "Do you think they are any the less happy?" 
 asked Father Jervis. " My dear Monsignor, surely 
 you know human nature better than that! They 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 109 
 
 have lost the vulgarity of Versailles, and they have 
 regained its royalty. Don't you see that? " 
 
 <' ^ell ! " — Monsignor paused. '' It's simply 
 medisevalism back again, it seems to me." 
 
 " Exactly ! " said the other. " You have hit it at 
 last. It is mediaevalism — that is to say, human 
 nature with faith and reverence, and without cant." 
 
 He paused again, and his eyes twinkled. 
 
 " You know honors and privileges are worth 
 nothing if every one has them. If we all wore 
 crowns, the kings would go bareheaded." 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 (I) 
 
 T T E awoke suddenly, at some movement, and for 
 an instant did not remember where he was. 
 
 For nearly a week they had stayed on at Ver- 
 sailles; and each day that had passed had done its 
 share in making this fairyland seem more like a 
 reality. But that strange subconscious self of his, 
 for which even now there seemed no accounting, 
 was still obstinate; it still assured him that the 
 world ought not to be like this, that religion ought 
 not to be so concrete and effective — that he would 
 awake soon and find himself in some desolate state 
 of affairs where Faith, hemmed in by enemies, still 
 fought for very life against irresistible odds. It 
 was at night and at morning that the mood came 
 on him most forcibly; when instinct, free from 
 facts, and ranging clear of the will's dominion, as- 
 serted itself most strongly, and as he awoke this 
 night it was on him again. 
 
 He looked round the dark little room with be- 
 wildered eyes; then he fumbled with a button, and 
 all was flooded with light. 
 
 no 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL in 
 
 He was lying in a little spring-bed, set within 
 two padded sides, like a berth in a steamship. And 
 beside him was the closed bureau which he per- 
 ceived to be washing arrangements in disguise; 
 overhead protruded a broad shelf; on the wall, 
 above a little couch, hung silk curtains over a win- 
 tiow — as they sw^ayed slightly with some move- 
 ment he caught sight of glass beyond. On the door, 
 at the foot of his bed, hung his cassock, and the 
 purple cincture that lay across it recalled him to at 
 least a part of the facts. The cabin was uphol- 
 stered and painted in clean white, and an electric 
 globe emerged from the ceiling. 
 
 He w^as next conscious of cold, and instinctively 
 leaned forward to draw the quilt farther over his 
 knees. Then, with a flash, he remembered, and, in 
 spite of the cold, was out of bed in a moment, 
 kneeling on the couch and peering out through the 
 curtains. 
 
 At first he could see nothing at all. There was 
 but an unfathomable gulf beyond the glass. He 
 stood up on the couch, and drawing the curtains 
 behind his head to shut out the light, he once more 
 stared out. Then he began to see. 
 
 Immediately opposite him glimmered a huge 
 white outline — in the incalculable night it might 
 be a hundred yards or a mile away. It was of 
 irregular outline, for the star-strewn sky showed in 
 
112 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 patches and rifts above it. And this white mass 
 curved away beneath, under the ship in which he 
 traveled, till it met, at a point which he could but 
 just discern, a blackness that rose to meet it. 
 
 Then, as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, 
 he began to see that the huge whiteness was flitting 
 past, steadily and leisurely, from right to left; that 
 it was streaked with shadows or clefts; and that 
 following it, as in a sliding procession, came an- 
 other, like it yet (it seemed) more distant. 
 
 All this time, too, the silence was profound. 
 There was but a soft humming note somewhere 
 in the air, and the faintest sense of vibration in the 
 metal-work on which his hands were pressed. Once 
 too he heard a footstep pass softly and rhythmically 
 overhead, as if some watcher moved up and down 
 the length of the upper deck. 
 
 The man dropped the curtains and sat back on 
 his heels, trying to force into his imagination the 
 facts that he now perceived and remembered. 
 
 They had left St. Germain last night, after dining 
 at Versailles. They were now crossing the Alps. 
 They would be in Rome for Mass and breakfast. 
 . . . They were traversing at this moment, no 
 doubt, only a thousand feet high, one of those 
 passes up which (he thought he remembered from 
 history) the old railway-trains had been accus- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 113 
 
 tomed to climb, yard by yard and spiral by spiral, 
 a hundred years before. . . . 
 
 In a minute or two he leaned forward and stared 
 again, once more closing the curtains behind his 
 head. 
 
 The sky seemed a little brighter, he thought, 
 than when he had looked just now. Perhaps the 
 moon was rising somewhere. And certainly the 
 sky was more in evidence. Far away to the left 
 behind, passing even as he looked, moved those 
 gigantic horns of white, as if the ship stood still 
 and the earth turned beneath ; and below now, slop- 
 ing to the right, lay long lines of darkness, jutting 
 here and there with a sudden crag against the 
 blaze of stars. It was marvelous, he thought, 
 how still all lay; there was a steady hiss, now 
 heard for the first time, as the air tore past the 
 glassy sides of the bird-shaped ship, as high as the 
 cry of a bat. 
 
 He shifted on his knees a little, and staring for- 
 wards, saw far ahead and at what seemed an in- 
 calculable distance something that baffled him en- 
 tirely, for it changed its aspect every instant that he 
 watched. 
 
 At first it was no more than a patch of lumin- 
 osity; and he thought it to be, perhaps, a lighted 
 town. But the character of it was changed as he 
 
114 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 formulated his thought, and three brilliant spots 
 like blue stars broke out on a sudden, and these 
 three stars shifted their positions. He kept his eyes 
 on these, marveling; and, with something very like 
 fear, saw that they were approaching upwards and 
 onwards with the swiftness of thought. 
 
 Up and on they came. He shrank back a little, 
 instinctively; and then, as he leaned forward once 
 more, determined to understand, shrank back with 
 a sharp indrawing of breath, as there whirled past, 
 it appeared only a few yards away, a flare of bril- 
 liant blue lines, in the midst of which passed a 
 phantom-like body in a mist, and accompanied by 
 a musical sound (it seemed) of extraordinary char- 
 ity and beauty, that rose from a deep organ-note to 
 the shrill of a flute, and down again into a bass and 
 a silence. . . . 
 
 He smiled to himself as he climbed back into 
 bed a minute or two later, when he had recon- 
 structed the phenomena and interpreted them. It 
 was but another volor, bound northwards, and it 
 had probably passed at least half a mile away. 
 
 Well, he must sleep again if he could. They 
 would be in Rome by morning. 
 
 They had delayed their departure from Ver- 
 sailles to the last possible moment, since France 
 was, after all, under the circumstances, one of the 
 best places in the world for Monsignor to pick up 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 115 
 
 again the threads of Hfe. For one thing, it was 
 near to England — English was spoken there 
 amongst the educated almost as frequently as 
 French; yet it was not England, and Monsignor's 
 plight would not cause him any great inconvenience. 
 Further, France was at present the theater of the 
 world's interest, since the Emperor was there, and 
 on the Emperor's future depended largely the des- 
 tinies of Europe: his conversion, it was thought, 
 might be the final death-blow to Socialism in his 
 dominions. 
 
 Monsignor had employed his time well. Not 
 only had he learned accurately the general state 
 of the world, but morning by morning he had 
 familiarized himself with his own work, and felt, 
 by now, very nearly competent to finish his lessons 
 in England. Cardinal Bellairs communicated with 
 him almost every day, and professed himself de- 
 lighted with the progress made. Finally he had 
 talked Latin continually with Father Jervis in prep- 
 aration for Rome, and would have passed muster, 
 at least, in general conversation. 
 
 The two motored into the city from the volor- 
 station outside, and everywhere as they went 
 through the streets and crossed the Tiber on their 
 way to the Leonine City, where they were to lodge, 
 were evidences of the feast. 
 
 For the whole route from Vatican to Lateran, 
 
ii6 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 which they crossed more than once, was one con- 
 tinual triumphal way. Masts had been erected, 
 swathed in the Papal colors and crowned with gar- 
 lands; barriers ran from mast to mast, behind 
 which already the crowds were beginning to gather, 
 though it was hardly past six o'clock in the morn- 
 ing; and from every window hung carpets, ban- 
 ners, and tapestries. The motor was stopped at 
 least half a dozen times; but the prelate's insignia 
 passed them through quickly; and it was just half- 
 past six as they drew up before an old palace sit- 
 uated on the right in the road leading from the 
 Tiber to the Vatican, and scarcely a quarter of a 
 mile away from St. Peter's. 
 
 Monsignor glanced up at the arms above the 
 doorway and smiled. 
 
 " I did not know you were bringing me here," he 
 said. 
 
 "You know it?'^ 
 
 " Why, it's the old place where the kings of Eng- 
 land lodged, isn't it?" 
 
 Father Jervis smiled. 
 
 " Your memory's improving," he said. 
 
 Then a magnificent servant came out, bowed pro- 
 foundly, and opened the door of the car. 
 
 " By the way," said Father Jervis as they went 
 in, " Fd better go and inquire the details at the 
 Vatican. You might give me your card. Fll go 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 117 
 
 at once, and then come back and join you at break- 
 fast." 
 
 It was a pleasant little suite of rooms, not un- 
 like in arrangements to those of Versailles. The 
 windows looked out on the central court, where a 
 fountain played, and the rooms themselves were 
 furnished in the usual Roman fashion — painted 
 ceilings, stone floors, and a few damask hangings. 
 
 Monsignor turned to the servant who was super- 
 intending the two Englishmen they had brought. 
 
 " I've not been in Rome for some time," he said 
 in Latin. " Tell me what this house is now ? " 
 
 " Monsignor, it is the English palace. Mon- 
 signor is in the apartment of His Eminence Cardi- 
 nal Bellairs." 
 
 "The King himself stays here?" 
 
 " It is His Majesty's palace," said the man. 
 *' The Prince George arrived two days ago. His 
 Highness is in the apartment below." 
 
 Monsignor smiled. He understood now Father 
 Jervis' evasion as to where they were to stay in 
 Rome. Plainly it was determined that he should 
 have a front seat at all ceremonies. 
 
 Ten minutes later, as he came out of his bed- 
 room. Father Jervis himself came in. 
 
 " You have your choice, Monsignor," he said. 
 " As a Domestic Prelate you have the right to walk 
 in the procession (here is the permit), or as occupy- 
 
Ii8 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 ing rooms here we can, if you prefer, see the pro- 
 cession from the front windows." 
 
 " Tell me what the programme is." 
 
 " At nine the procession leaves St. Peter's to go 
 to the Lateran — at least the}^ call it nine. There 
 the Holy Father sings Mass, as bishop in his own 
 cathedral. On the return of the procession, I sup- 
 pose about midday, the Holy Father visits the tomb 
 of St. Peter. Then this afternoon he is present at 
 Vespers in St. Peter's; and afterwards gives the 
 blessing Urbi et Orhi from the window as usual." 
 
 '* What would you advise? " 
 
 " Well, I should advise your remaining here till 
 midday. There's no use in overdoing it. We can 
 see everything admirably. Then we can go into 
 St. Peter's for the visit to the tomb, and come back 
 here to dejeuner. After that we can arrange about 
 the rest of the day." 
 
 " Very good. Then let us have something to eat 
 at once." 
 
 "Who's Prince George of England? " demanded 
 Monsignor presently as they sat over coffee. 
 
 Father Jervis laughed. 
 
 " You've found that out, have you ? Yes, he's 
 here, of course. Well, he's the second son ; he's 
 only a boy. He's over here to represent the King. 
 Every sovereign sends a prince of the blood-royal 
 for to-day. Even the German Emperor." 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 119 
 
 "Do you mean from Europe?" 
 
 " I mean from the whole world. You see the 
 East is scarcely three days away by the fast volors ; 
 so even the Chinese — " 
 
 " Do you mean that China and Japan send repre- 
 sentatives ? " 
 
 " Certainly. Japan is Christian of course, any- 
 how; and China has at least one or two Christian 
 princes of the blood." 
 
 " By the way, what about Russia ? " 
 
 "Well, what about it?" 
 
 "Is it Catholic?" 
 
 " My dear Monsignor, it's been Catholic for 
 thirty years." 
 
 " Oh, dear me ! You must lend me some more 
 histories. . . . What made it Catholic?" 
 
 " Common sense, I suppose. How they could 
 have stood out for so long is the only thing that 
 puzzles me." 
 
 " But the Petrine claims — " 
 
 " Why, the Petrine claims were the very point. 
 Facts w^ere too strong. If you look back over his- 
 tory you can't help seeing that the only Christian 
 body that was ever able to resist Erastianism on 
 the one side and endless division on the other has 
 been the Church built on Peter. They began to see 
 it nearly a hundred years ago in Russia and Greece. 
 Then the Emperor of Russia was secretly recon- 
 
I20 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 died in 1930; and ten or twelve years later his peo- 
 ple followed him." 
 
 " Then there's no more dispute ? What about 
 the Filioque clause?" 
 
 " Why, when Peter is accepted, the rest fol- 
 lows." 
 
 " Then you may say that the entire civilized world 
 is represented in Rome to-day? " 
 
 " Certainly. You'll see the princes in the pro- 
 
 (n) 
 
 An hour later they took their places at the cen- 
 tral window of the long sala on the third floor, 
 looking out immediately upon the narrow street, 
 which, opposite, fell back into a tiny square, and 
 further up to the right, upon the enormous piazza 
 of St. Peter's and the basilica itself behind. 
 
 It was a real Roman day — not yet at its full 
 heat, but intensely clear and bright ; and Monsignor 
 congratulated himself on having elected to remain 
 as a spectator. The return journey from the 
 Lateran about noon would be something of an or- 
 deal. 
 
 The street and the piazza presented an astonish- 
 ingly brilliant appearance. Beneath, the roadway 
 was now one sheet of greenery — box, myrtle, and 
 bay. The houses opposite, as well as within the 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 121 
 
 little square, of which every window was packed 
 with heads, were almost completely hidden under 
 the tapestries, the carpets, the banners. Behind the 
 barriers on either side of the garlanded masts was 
 one mass of heads resembling a cobbled pavement. 
 So much for sight. For sound, the air was filled 
 with one steady low roar of voices; for down to 
 where the street opened far away to the left into 
 the space above the river, the same vista presented 
 itself. The Campagna since twenty-four hours be- 
 fore had been emptying every living inhabitant into 
 Rome; and there was not a town in Italy, and 
 scarcely in Europe, whence special volors and trains 
 had not carried the fervent to the Feast of the 
 Apostles in Holy Rome. And, for scent, the air 
 was sweet and fragrant with the aromatic herbs 
 of the roadway, already bruised a little by the feet 
 of the galloping horses of those that went up and 
 down to guard the route or to carry messages. 
 
 It was a little hard to make out the arrangements 
 of the vast circular piazza in front of St. Peter's. 
 The front of the basilica was hung, in usual Ro- 
 man fashion, with gigantic garlands and red cloth; 
 and the carpet of greenery lined with troops ran 
 straight up the center of the space, rippled over 
 the steps, and ceased only beneath the towering por- 
 tico of the church. But on either side of this, with 
 spaces between, stood enormous groups of men and 
 
122 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 horses, marshaled, no doubt, in order to take their 
 places at the proper moment in the procession. 
 
 At the right, immovable and tremendous, rose 
 up the great palace of the Vatican itself, unadorned 
 except where a glint of some color showed itself 
 at the Bronze Doors ; and above all, like a benedic- 
 tion in stone, against the vivid blue of the sky, hung 
 the dome of the basilica. 
 
 Monsignor Masterman made a long, keen survey 
 of all this. Then he leaned back and sighed. 
 
 " What was the first year that the Pope came out 
 of the Vatican like this? " 
 
 " The year after the conquest of United Italy. 
 It was Austria that — " 
 
 " I know all that. And you mean he never came 
 out so long as the old state of affairs continued? " 
 
 '* How could he ? Don't you see that the one 
 thing, humanly speaking, absolutely necessary for 
 the world to have confidence in the Church, was that 
 the Pope should be really supra-national? Of 
 course for many years he had to be an Italian — 
 that's obvious, since he was at the mercy of Italy, 
 and the Romans would never have stood a for- 
 eigner; and that made it all the more essential that 
 he should be cut clean off, in everything else, from 
 Italian sympathies. He had to be two things si- 
 multaneously, so to speak — emphatically an Italian 
 for the sake of Italy and indeed his own existence 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 123 
 
 in Rome; and emphatically not an Italian for the 
 sake of the rest of Christendom. And can you sug- 
 gest any other way of accomplishing this paradox? 
 I can't." 
 
 Monsignor sighed again and began to medi- 
 tate. 
 
 For somewhere at the back of his mind there ran 
 an undercurrent of thought, or as of some one 
 talking, to the effect that the Pope's old method 
 of remaining as a prisoner in the Vatican was a 
 foolish and unhumble pose. ( He supposed he must 
 have read it all somewhere in history.) Surely 
 even Catholics used to talk like that! They used 
 to say how much more spiritual and Christian it 
 would have been, had the Vicar of Christ acquiesced 
 and been content to live as a simple Italian sub- 
 ject, neither claiming nor desiring a position such 
 as Peter had never enjoyed. Why all this fuss, it 
 used to be asked, about a Temporal Power on be- 
 half of a ^' Kingdom that was not of this world "? 
 
 Yet, somehow, now as he looked back on it all, 
 with his friend's comment in his mind, he began 
 to see, not how clever or diplomatic had been the 
 old attitude, but how absolutely and obviously es- 
 sential. It was possible indeed for Peter to be a 
 subject of Nero in things pertaining to Caesar; but 
 how could that be possible to Peter's successor 
 
 when the Kingdom of Christ which he ruled on 
 9 
 
124 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 earth had become a Supra-national Society to which 
 the nations of the earth looked for guidance? 
 
 The phrase he had just heard ran in his mind. 
 
 " An Italian for the sake of Italy and his own 
 existence in Rome. Not an Italian for the sake of 
 the rest of Christendom.'* 
 
 It seemed simple, somehow, just like that. 
 
 He was roused by a touch on his knee, and si- 
 multaneously was aware of a new sound from the 
 piazza. 
 
 " Look," said the old priest sharply. " They're 
 beginning to move." 
 
 (Ill) 
 
 A curious seething movement had broken out in 
 the piazza, resembling the stir of a troubled ant- 
 hill, on either side of the broad green way down 
 which the Pope would come; and already into the 
 head of the street up which the priests looked fig- 
 ures were emerging. Simultaneously a crash of 
 brazen music had filled the air. A movement of 
 attention, exactly like the lift of a swell along the 
 foot of a cliff, passed down the crowded street to 
 the left and lost itself round the corner towards S. 
 Angelo. 
 
 Then they began to come, swinging over from 
 the piazza to street as if from a pool into a narrow 
 channel. Troops came first — company after com- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 125 
 
 pany — each with a band leading. First the Aus- 
 trian guard in white and gold on white chargers — 
 passing from the flash and dazzle their uniforms 
 threw back in the sunlight into the glow of the 
 shadowed street. And then, by the time that the 
 Austrians were passing below the window, came 
 troop after troop down from the piazza in all the 
 uniforms of the civilized world. 
 
 At first Father Jervis murmured a name or two ; 
 he even laid his hand upon his friend's arm as the 
 Life-guards of England came dashing by with 
 their imperturbable faces above their silver splen- 
 dor; but presently the amazing spectacle forming 
 in the piazza, and, above all, on the steps of St. 
 Peter's, silenced them both. Monsignor Master- 
 man gave scarcely a glance even to the monstrous 
 figures of the Chinese imperial guard who went by 
 presently in black armor and vizarded helmets, like 
 old Oriental gods. For in the piazza itself the 
 procession of princes was forming; and the steps 
 of the basilica already began to burn with purple 
 and scarlet where the Cardinals and the Papal Court 
 were making ready for the coming of the Lord of 
 them all. 
 
 And then, at last, he came. . . . 
 
 Monsignor Masterman had begun to stare, al- 
 most with unintelligent eyes, at the thronged street 
 beneath, watching the great carriages come past, 
 
126 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 each surmounted by a crown with its proper sup- 
 porters, each surrounded by a small guard drawn 
 from the troops that had ridden by just now. He 
 identified a few here and there; and his heart gave 
 a strange leap as the Imperial Crown of England 
 came in sight, held up by the Lion and the Uni- 
 corn, and beneath it, within the gilded couch, the 
 face of a boy capped and robed in scarlet. And 
 then he looked up again, startled by a silence broken 
 only by the footsteps of the horses and the wheels 
 over the matted roadway, and the murmur of talk- 
 ing. 
 
 The piazza w^as now one sea of white and pur- 
 ple, with em.blems, gold and silver and jeweled, 
 shining here and there; the green strip was gone; 
 for the Papal procession was begun; and then, on 
 the instant, as he looked, there was a new group 
 standing beneath the giant columns of the portico, 
 and the cry of the silver trumpets told to the thou- 
 sands that waited that the Vicar of Christ had 
 come out into this city that was again the City of 
 God. 
 
 Very slowly he came down the steps, a tiny white 
 and gemmed figure, yet perfectly visible on the 
 high throne on which he was borne, his hand sway- 
 ing as he came, and the huge fans moving behind 
 him like protecting deities. Down and down he 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 127 
 
 came, while the trumpets cried, and the waves of 
 color followed him, and then vanished for a time 
 among the crowd beneath, as he reached the level 
 ground. 
 
 Monsignor Masterman leaned back and closed 
 his eyes. . . . 
 
 He was disturbed by another touch on his arm; 
 and, opening them, perceived that his friend was 
 attracting his attention almost mechanically, and 
 without looking at him. 
 
 '' Look," murmured Father Jervis — " it's the 
 wdiite jennet." 
 
 Beneath, the street was now as wholly ecclesias- 
 tical as it had been military just before, except that 
 the Papal zouaves marched in single file on either 
 side of the procession. But within there was just 
 one packed army, going eight abreast, of semina- 
 rians and clerics. These were just passing as the 
 priest looked again, and close on their heels came 
 the Count and the Cardinals; the latter an inde- 
 scribable glory of scarlet, riding four abreast in 
 broad hats and ample cloaks. But he gave scarcely 
 more than a glance at these ; for, full in sight for at 
 least half a minute, advancing straight towards him 
 down the weary roaring street, moved a canopy held 
 by figures he could not clearly make out, and be- 
 neath it, detached and perfectly visible, on a white 
 
128 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 horse, a white figure, its shoulders just draped in 
 scarlet and its head shadowed by a great scarlet hat, 
 came slowly towards him. 
 
 (IV) 
 
 And so the day went by like a dream; and the 
 man who still seemed to himself as one risen from 
 the dead into a new and wholly bewildering world, 
 watched and gathered impressions and assimilated 
 them. Once or twice during the day he found him- 
 self at meals with Father Jervis ; he asked questions 
 now and then and scarcely heard the answers; he 
 talked with ecclesiastics a little who came and went ; 
 but, for the most part almost unknown to him- 
 self, he worked interiorly, busy as a bee, building 
 up, not so much facts as realizations, into the new 
 and strange world-edifice that was gradually form- 
 ing about him. He was present at the visit of the 
 Pope to the tomb of the Apostle, and watched from 
 a tribune, even then so concentrated on observation 
 that he was hardly conscious of connected thought, 
 as the vast doors rolled back and a vision as of 
 such a celestial troop as was dreamed of by the old 
 Italian painters came up out of the vivid sunlight 
 into the cool darkness of the basilica, as the roofs 
 gave back the roaring of the fervent thousands and 
 the clear cry of the silver trumpets; watched as 
 the army of ecclesiastics deployed this way and 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 129 
 
 that, and the Father of Princes and Kings came 
 on between his royal children to the gates of the 
 confession ringed by the golden lamps, and went 
 down to kneel by the body of the first Fisherman- 
 King. 
 
 And again at Vespers, from the same tribune, 
 he heard the peal of the new great organs in the 
 dome, and the psalm-melodies rocking from side to 
 side between the massed choirs ; he glanced now and 
 again at the royal tribune opposite, where, each 
 beneath a canopy, the rulers of the earth sat to- 
 gether to do honor to the Lord and His Anointed. 
 And, above all, he watched, still with that steady 
 set face that made Father Jervis look at him once 
 or twice, the central figure of all, now on his throne, 
 with his assistants beside him, now passing up to 
 the altar to incense it, and finally passing out again 
 on the sedia gestatoria to the palace where at last 
 he ruled indeed. 
 
 Last of all, as the sun began to sink behind the 
 monstrous dome, and Rome stood out like an Ori- 
 ental city of dreams, and the purple lights came 
 out on the low-lying hills, and the illuminations 
 glowed from every window, and blazed beneath 
 the feet and round the heads of the gigantic apos- 
 tolic figures gathered round their Lord — there, 
 watching again from his window, he saw, in a sud- 
 den hush over the heads of the countless crowds 
 
ISO THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 the tiny white figure standing above the tapestries, 
 with the Papal triple cross glinting beside him like 
 a thread, and heard the thin voice, gnat-like and 
 clear, declared the " help of the Lord who," as the 
 thunder of the square answered him, " hath made 
 heaven and earth," and then invoke upon the city 
 and the world, before the tremendous Amen, the 
 blessing of God Almighty, Father, Son, and Holy 
 Ghost. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 (I) 
 
 TT was a few minutes after they had finished their 
 -^ almost silent meal that evening, that Monsignor 
 suddenly leaned forward from his chair in the great 
 cool loggia and passed his hands over his eyes like 
 a sleepy man. From the streets outside still came 
 the murmur of innumerable footsteps and voices 
 and snatches of music. 
 
 " Tired? " asked the other gently. (He had not 
 spoken for some minutes, and remembering the 
 long silence, had wondered if, after all, it had been 
 wise to bring a man with such an experience be- 
 hind him to such a rush and excitement as that 
 through which they had passed to-day.) 
 
 Monsignor said nothing for an instant. He 
 looked round the room, opened and closed his lips, 
 and then, leaning back again, suddenly smiled. Then 
 he took up the pipe he had laid aside just now and 
 blew through it. 
 
 " No," he said. " Exactly the opposite. I feel 
 awake at last." 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 131 
 
132 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " It seems to have got into me at last. All this 
 . . . all this very odd world. I have begun to 
 see." 
 
 " Please explain." 
 
 Monsignor began to fill his pipe slov^ly. 
 
 " Well, Versailles, even, didn't quite do it," he 
 said. " It seemed to me a kind of game — cer- 
 tainly a very pleasant one; but — " (He broke 
 off.) "But what we've seen to-day seems some- 
 how the real thing." 
 
 " I don't quite understand." 
 
 " Well, I can see for myself now that all that 
 you've told me is real — that the world's really 
 Christian, and so on. It was those Chinese guards, 
 I think, which as much as anything — " 
 
 "Chinese? ... I don't remember them." 
 
 The prelate smiled again. 
 
 " Well, I scarcely noticed them at the time, either. 
 But I've been thinking about them. And then all 
 the rest of it . . . and the Pope. . . . 
 By the way, I couldn't make out his face very 
 well. Is that a picture of him? " 
 
 He stood up suddenly and stepped across to 
 where the portrait hung. There was nothing very 
 startling about the picture. It showed just a very 
 ordinary face with straight closed lips, of a man 
 seated in an embossed chair, with the familiar white 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 133 
 
 cap, cassock, and embroidered stole with spade-ends. 
 " He looks quite ordinary," mused Monsignor 
 aloud. " It's . . . it's like the face of a busi- 
 ness man." 
 
 '' Oh, yes, he's ordinary. He's an extremely 
 good man and quite intelligent. He's never had any 
 very great crisis to face, you know. They say he's 
 a good financier. . . . You look disappointed." 
 " I hadn't expected him to look like that," said 
 the prelate, musing. 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Well, he seems to have an extraordinary posi- 
 tion in the world. I should have expected more 
 of a—" 
 
 " More of a great man? Monsignor, don't you 
 think that the Average Man makes the best ruler ? " 
 " But that's rank Democracy ! " 
 " Not at all. Democracy doesn't give the Aver- 
 age Man any real power at all. It swamps him 
 among, under his friends — that is to say, it kills 
 his individuality; and his individuality is the one 
 thing he has which is worth anything." 
 Monsignor sat dow^n again, sighing. 
 *' Well, I think it's got into me at last," he re- 
 peated. " I mean, I think I really realize what the 
 world's like now. But I want to see a great deal 
 more, you know." 
 
134 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 "What sort of things?" 
 
 " Well, I don't quite know. . . . You might 
 call it the waterline between Faith and Science. I 
 see the Faith side. I understand that the life of 
 the world moves on Catholicism now; but I don't 
 quite realize yet how all that joins on to Science. 
 In my day — " (he broke off) *' I mean I had 
 a kind of idea that there was a gap between Faith 
 and Science — if not actual contradictions. How 
 do they join on to one another? What's the aver- 
 age scientific attitude towards religion? Do people 
 on both sides just say that each must pursue its own 
 line, even if they never meet? " 
 
 Father Jervis looked puzzled. 
 
 " I don't quite understand. There's no conflict 
 between Faith and Science. A large proportion of 
 the scientists are ecclesiastics." 
 
 " But what's the meeting-point ? That's what I 
 don't see." 
 
 The priest shook his head, smiling. 
 
 " I simply don't know what you mean, Monsig- 
 nor. Give me an example." 
 
 " Well . . . er . . . what about Faith- 
 healing? The dispute used to be, I think, as to the 
 explanation of certain cures. (Mr. Manners 
 spoke of it, you know.) Psychologists used to say 
 that cures happened by suggestion; and Catholics 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 135 
 
 used to say that they were supernatural. How have 
 they become reconciled?" 
 
 Farther Jervis considered a moment. 
 
 " I don't think Fve ever thought of it like that," 
 he said. " I think I should say — " (he hesitated) 
 " I think I should say that everybody believes now 
 that the power of God does everything; and that 
 in some cases He works through suggestion, and 
 in some through supernatural forces about which 
 we don't know very much. But I don't think it 
 matters much (does it?), if you believe in God." 
 
 " That doesn't explain what I mean." 
 
 The door opened abruptly and a servant came in. 
 He bowed. 
 
 " The Bishop of Sebaste inquires whether you 
 are at home, Monsignor? " 
 
 Monsignor glanced at Father Jervis. 
 
 " He's come out as chaplain to Prince George," 
 explained the priest in rapid Latin. ** We'd better 
 see him." 
 
 " Very good. . . . Yes," said Monsignor. 
 
 He turned to the priest again. 
 
 " Hadn't you better tell him about me ? " 
 
 "You don't mind?" 
 
 " Of course not." 
 
 Father Jervis got up and slipped quickly out of 
 the room. 
 
136 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " I'm delighted to see you again, Monsignor," 
 began the Bishop, coming in, followed by Father 
 Jervis three minutes later. 
 
 Monsignor straightened himself after the kissing 
 of the ring. 
 
 *' You're very kind, my lord," he said. 
 
 As the Bishop sat down, he examined him care- 
 fully, noticing that there was nothing noticeable 
 about him. He seemed a characteristic prelate — 
 large, genial, ruddy and smiling, with bright eyes 
 and well-cut mouth. He was in his purple and 
 ferraiuolo, and carried himself briskly and cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 " I came to see if you were going to the reception 
 to-night. If so, we might go together. But it's 
 rather late." 
 
 " We haven't heard about that." 
 
 " Oh ! it's purely informal. The Holy Father 
 probably won't appear himself, except perhaps for 
 a moment." 
 
 "Oh! At the Vatican?" 
 
 " Yes. There will be an enormous crowd, of 
 course. . . . The Prince has gone to bed, poor 
 little chap ! He's done up altogether ; and I thought 
 of slipping over for a half-hour or so.", 
 
 Monsignor glanced at his friend. 
 
 " I think it would be an excellent thing," ob- 
 served the old priest. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 137 
 
 " Well, there's a carriage waiting," said the 
 Bishop, rising. '' I think we'd better go, if we're 
 going. We shall be back within the hour." 
 
 (II), 
 
 It was within ten minutes of the time that the 
 three had arranged to meet again at the foot of the 
 Scala Regia that Monsignor suddenly realized that 
 he had lost himself. 
 
 He had wandered for half an hour, after making 
 his salutations to the Master of the Apostolic Pal- 
 ace, who, in the Pope's absence, was receiving the 
 visitors; and, at first with Father Jervis and the 
 Bishop, who had pointed out to him the notabilities, 
 and presently drifting from them in the crowds, 
 by himself, had gone up and down and in and out 
 through endless corridors, courts, loggise, and great 
 reception-rooms of the enormous place, watch- 
 ing the amazing crowds, and exchanging bows and 
 nods with persons who had bowed and nodded to 
 him. 
 
 The whole system of the thing seemed new to 
 him. He had imagined (he scarcely knew why) 
 the Vatican to be a place of silence and solemn 
 dignity and darkness, with a few sentries here and 
 there, a few prelates, a cardinal or two — with oc- 
 casionally a group of very particular visitors, or, 
 
138 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 on still rarer occasions, a troop of pilgrims being 
 escorted to some sight or some audience. 
 
 Certainly it was not at all like this to-night. 
 
 First, the whole place was illuminated in nearly 
 every window. Huge electric lights blazed behind 
 screens in all the courts; bands of music were sta- 
 tioned at discreet intervals one from another; and 
 through every station that he went, through corri- 
 dors, reception-rooms, up and down stairways, seeth- 
 ing in every court, streaming through every passage 
 and thoroughfare, moved a multitude of persons — 
 largely ecclesiastics, but also very largely otherwise 
 (though there were no ladies present) — talking, 
 questioning, laughing, wholly, it seemed, at their 
 ease, and appearing to find nothing unusual in the 
 entire affair. Here and there in some of the great 
 rooms small courts seemed to be in process — a 
 company of perhaps twenty or forty would be stand- 
 ing round two or three notabilities who sat. There 
 was usually a cardinal here, sometimes two or 
 three; and on three or four occasions he saw what 
 he imagined must be a royalty of some kind, seated 
 with a cardinal, while the rest stood. 
 
 It was to himx a very extraordinary spectacle, in 
 spite of his further initiation that day into this new 
 world, so utterly unfamiliar to him; and it seemed 
 once more to drive home to his consciousness this 
 strange state of affairs of which his friend had tried 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 139 
 
 to persuade him, but which he yet found difficult 
 wholly to take in. Certainly the world and the 
 Church seemed on very cordial terms. . . . 
 
 But now he had lost himself altogether. He had 
 wandered up a long corridor, thinking that it would 
 lead him back to the Court of St. Damasus, whence 
 he knew his way well enough; and he now paused, 
 hesitating. For it seemed to him that every step 
 he was taking led him farther from the lights and 
 the din of voices and music. 
 
 He could see behind him, framed in a huge open 
 doorway, as on an illuminated disc, a kaleidoscope 
 of figures moving; and in front, as he stood, the 
 corridor, although here the lights burned as bril- 
 liantly as elsewhere, seemed to lead away into com- 
 parative darkness. Yet he felt certain of his direc- 
 tion. 
 
 Then, as he stood, a door opened somewhere in 
 front, and he thought he heard voices talking again. 
 It reassured him, and he went on. 
 
 It was not until he found himself in a small lobby 
 (comparatively small that is, for it was not less than 
 forty feet square, and the painted coffered ceiling 
 was twenty feet above his head), that he stopped 
 again, completely bewildered. There was no longer 
 any sound to guide him, for he had closed a couple 
 of passage-doors behind him as he came; and he 
 
 noticed that practically complete silence was on all 
 10 
 
I40 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 sides; a single illuminated half-globe shone gently 
 from the ceiling overhead. 
 
 He stood some time considering and listening to 
 the silence, till he became aware that it was not 
 silence. There was a very faint murmur of a voice 
 behind one of the four doors that opened on this 
 lobby; and beside the door there rested (he now 
 noticed for the first time) the halberd of a Swiss, 
 as if the soldier had just been called within. This 
 decided him; he went to the door, laid his hand 
 upon the handle, and immediately the murmur 
 ceased. He pushed down the handle and opened 
 the door. 
 
 For a moment as he stared within he could not 
 understand : he had expected a passage — a guard- 
 room — at least something secular. Yet it was 
 some kind of a chapel or sacristy into which he was 
 looking: he observed the outline of an altar with its 
 crucifix ; and two figures. 
 
 Then one of the figures — in the habit of a Fran- 
 ciscan, barefooted, with a purple stole across its 
 shoulders — had sprung towards him, and half 
 pushed, half waved him backwards again. 
 
 " What are you doing here ? How dare you — 
 I beg pardon, Monsignor, but — " 
 
 " I beg pardon, father ; I had lost my way. 
 . . . I am a stranger." 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 141 
 
 " Back — back that way, Monsignor," stammered 
 the friar. " The guard should have told you." 
 
 The truth was dawning on the prelate little by 
 little, helped by the flash of the other kneeling white 
 figure he had seen within. 
 
 '' Yes," stammered the friar again. " The Holy 
 Father. Back that way, Monsignor. Yes, yes — 
 that door straight opposite." 
 
 It w^as over; the two doors had closed almost 
 simultaneously, behind the friar as he had gone 
 back to his duty, and behind the priest who now 
 stood again at the end of the long corridor down 
 which he had come. He stood here now, strangely 
 moved and affected. 
 
 He had seen nothing remarkable in itself — the 
 Pope at confession. And yet in some manner, be- 
 yond the startling fact that he had groped his way, 
 all unknowing, to the Pope's private apartments, 
 and at such a moment, the dramatic contrast between 
 the glare and noise of the reception outside — itself 
 the climax of a series of brilliant external splendors 
 — and the silent, half -lighted chapel where the Lord 
 of All kneeled to confess his sins, caused a sur- 
 prising disturbance in his soul. 
 
 Up to now he had been introduced step by step 
 into a new set of experiences, Christian indeed, yet 
 amazingly worldly in their aspect; he had begun to 
 
142 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 learn that religion could transform the outer world, 
 and affect and use for its own purposes all the 
 pomps and glories of outward existence ; he had be- 
 gun to realize that there was nothing akin to God 
 — no line of division between the Creator and the 
 creature; and now, in one instant, he had been 
 brought face to face again with inner realities, and 
 had seen, as it were, a glimpse of the secret core of 
 all the splendor. The Pope attended by princes — 
 the Pope on his knees before a barefooted friar. 
 These were the two magnetic points between which 
 blazed Religion. 
 
 He stood there, trembling a little, trying to steady 
 his bewildered brain — even now, in spite of his 
 years, not unlike the brain of a child. He passed 
 his tongue over his suddenly dry lips. Then he be- 
 gan to move down the passage again, to find his 
 friends. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 (I) 
 
 CCTXTHAT I can't yet quite understand," said 
 
 ^^ Monsignor, ''is that point I mentioned 
 the other day about Faith and Science. I don't see 
 where one ends and the other begins. It seems to 
 me that the controversy must be unending. The 
 materiaHst says that since Nature does all things, 
 even the most amazing things must be done by her 
 — that we shall be able to explain them all some 
 day, when Science has got a little farther. And 
 the theologian says that some things are so evi- 
 dently out of the reach of Nature that they must be 
 done by a supernatural power. Well, where' s the 
 point of reconcihation? " 
 
 Father Jervis was silent for a while. 
 
 The two were sitting on the upper deck of an 
 air-ship towards evening, traveling straight towards 
 the setting sun. 
 
 He had grown almost accustomed to such views 
 by now ; and yet the sight that had been unrolling 
 itself gradually during the last half-hour had held 
 him fascinated for minute after minute. They had 
 
 143 
 
144 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 taken ship in Rome after a day or two more of 
 sight-seeing, and had moved up the peninsula by 
 stages, changing boats soon after crossing the fron- 
 tier, for one of the high-flying, more leisurely and 
 more luxurious vessels on which the more wealthy 
 classes traveled. They were due in Lourdes that 
 evening; and, ever since the higher peaks of the 
 Pyrenees had come into sight, had moved over a 
 vision of bewildering beauty. To their left rose 
 the mountains, forming, it seemed to them at the 
 height at which they traveled, an enormous jagged 
 and gigantic pile, hard-lined as steel, yet irradiated 
 with long rays, patches, and pools of golden sunset 
 light alternated by amazing depths of the shadow 
 whose tones ran from peacock to indigo. Then 
 from the foot of the tumbled pile there ran out 
 what appeared a loosely flung carpet vivid and yet 
 a soft green, patched here and there with white 
 towns, embroideries of woodland, lines of silver 
 water. Yet this, too, was changing as they watched 
 the shadows grow longer with almost visible move- 
 ment. New and strange colors, varying about a 
 fixed note of blue according to the nature of that 
 with which the earth was covered, slowly came into 
 being. Here, in front, now and again a patch of 
 water glowed suddenly, three thousand feet be- 
 neath, as it met the shifting angle between the eye 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 145 
 
 and the sun ; and beyond, far out across the darken- 
 ing plain, shone the remote line of the sea, itself 
 ablaze with gold, and above and about in every 
 quarter burned the enormous luminous dome of 
 sky. 
 
 *' I can't put it all accurately," said Father Jervis 
 at last. *' I mean I can't tell you off-hand all the 
 tests that are exactly applied to every case. But 
 it's something like this. . . ." 
 
 He paused. 
 
 " Yes, tell me," said the other, still staring out 
 at the softly rolling landscape. 
 
 " Well, first," began the old priest slowly, " in 
 the last fifty years we've classified almost exhaus- 
 tively everything that nature can do. We know, 
 for instance, for certain that in certain kinds of 
 temperaments body and mind are in far greater 
 sympathy than in others; and that if, in such a 
 temperament as this, the mind can be fully per- 
 suaded that such and such a thing is going to hap- 
 pen — a thing within the range of natural possi- 
 bility, of course — it will happen, merely through 
 the action of the mind upon the body." 
 
 " Give me an instance." 
 
 "Well" (he hesitated again)" . . . "well, 
 I'm not a physician, and cannot define accurately; 
 but there are certain nervous diseases — hysterical 
 
146 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 simulation, nervous affections such as St. Vitus' 
 dance — as well, of course, as purely mental dis- 
 eases, such as certain kinds of insanity — " 
 
 '* Oh, those," said the other contemptuously. 
 
 '' Wait a minute. These, I say, given the right 
 temperament and receptiveness to suggestion, can be 
 cured instantaneously/' 
 
 " Instantaneously? " 
 
 " Certainly — given those conditions. Then 
 there are certain other diseases, very closely related 
 to the nervous system, in which there have been 
 changes of tissue, not only in the brain, but in the 
 organs or the limbs. And these, too, can be cured 
 by mere natural suggestion ; but — and this is the 
 point — not instantaneously. In cases of this kind, 
 cured in this way, there is always needed a period, 
 I won't say as long as, but proportionate to, the 
 period during which the disease has been develop- 
 ing and advancing. I forget the exact proportions 
 now, but I think, so far as I remember, that at least 
 two-thirds of the time is required for recovery by 
 suggestion as was occupied by the growth of the 
 disease. Take lupus. That certainly belongs to the 
 class I'm speaking of. Well, lupus has been cured 
 in mental laboratories, but never instantaneously, or 
 anything like instantaneously." 
 
 " Go on, father." 
 
 " Finally, there are those physical states that have 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 147 
 
 practically nothing to do directly with the nervous 
 system at all. Take a broken leg. Of course the 
 cure of a broken leg is affected by the state of the 
 nervous system, since it depends upon the amount 
 of vital energy, the state of the blood, and so on. 
 But there are distinct processes of change of tissue 
 that are bound to take a certain fixed period. You 
 may — as has been proved over and over again in 
 the mental laboratories — hasten and direct the ac- 
 tion of the nervous energy, so that a man under 
 hypnotic suggestion will improve more rapidly than 
 a man who is not. But no amount of suggestion 
 can possibly effect a cure instantaneously. Tuber- 
 culosis is another such thing; certain diseases of the 
 heart — " 
 
 " I see. Go on." 
 
 " Well, then, science has fixed certain periods in 
 all these various matters which simply cannot be 
 lessened beyond a certain point. And miracle does 
 not begin — authorized miracle, I mean — unless 
 these periods are markedly shortened. Mere men- 
 tal cures, therefore, do not come under the range 
 of authorized miracle at all — though, of course, in 
 many cases where there has been little or no sug- 
 gestion, or where the temperament is not receptive, 
 practically speaking, the miraculous element is most 
 probably present. In the second class — organic 
 nervous diseases — • no miracle is proclaimed unless 
 
148 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 the cure is instantaneous, or very nearly so. In 
 the third class, again, no miracle is proclaimed un- 
 less the cure is either instantaneous, or the period 
 of it very considerable shortened beyond all known 
 examples of natural cure by suggestion." 
 
 " And you mean to say that such cures are fre- 
 quent?" 
 
 The old priest smiled. 
 
 ^' Why, of course. There is an accumulation of 
 evidence from the past hundred years which — " 
 
 ''Broken limbs?" 
 
 " Oh, yes; there's the case of Pierre de Rudder, at 
 Oostacker, in the nineteenth century. That's the 
 first of the series — the first, I mean, that has been 
 scientifically examined. It's in all the old books." 
 
 " What was the matter with him? " 
 
 " Leg broken behind the knee for eight years." 
 
 " And how long did the cure take? " 
 
 " Instantaneous." 
 
 There was silence again. 
 
 Monsignor was staring out and downwards at the 
 flitting meadow-land far below. A flock of white 
 birds moved across the darkening gray, like flying 
 specks seen in the eye, yet it seemed with extraor- 
 dinary slowness and deliberation, so great was the 
 distance at which they flew. He sighed. 
 
 " You can examine the records," said the priest 
 presently ; " and, better than that, you can examine 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 149 
 
 some of the cases for yourself, and the certificates. 
 They follow still the old system which Dr. Boissaire 
 began nearly a century ago." 
 
 "What about Zola?" demanded Monsignor ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 '' I beg your pardon? " 
 
 " Zola, the great French writer. I thought he 
 had . . . had advanced some very sharp crit- 
 icisms of Lourdes." 
 
 " Er — when did he live ? " 
 
 " Why, not long ago ; nineteenth century, at the 
 end." 
 
 Father Jervis shook his head, smiling. 
 
 " I've never heard of him," he said, " and I 
 thought I knew Lourdes literature pretty well. I'll 
 inquire." 
 
 '' Look," said the prelate suddenly ; " what's that 
 place we're coming to ? " 
 
 He nodded forward with his head to where vast 
 white lines and patches began to be visible on the 
 lower slopes and at the foot of long spurs that had 
 suddenly come into sight against the sunset. 
 
 " Why, that's Lourdes." 
 
 (n)" 
 
 As the two priests came out next morning from 
 the west doors of the tall church where they had 
 said their masses, Monsignor stopped. 
 
150 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " Let me try to take it in a moment," he said. 
 
 They were standing on the highest platform of the 
 pile of three churches that had been raised over a 
 hundred years ago, now in the very center of the 
 enormous city that had grown little by little around 
 the sacred place. Beneath them, straight in front, 
 approached from where they stood by two vast 
 sweeps of balustraded steps, lay the Place, perhaps 
 sixty feet beneath, of the shape of an elongated oval, 
 bounded on this side and that by the old buildings 
 where the doctors used to have their examination 
 rooms, now used for a hundred minor purposes con- 
 nected with the churches and the grotto. At the 
 farther end of the Place, behind the old bronze 
 statue of Mary, rose up the comparatively new Bu- 
 reau de C onstatations — a great hall (as the two 
 had seen last night), communicating with countless 
 consulting and examination rooms, where the army 
 of State-paid doctors carried on their work. The 
 whole of the open Place between these buildings 
 crawled with humanity — not yet packed as it would 
 be by evening — yet already sufficiently filled by the 
 two ever-flowing streams — the one passing down- 
 wards to where the grotto lays out of sight on the 
 left, the other passing up towards the lower entrance 
 of the great hall. It resembled an amphitheater, 
 and the more so, since the roofs of the buildings on 
 every side, as well as the slope up which the steps 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 151 
 
 rose to the churches, adapted now as they were to 
 accommodate at least three hundred thousand spec- 
 tators, were already beginning to show groups and 
 strings of onlookers who came up here to survey 
 the city. 
 
 On the right, beyond the Place, lay the old town, 
 sloping up now, up even to the mediaeval castle, 
 which fifty years ago had stood in lonely detach- 
 ment, but now was faced on hill-top after hill-top, 
 at its ow^n level, by the enormous nursing homes and 
 hostels, which under the direction of the Religious 
 Orders had gradually grown up about this shrine 
 of healing, until now, up to a height of at least five 
 hundred feet, the city of Mary stood on bastion 
 after bastion of the lower slopes of the hills, like 
 some huge auditorium of white stone, facing down 
 towards the river and the Holy Place. 
 
 Finally, on the left, immediately to the left of 
 the two priests who stood silently looking, fifty feet 
 below, ran the sweep of the Gave, crossed by in- 
 numerable bridges which gave access to the crowd- 
 ing town beyond the water, where once had been 
 nothing but meadow-land and the beginning of the 
 great southern plain of France. 
 
 There was an air of extraordinary peace and 
 purity about this place, thought Monslgnor. White- 
 ness was the predominating color — whiteness be- 
 neath, and whiteness running up high on the right 
 
152 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 on to the hills — and above the amazing blue of the 
 southern sky. It was high and glorious summer 
 about them, with a breeze as intoxicating as wine 
 and as fresh as water. From across the Place they 
 could hear the quick flapping of the huge Mary ban- 
 ner that flew above the hall, for there were no 
 wheels or motors here to crush out the acuteness of 
 the ear. The transference of the sick from the hos- 
 tels above the town was carried out by aeroplanes — 
 great winged decks, with awnings above and at the 
 sides, that slid down as if on invisible lines, to the 
 entrance of the other side of the hall, whence after 
 a daily examination by the doctors they were taken 
 on by hand-litters to the grotto or the bathing- 
 pools. 
 
 Monsignor heard a step behind him as he stood 
 and looked, still pathetically bewildered by all that 
 he saw, and still struggling, in spite of himself, with 
 a new upbreak of scepticism; and turning, saw 
 Father Jervis in the act of greeting a young monk 
 in the Benedictine habit. 
 
 " I knew we should meet. I heard you were 
 here," the old man was exclaiming. " You remem- 
 ber Monsignor Masterman? " 
 
 They shook hands, and Monsignor was not dis- 
 appointed in his friend's tact. 
 
 '' Father Adrian absolutely haunts Lourdes nowa- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 153 
 
 days," went on Father Jervis. '* I wonder his su- 
 periors allow him. And how's the book getting 
 on?" 
 
 The monk smiled. He was an exceedingly pleas- 
 ant person to look upon, with a thin, refined face 
 and large, startlingly blue eyes. He shook his head 
 as he smiled. 
 
 ** Fm getting frightened," he said. '* I cannot 
 see with the theologians in all points. Well, the 
 least said, the soonest mended." 
 
 Father Jervis' face had fallen a little. There was 
 distinct anxiety in his eyes. 
 
 " When will the book be out? " he asked quickly. 
 
 " Fm revising it for the last time," said the other 
 shortly. '' And you, Monsignor ? . . . I had 
 heard of your illness." 
 
 " Oh, Monsignor's nearly himself again. And 
 will you take us into the Bureau?" asked the old 
 priest. 
 
 The young monk nodded. 
 
 "I shall be there all day," he said. "Ask for 
 me at any time." 
 
 ** Monsignor wants to see for himself. He wants 
 to see a case straight through. Is there any- 
 thing—" 
 
 " Why, there's the very thing," interrupted the 
 monk. (He fumbled in his pocket a moment.)' 
 
154 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " Yes, here's the leaflet that was issued last night." 
 (He held out a printed piece of paper to Monsig- 
 nor.) ''Read that through." 
 
 The prelate took it. 
 
 " What's the case? " he asked. 
 
 " The leaflet will give you the details. It's decay 
 of the optic nerve — a Russian from St. Peters- 
 burg. Both eyes completely blind, the nerves de- 
 stroyed, and he saw light yesterday for the first 
 time. He'll be down from the Russian hospice 
 about eleven. We expect a cure to-day or to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 " Well," said Father Jervis, " we mustn't detain 
 you. Then, if we look in about eleven? " 
 
 The monk nodded and smiled as he moved off. 
 
 " Certainly," he said. *' At eleven then." 
 
 Monsignor turned to his friend. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 Father Jervis shook his head. 
 
 " It's a sad business," he said. '' That's Dom 
 Adrian Bennett. He's very daring. He's had one 
 warning from Rome; but he's so extraordinarily 
 clever that it's very hard to silence him. He's not 
 exactly heretical ; but he will work along lines that 
 have already been decided." 
 
 "Dear me! He seems very charming." 
 
 " Certainly. Fie is most charming, and utterly 
 sincere. He's got the entree everywhere here. He 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 155 
 
 is a first-rate scientist, by the way. But, Monsig- 
 nor, I'd sooner not talk about him. Do you 
 mind ? " 
 
 '* But what's his subject? Tell me that." 
 " It's the miraculous element in religion," said 
 the priest shortly. " Come, we must go to our cof- 
 fee." 
 
 (Ill) 
 
 The hall was already crowded in every part as 
 the two priests looked in at the lower end a few 
 minutes before eleven o'clock. It was arranged 
 more or less like a theater, with a broad gangway 
 running straight up from the doors at one end to 
 the foot of the stage at the other. The stage itself, 
 with a statue of Mary towering at the back, com- 
 municated with the examination-rooms behind the 
 two doors, one on either side of the image. 
 
 " What's going on? " whispered Monsignor, as he 
 glanced up first on this side and that at the array 
 of heads that listened, and then at the two figures 
 that occupied the stage. 
 
 " It's a doctor lecturing on a cure. This goes on 
 nearly all day. We must get round to the back 
 somehow." 
 
 As they passed in at last from the outside through 
 
 the private door through which the doctors and 
 
 privileged persons had access behind the stage, they 
 11 
 
156 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 heard a storm of clapping and voices from the di- 
 rection of the public hall on their right. 
 
 " That's finished then. Follow me, Monsignor." 
 
 They went through a passage or two, after their 
 guide — a young man in uniform — seeing as they 
 went, through half-open doors here and there, quiet 
 white rooms, glimpses of men in white, and once at 
 least a litter being set down ; and came at last into 
 what looked like some kind of committee-room, 
 lighted by tall windows on the left, with a wide 
 horseshoe table behind which sat perhaps a dozen 
 men, each wearing on his left breast the red and 
 white cross which marked them as experts. Oppo- 
 site the examiners, but half hidden from the two 
 priests by the back of his tall chair, sat the figure 
 of a man. 
 
 Their guide went up to the end of the table, and 
 almost immediately they saw Father Adrian stand 
 up and beckon to them. 
 
 *' I've kept you two chairs," he whispered when 
 they came up. " And you'd better wear these 
 crosses. They'll admit you anywhere." (He 
 pointed to the two red and white badges that hung 
 over the backs of their chairs.) 
 
 " Are we in time? " 
 
 " You're a little late," whispered the monk. Then 
 he turned again towards the patient, a typical fair- 
 haired, bearded Russian with closed eyes, who at 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 157 
 
 that moment was answering some question put to 
 him by the presiding doctor in the center. 
 
 The monk turned again. 
 
 '' Can you understand Russian ? " 
 
 Monsignor shook his head. 
 
 ** Well, I'll tell you afterwards," said the other. 
 
 It seemed very strange to be sitting here, in this 
 quiet room, after the rush and push of the enormous 
 crowds through which they had made their way this 
 morning. The air of the room was exceedingly 
 business-like, and not in the least even suggestive of 
 religion, except in the matter of a single statue of 
 Our Lady of Lourdes on a bracket on the w^all 
 above the President's head. And these dozen men 
 who sat here seemed quietly business-like, too. They 
 sat here, men of various ages and nationalities, all 
 in the thin white doctor's dress, with papers spread 
 before them, and a few strange instruments scat- 
 tered here and there, leaning forward or leaning 
 back, but all intently listening to and watching the 
 Russian, who, still with closed eyes, answered the 
 short questions put to him continuously by the Pres- 
 ident. There seemed no religious excitement even 
 in the air; the atmosphere was one, rather, of simple 
 science. 
 
 There seemed something faintly familiar in all 
 this to the man who had lost his memory. . . 
 Certainly he had known of Lourdes as soon as it 
 
158 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 was mentioned to him, and he seemed now to re- 
 member that some such claim to be perfectly sci- 
 entific had always been made by the authorities of 
 the place. But he had supposed, somehow, that the 
 claim was a false one. 
 
 The Russian suddenly rose. 
 
 *' Well ! " whispered Monsignor sharply, as the 
 doctors began to talk. 
 
 The monk smiled. 
 
 " He's just said an interesting thing. The Presi- 
 dent asked him just now whether he had seen any- 
 thing of the crowds as he came down this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " He said that people looked like trees moving 
 about. . . . Oh, no ! he didn't know he was 
 making a quotation. Look ! he's going off down to 
 the grotto. He'll be back in half an hour to re- 
 port." 
 
 Monsignor leaned back in his chair. 
 
 '' And you tell me that the optic nerves were de- 
 stroyed ? " 
 
 The monk looked at him in wide-eyed wonder. 
 
 '' Certainly. He was examined on Tuesday, 
 when he came. To-day's Friday." 
 
 " And you believe he'll be cured? " 
 
 '' Lshall be very much surprised if he's not." 
 
 There was a stir by the door as the Russian dis- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 159 
 
 appeared. A young, bright-eyed doctor looked in 
 and nodded, and the next instant a brancardier ap- 
 peared, followed by a litter. 
 
 '' But how have you time to examine all these 
 thousands of cases?" asked the prelate, watching 
 the litter advance. 
 
 " Oh, not one in a hundred comes through to us 
 here. Besides, this is only one of a dozen commit- 
 tee-rooms. It's only the most sensational cases — 
 where there's real organic injury of a really serious 
 kind — that ever come at all before the highest 
 courts. Cases, I mean, where, if there's a cure, 
 the publication of the miracle follows as a matter 
 of course. . . . What's this case, I wonder?" 
 he ended sharply, glancing down at the printed 
 paper before him, and then up again at the litter 
 that was being arranged. 
 
 Monsignor looked, too, at the paper that lay be- 
 fore him. Some thirty paragraphs, carefully num- 
 bered, dated, and signed, gave, as it seemed, a list 
 of the cases to be examined. 
 
 " Number fourteen," murmured the monk. 
 
 Number fourteen, it appeared, was a case of frac- 
 tured spine — a young girl, aged sixteen; a Ger- 
 man. The accident had happened four months 
 before. The notes, signed by half a dozen names, 
 described the complete paralysis below the waist, 
 with a few other medical details. 
 
i5o THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 Monsignor looked again at the girl on the other 
 side of the table, guarded by the brancardiers and a 
 couple of doctors, while the monk talked to him 
 rapidly in Latin. He saw her closed eyes and color- 
 less lips. 
 
 " This case has attracted a good deal of atten- 
 tion," whispered the monk. " The Emperor's said 
 to be interested in it, through one of the ladies of 
 the court, whose servant the girl was. It's interest- 
 ing for two or three reasons. First, the fracture 
 is complete, and it's marvelous she hasn't died. 
 Then it's been taken up as a kind of test case by a 
 group of materialists in Berlin. They've taken it 
 up, because the girl has declared again and again 
 that she is perfectly certain she will be cured at 
 Lourdes. She claims to have had a vision of Our 
 Lady, who told her so. Her father's a freethinker, 
 by the w^ay, and has only finally allowed her to 
 come so that he can use her as an argument after- 
 wards." 
 
 "Who has examined her?" asked Monsignor 
 sharply. 
 
 ^' She was examined last night on her arrival, and 
 again this morning. Dr. Meurot, the President 
 here " (he indicated with his head the doctor who 
 sat three places off, who w^as putting his questions 
 rapidly to the two attending physicians) — "Dr. 
 Meurot examined her himself early this morning. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL i6i 
 
 This is just the formal process before she goes to the 
 grotto. The fracture is complete. It's between the 
 eleventh and twelfth vertebrae." 
 
 " And you think she'll be cured? " 
 
 The monk smiled. 
 
 **Who can tell?" he said. ''We've only had 
 one case before, and the papers on that are not quite 
 in order, though it's commonly believed to be gen- 
 uine." 
 
 "But it's possible?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly. And her own conviction is ab- 
 solute. It'll be interesting." 
 
 " You seem to take it pretty easily," murmured 
 the prelate. 
 
 *' Oh, the facts are established a hundred times 
 over — the facts, I mean, that cures take place here 
 which are not even approached in mental labora- 
 tories. But — " 
 
 He was interrupted by a sudden movement of the 
 brancardiers. 
 
 *' See, they're removing her," he said. " Now, 
 what'U you do, Monsignor? Will you go down to 
 the grotto, or would you sooner watch a few more 
 cases? " 
 
 " I think I'd sooner stay here," said the other, '' at 
 least for an hour or two," 
 
i62 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 (IV): 
 
 It was the hour of the evening procession and of 
 the Benediction of the Sick. 
 
 All day long the man who had lost his memory 
 had gone to and fro with his companions, each 
 wearing the little badge that gave them entrance 
 everywhere ; they had lunched with Dr. Meurot him- 
 self. 
 
 If Monsignor Masterman had been impressed by 
 the social power of Catholicism at Versailles, and 
 by its religious reality in Rome, he was ten thou- 
 sand times more impressed by its scientific courage 
 here in Lourdes. For here religion seemed to have 
 stepped down into an arena hitherto (as he fancied) 
 restricted to the play of physical forces. She had 
 laid aside her oracular claims, her comparatively 
 unsupported assertions of her own divinity; had 
 flung off her robes of state and authority; and was 
 competing here on equal terms with the masters of 
 natural law — more, she was accepted by them as 
 their mistress. For there seemed nothing from 
 which she shrank. She accepted all who came to 
 her desiring her help; she made no arbitrary dis- 
 tinctions to cover her own incapacities. Her one 
 practical desire was to heal the sick; her one theo- 
 retical interest to fix more and more precisely, little 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 163 
 
 by little, the exact line at which nature ended and 
 supernature began. And, if human evidence went 
 for anything — if the volumes of radiophotography 
 and sworn testimony went for anything, she had 
 established a thousand times over during the pre- 
 ceding half-century that under her aegis, and hers 
 alone, healing and reconstituting forces were at 
 work to which no merely natural mental science 
 could furnish any parallels. All the old quarrels 
 of a century ago seemed at an end. There was no 
 longer any dispute as to the larger facts. All that 
 now remained to be done by this huge organization 
 of international experts was to define more and 
 more closely precisely where the line lay between 
 the two worlds. All cures that could be even re- 
 motely paralleled in the mental laboratories were 
 dismissed as not evidently supernatural; all those 
 which could not be so paralleled were recorded, with 
 the most minute detail, under the sworn testimonies 
 of doctors who had examined the patients immedi- 
 ately before and immediately after the cure itself. 
 In a series of libraries that abutted on the Place, 
 Monsignor Masterman, under the guidance of Dom 
 Adrian Bennett, had spent a couple of hours this 
 afternoon in examining the most striking of the 
 records and photographs preserved there. He was 
 amazed to find that even by the end of the nine- 
 
i64 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 teenth century cures had taken place for which the 
 most modern scientists could find no natural ex- 
 planation. 
 
 Ten minutes ago he had taken his place in the 
 procession of the Blessed Sacrament, with the 
 monk's last words still in his head. 
 
 " It is during the procession itself," he had said, 
 *' that the work is done. We lay aside all deliberate 
 knowledge as the Angelus rings, and give ourselves 
 up to faith." 
 
 And now the procession had started, and already, 
 it seemed to him, he had begun to understand. It 
 was as he himself emerged, a few paces in front of 
 the Blessed Sacrament itself, walking with the prel- 
 ates, that that understanding reached its climax. 
 He paused at the head of the steps, to wait for the 
 canopy to come through, and his heart rose within 
 him so mightily that it was all he could do not to 
 cry out. 
 
 Beneath him, seen now from the opposite end 
 from which he had looked this morning, lay the 
 Place, under a wholly different appearance. The 
 center of the great oval was cleared, with the ex- 
 ception of a huge pulpit, surmounted by a circular 
 sounding-board, that stood in the middle. But 
 round this empty space rose, in tier after tier, 
 masses of humanity beyond all reckoning, up and 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 165 
 
 up, as on the sides of an enormous amphitheater, 
 as far as the highest roofs of the highest buildings 
 that looked on to the space. Before him rose the 
 pile of churches, and here, too, on every platform, 
 roof and stair, swarmed the spectators. The doors 
 of the three churches were flung wide, and far 
 within, in the lighted interiors, lay the heads of 
 countless crowds, as cobble-stones, seen in perspec- 
 tive. The whole Place was in shadow now, as the 
 sun had just gone down, but the sky was still alight 
 overhead, a vast tender-colored vault, as sweet as 
 a benediction. Here and there, in the illimitable 
 blue, like crumbs of diamond dust, gleamed the 
 first stars of evening. 
 
 And from this vast multitude, swayed by a white 
 figure beneath the pulpit, articulate now as the lis- 
 tener emerged, rose up a song to Mary, as from one 
 soft and gigantic voice, appealing to Her Presence 
 who for over a century and a half, it seemed, had 
 chosen to dwell here by virtue and influence, the 
 Great Mother of the redeemed and the Consoler of 
 the afflicted, whose Divine Son was even now on 
 His way, as at Cana itself, to turn the water of sor- 
 row into the wine of joy. . . . Then, as the 
 canopy came out, at an imperious gesture from the 
 tiny swaying figure, the music ceased ; great trumpets 
 sounded a phrase; there was a rustle and a move- 
 
1 66 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 ment as of a breaking wave as the crowds knelt; 
 and the Pange Lingua rose up in solemn adora- 
 tion. . . . 
 
 As he came down the steps, his eyes quick with 
 tears, he saw for the first time the lines of the sick 
 in the place to which he had been told to look. 
 There they lay, some four thousand in number, 
 placed side by side in two great circling rows round 
 the whole arena, a fringe of pain to the exultant 
 crowds, in litters laid so close together that they 
 seemed but two great continuous beds, and between 
 them the broad flower-strewn platform along which 
 Jesus of Nazareth should pass by. There they lay, 
 all of them bathed to-day in the strange water that 
 had sprung up an hundred and fifty years ago un- 
 der the fingers of a peasant child, waiting for the 
 sacramental advent of Him who had made both 
 that water and those for whose healing it was de- 
 signed. 
 
 And yet not all were cured — not perhaps one 
 in ten of all who came in confidence. That surely 
 was wonderful. . . . Was it then that that 
 same Sovereign Power who had permitted the pain 
 elected to retain His own sovereignty, and to show 
 that the Lawgiver was fettered by no law? One 
 thing at least was certain, if those records which the 
 priest had examined this morning were to be be- 
 lieved, that no receptiveness of temperament, no 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 167 
 
 subjective expectancy of cure, guaranteed that the 
 cure would take place. Natures that had responded 
 marvelously in the mental laboratories seemed in- 
 effective here ; natures that were inert and immova- 
 ble under the influence of sympathetic science leapt 
 up here to meet the call of some Voice whose very 
 existence a hundred years ago had been in doubt. 
 
 The front of the long procession, Monsignor saw, 
 had reached now the doors of the basilica, and 
 would presently, after making the complete round, 
 pour down into the arena to allow the Blessed Sac- 
 rament to move more quickly. It was an exquisite 
 sight, even from here, as the prelate set foot on the 
 platform and began to move to the left. The long 
 lines of tapers, four deep, went like some great 
 serpent, rippling with light, above the heads of the 
 sick; and here and there in the slopes of the 
 crowded spectators shone out other lights, steady 
 as stars in the motionless half-lit evening air. Then, 
 as he went, slowly, pace by pace, he remembered 
 the sick and glanced down, as the music on a sud- 
 den ceased. 
 
 Ah ! there they lay, those living crucifixes 
 . . . shrouded in white, their faces on either side 
 turned inwards that they might see their Lord. 
 . . . There lay a woman, her face shriveled with 
 some internal horror — some appalling disease 
 which even the science of these days dared not han- 
 
i68 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 die, or at least had not; her large eyes staring with 
 an almost terrible intensity, fixed, it seemed, in her 
 head, yet waiting for the Vision that even now 
 might make her whole. There a child tossed and 
 moaned and turned away his head. There an old 
 man crouched forward upon his litter, held up on 
 either side by two men in the uniform of the bran- 
 cardiers. . . . And so, in endless lines, they 
 lay ; from every nation under heaven : Chinese were 
 there, he saw, and negroes; and the very air in 
 which he walked seemed alight with pain and long- 
 ing. 
 
 A great voice broke in suddenly on his musings ; 
 and, before he could fix his attention as to what it 
 said, the words were taken up by the hundreds of 
 thousands of throats — a short, fervent sentence 
 that rent the air like a thunder-peal. Ah! he re- 
 membered now. These were the old French 
 prayers, consecrated by a century of use; and as he 
 passed on, slowly, step by step, watching now with 
 a backward glance the blessing of the sick that had 
 just begun — the sign of the cross made with the 
 light golden monstrance by the bishop who carried 
 it — now the agonized eyes of expectation that 
 waited for their turn, he, too, began to hear, and to 
 take up with his own voice those piteous cries for 
 help. 
 
 '^ Jesu! heal our sick. . . . Jesu! grant that zve 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 169 
 
 may see —^ may hear — may walk. . . . Thovi 
 art the Resurrection and the Life. . . . Lord! 
 I believe; help Thou mine unbelief.^' Then with 
 an overwhelming triumph : "" Hosanna to the Son 
 of David! Hosanna, Hosanna!'' Then again, 
 soft and rumbhng : "" O Mary, conceived without 
 sin, hear us who have recourse to thee.'' 
 
 The sense of a great circumambient Power grew 
 upon him at each instant, sacramentaHzed, it seemed, 
 by the solemn evening light, and evoked by this tense 
 ardor of half a million souls, and focused behind 
 him in one looming point. . . . 
 
 Ah ! there was the first miracle ! . . . A cry 
 behind him, an eddy in the circle of the sick and 
 the waiting attendants, a figure with shrouding linen 
 fallen from breast and outstretched arms, and then 
 a roar, mighty beyond reckoning, as the whole am- 
 phitheater swayed and cried out in exultation. He 
 saw as in a vision the rush of doctors to the place, 
 and the gesticulating figures that held back the 
 crowd behind the barrier. Then a great moan of 
 relief; and a profound silence as the miracule 
 kneeled again beside the litter which had borne him. 
 Then again the canopy moved on ; and the passion- 
 ate voice cried, followed in an instant by the roar 
 of response: 
 
 '' Hosanna to the Son of David." 
 
170 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 It was half-way round, at the foot of the church 
 steps, that the German girl was laid ; and as the 
 prelates drew near Monsignor looked rapidly to this 
 side and that to identify her. 
 
 Ah! there she lay, still with closed patient eyes 
 and colorless face, in the outer circle facing inwards 
 towards the pulpit. A doctor knelt on either side of 
 her — one of them the 3^oung man who had an- 
 nounced her coming into the hall this morning, with 
 a rosary between his fingers. It was known to the 
 crowd generally, Monsignor had learnt, that her 
 case was exceptional; but it had been kept from 
 them as to where she would lie, for fear that the 
 excitement might be too much concentrated. 
 
 He looked at her again, intently and carefully — 
 at that waxen, fallen face, her helpless hands clasped 
 across her breast with a string of beads interwoven 
 within them; and even as he looked distrust once 
 more surged within him. It was impossible, he told 
 himself — in spite of what he had seen that day, in 
 spite of that score of leaping figures and the infec- 
 tious roar that more than twenty times in that short 
 journey had set his pulses a-beat. . . . He 
 passed her, quickening his steps a little ; then faced 
 about and watched. 
 
 Slowly came the canopy. Its four bearers 
 sweated visibly with the effort ; and the face of the 
 bishop who bore the monstrance was pale and 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 171 
 
 streaked with moisture from the countless move- 
 ments he had made. Behind him came row after 
 row of downcast faces, men and women of every 
 reHgious order on earth, and the tapers seen in 
 perspective appeared as four almost continuous wav- 
 ing lines of soft light. 
 
 There had been a longer pause than usual since 
 the last exulting cry of a sick man healed; and the 
 silence between the cries from the pulpit grew con- 
 tinually more acute. And yet nothing happened. 
 
 The bishop was signing now outwards over a man 
 who lay next the German, with his face altogether 
 hidden in a white and loathsomely suggestive mask ; 
 but there was no stir in answer. The bishop turned 
 inwards and signed over a woman, and again there 
 was no movement. 
 
 " Thou art the Resurrection and the Life," cried 
 the voice from the pulpit. 
 
 '^ Thou art the Resurrection and the Life," an- 
 swered the amphitheater, as the bishop turned again 
 outwards. 
 
 Monsignor heard him sigh with the effort, and 
 with the consciousness too, perhaps, of whom it 
 was that lay here; he lifted the monstrance; the 
 eyes of the girl opened. As he signed to left 
 and right she smiled. As he brought the mon- 
 strance back she unclasped her hands and sat up. 
 
 12 
 
172 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 (V) 
 
 The three priests stood together that evening on 
 the high roof of a Carmehte priory, on the other 
 side of the river, half a mile away, yet opposite the 
 grotto, as the German girl came down to make her 
 thanksgiving. 
 
 From where they stood it was impossible to make 
 out a single detail of that at which they looked. 
 The priory stood on high ground, itself towering 
 above the crowded roofs that lay between them and 
 the river; and opposite rose up the masses of the 
 hill at the foot of which was the sacred place itself. 
 
 It resembled to-night a picture all of fire. The 
 churches on the left were outlined all in light, up 
 to the last high line of roof against the dark star- 
 light sky; and upon the spaces in between lay the 
 soft glow from the tens of thousands of torches that 
 the crowds carried beneath. Above the grotto the 
 precipitous face of the cliff showed black and som- 
 ber, except where the zigzag paths shone out in 
 liquid wondering lines, where the folks stood packed 
 together, .unseeing, yet content to be present. In 
 front, at the foot, over the lake of fire where the 
 main body of worshipers stood, glowed softly the 
 cavern where Mary's feet had once rested, and where 
 her power had lived now far beyond the memory of 
 the oldest man present. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 173 
 
 From this distance few sounds could be heard 
 except the steady murmur of voices of those count- 
 less thousands. It was as the steady roll of far-off 
 wheels or of the tide coming in over a rocky beach; 
 and even the sudden roar of welcome and triumph 
 that announced that the little procession had left the 
 Place was soft and harmonious. There followed 
 a long pause. 
 
 Then, on a sudden, trumpets rang out, clear as 
 silver, sharpened and reverberated by the rocks from 
 which they sounded, and like the voice of a dream- 
 ing giant, came the great words, articulate and dis- 
 tinct : — 
 
 ^^ Magnificat: anima mea Dominum'* 
 
 " And you, Monsignor," asked Dom Adrian, as 
 they stood half an hour later, still watching the 
 lines of light writhe this way and that as the crowds 
 went home, " you have asked Our Lady to give you 
 back your memory ? " 
 
 " I was at the grotto this afternoon," he said. 
 " It is not for me." 
 
 " Then there will be something better instead," 
 smiled the young monk. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 44T^O you go back to England to-morrow? " said 
 
 "^^^ Father Adrian, as they sat a night or two 
 later in the guest-room of the French Benedictines, 
 where the monk was staying. 
 
 " We start to-morrow night," said the old priest. 
 " Monsignor is infinitely better, and w^e must both 
 get back to work. And you? " 
 
 " I stay here to finish the revising of my book," 
 said the monk quietly. 
 
 The man who had lost his memory had piled im- 
 pression on impression during the last forty-eight 
 hours. There was first the case of the German girl. 
 She had been examined by the same doctors as those 
 who had certified to her state half an hour before 
 the cure, and the result had been telegraphed over 
 the entire civilized world. The fracture was com- 
 pletely repaired; and although she was still weak 
 from her long illness, she gained strength every 
 hour. Then there was the case of the Russian. 
 He, too, had received back his sight, although not 
 instantaneously; it had come to him step by step. 
 An hour ago he had been pronounced healed, and 
 
 174 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 175 
 
 had passed the usual tests in the examination-rooms. 
 But these cases, and others Hke them which the 
 priests had investigated, were only a part of the 
 total weight of impressions which Monsignor Mas- 
 terman had received. He had seen here for him- 
 self a relation between Science and Faith — a co- 
 operation between them with the exigencies of each 
 duly weighed and observed by them both — which 
 set nature and supernature before him in a com- 
 pletely new light. As Mr. Manners had said at 
 Westminster a week or two before, the two seemed 
 to have met at last, each working from different 
 quarters, on a platform on which they could work 
 side by side. The facts were no longer denied by 
 either party. Science allowed for the mysteries of 
 Faith; Faith recognized the achievements of Sci- 
 ence. Each granted that the other possessed a per- 
 fectly legitimate sphere of action in which the meth- 
 ods proper to that sphere were imperative and final. 
 The scientist accepted the fact that Religion had a 
 right to speak in matters that lay beyond scientific 
 data ; the theologian no longer denounced as fraudu- 
 lent or disingenuous the claims of the scientist to 
 exercise powers that were at last found to be nat- 
 ural. Neither needed to establish his own position 
 by attacking that of his partner, and the two ac- 
 cordingly, without prejudice or passion, worked to- 
 gether to define yet further that ever-narrowing 
 
176 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 range of ground between the two worlds which up 
 to the present remained unmapped. Suggestion, for 
 example, acting upon the mutual relations of body 
 and mind, was recognized by the theologian as a 
 force sufficient to produce phenomena which in 
 earlier days he had claimed as evidently supernatu- 
 ral. And, on the other side, the scientist no longer 
 made wild acts of faith in nature, in attributing to 
 her achievements which he could not for an instant 
 parallel by any deliberate experiment. Li a word, 
 the scientist repeated, " I believe in God " ; and the 
 theologian, " I recognize Nature." 
 
 Monsignor sat apart in silence, while the others 
 talked. 
 
 He had thought in Rome that he had reached in- 
 terior conviction; he understood now in Lourdes 
 that his conviction had not gone so deep as he had 
 fancied. He had learned in Versailles that the 
 Church could reorganize society, in Rome that she 
 could reconcile nations; he had seen finally in 
 Lourdes that she could resolve philosophies. 
 
 And this very discovery made him the more 
 timid. For he began to wonder whether there were 
 not yet further discoveries which he would have to 
 make — workings out and illustrations of the princi- 
 ples he had begun to perceive. How, for example, 
 he began to ask himself, would the Church deal 
 with those who did not recognize her claims — 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 177 
 
 those solitary individuals or groups here and there 
 who, he knew, still clung pathetically to the old 
 dreams of the beginning of the century — to the 
 phantom of independent thought and the intoxi- 
 cating nightmare of democratic government? It 
 was certain now that these things were dreams — 
 that it was ludicrously absurd to imagine that a man 
 could profitably detach himself from Revelation and 
 the stream of tradition and development that flowed 
 from it; that it was ridiculous to turn creation up- 
 side-down and to attempt to govern the educated few 
 by the uneducated many. Yet people did occasion- 
 ally hold impossible and absurd theories. . . . 
 How, then, would these be treated by the Church 
 when once her power had been finally consolidated ? 
 How was she to reconcile the gentleness of the 
 Christian spirit with the dogmatism of the Christian 
 claim? . . . He recalled one or two hints that 
 Father Jervis had let drop, and he was conscious of 
 a touch of fear. 
 
 He woke up to externals again at the sound of a 
 sentence or two from the monk. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said. " What was 
 that?" 
 
 '* I was saying that the news from Germany is 
 disquieting." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Oh ! nothing definite. They expect trouble. 
 
178 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 They say that the Emperor is extraordinarily in- 
 terested in this girl's case, and that the Socialists of 
 Berlin are watching him. Berlin is their last strong- 
 hold, you know." 
 
 " By the way," interrupted Father Jervis sud- 
 denly, " I've inquired about that man with the curi- 
 ous name — Zola. I find he had quite a vogue at 
 one time. And now I come to think of it, I believe 
 Manners mentioned him." 
 
 ''Zola?" mused the monk. ''Yes, I'm nearly 
 sure I've heard of him. Wasn't he an Eliza- 
 bethan?" 
 
 " No, no. He died at the end of the last century. 
 I find he did write a little romance about Lourdes. 
 There was even a copy in the library here. I hadn't 
 time to look at it; but M. Meurot told me it was 
 one of those odd little attacks on religion that were 
 popular once. That's all I could find out." 
 
 Monsignor compressed his lips. Somewhere out 
 of his abysmal memory there lurked a consciousness 
 that Zola had once been of some importance; but 
 he could add nothing to the discussion. 
 
 Dom Adrian stood up and stretched himself. 
 
 "It's time for bed," he said. "Look" (he 
 nodded towards the window), "the devotions are 
 just ending." 
 
 From out of the luminous gulf beneath, beyond 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 179 
 
 the tiers of roofs that lay, step-like, between this 
 hostel and the river, rose up that undying song of 
 Lourdes — that strange, haunting old melody of 
 the story of Bernadette, that for a hundred and 
 fifty years had been sung in this place — a ballad- 
 like song, without grace of music or art, which yet 
 has so wonderful an affinity with the old carols of 
 Christendom, which yet is so unforgettable and so 
 affecting. As the three stood side by side looking 
 out of the window they saw the serpent of fire, that 
 rope-coil of tapers that, stretching round the entire 
 Place J humped over the flights of steps and the plat- 
 forms set amongst the churches, writhes incessantly 
 on itself. But, even as they watched, the serpent 
 grew dim and patchy, and the lights began to go 
 out, as group after group broke away home- 
 wards. They had wished their Mother good night, 
 there in that great French town which has so 
 wonderful an aroma of little Nazareth; they 
 had sung their thanksgivings; they had offered 
 their prayers. Now it was time to sleep under 
 Her protection, who was the Mother both of God 
 and man. . . . 
 
 " Well, good night," said Monsignor. '' We shall 
 meet in London." 
 
 " I hope so," said the young monk gravely. 
 
 " I am afraid that young man will be in trouble," 
 
i8o THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 said Father Jervis softly, as they came down the 
 steps. " His book, you know." 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " Well, it's best not to talk of it. We shall soon 
 know. He's as brave as a lion." 
 
PART II 
 
M 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 (I) 
 ONSIGNOR MASTERMAN sat in his room 
 at Westminster, busy at his correspondence. 
 A week had passed since his return, and he had 
 made extraordinary progress. Even his face 
 showed it. The piteous, bewildered look that he 
 had worn, as he first realized little by little how 
 completely out of touch he was with the world in 
 which he had found himself after his lapse of mem- 
 ory, had wholly disappeared; and in its place was 
 the keen, bright-eyed intelligence of a typical ec- 
 clesiastic. It was not that his memory had re- 
 turned. Still, behind his sudden awakening in 
 Hyde Park, all was a misty blank, from which faces 
 and places and even phrases started out, for the 
 most part unverifiable. Yet it seemed both to him 
 and to those about him that he had an amazing fa- 
 cility in gathering up the broken threads. He had 
 spent three or four days, after his return from 
 Lourdes, closeted in private with Father Jervis or 
 the Cardinal, and had found himself at last capable 
 of readmitting his secretaries and of taking up his 
 work again. The world in general had been in- 
 
 183 
 
i84 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 formed of his nervous breakdown, so that on the 
 few occasions when he seemed to suffer small lapses 
 of memory no great surprise was felt. 
 
 He found, of course, a state of affairs that as- 
 tonished him enormously. For example, he dis- 
 covered that as the Cardinal's secretary he was an 
 extremely important person in the country. He had 
 not yet ventured much on private interviews — 
 these were for the present chiefly conducted by the 
 Cardinal, with himself present; but his correspond- 
 ence showed him that his good w^ord was worth 
 having, even by men who were foremost in the gov- 
 ernment of the day. There was, for instance, an 
 immense amount of work to be done on the subject 
 of the relations of Church and State; for the 
 Church, it must be remembered, while not actually 
 established, stood for the whole religious sentiment 
 of the country, and must be consulted on every 
 measure of importance. There was, further, the 
 matter of the restoration of Church property not 
 yet finally concluded in all its details, with endless 
 adjustments and compensations still under discus- 
 sion. This morning it was on the University ques- 
 tion that he was chiefly engaged, and particularly 
 the question as to the relative numbers of the lay 
 and clerical Fellows on the old Catholic founda- 
 tions. 
 
 A bell struck a single soft note ; and one of his 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 185 
 
 secretaries, sitting at the broad table near the win- 
 dow, lifted the receiver to his ear. Then he 
 turned. 
 
 " His Eminence wishes to have a word with you, 
 Monsignor, on two matters." 
 
 Monsignor stood up. 
 
 " ril come now, if it's convenient," he said. " I 
 have to be at Westminster at twelve." 
 
 The secretary spoke again through the telephone. 
 
 " His Eminence is ready," he said. 
 
 The Cardinal looked up as the priest came in a 
 minute later. 
 
 " Ah ! good morning, Monsignor. Yes, sit down 
 there. There are just two matters I want to have 
 a word with you on. The first is as regards a 
 heresy-trial of a priest." 
 
 Monsignor bowed. It was his first experience of 
 the kind, so far as he could remember; and he did 
 not yet fully understand all that it meant. 
 
 " I wish you to select the judges. You'll look 
 up the procedure, if you forget? A Dominican 
 must be on it, of course ; so you must communicate 
 with the Provincial. The other two must be secu- 
 lars, as the accused is a Religioso. He has elected 
 to be tried in England." 
 
 " Yes, your Eminence." 
 
 " He has behaved very reasonably, and refuses 
 to take advantage of the Neniviius clause." 
 
' i86 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " I forget at this moment," began Monsignor, 
 vaguely conscious that he had heard of this be- 
 fore. 
 
 " Oh ! that gives him the right to suppress the 
 book before pubHcation. It's part of the new legis- 
 lation. He has sent the thesis of his book, pri- 
 vately printed, to Rome, and it has been condemned. 
 He refuses to withdraw, as he is perfectly confident 
 of his orthodoxy. I understand that the book is 
 not yet completely finished, but he has his thesis 
 clear enough. It is on the subject of the miracu- 
 lous element in religion." 
 
 '* I beg your Eminence's pardon, but is the author 
 a Benedictine by any chance ? " 
 
 The Cardinal smiled. 
 
 " Yes ; I was coming to that. His name is Dom 
 Adrian Bennett. He is — or rather ought to be — 
 a Westminster monk, but his return has been de- 
 ferred for the present." 
 
 " I met him at Lourdes, your Eminence." 
 
 " Ah ! He is a very clever young man, and at 
 the same time perfectly courageous. . , . 
 Well, you'll look up the procedure, if you're not 
 perfectly clear? And I should wish to have the 
 names of the judges by to-morrow night. The 
 Canon Theologian of the diocese may not be well 
 enough to act. But you will make arrangements." 
 
 " Yes, your Eminence." 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 187 
 
 " The second matter is exceedingly important." 
 (The Cardinal began to play with the pen that lay 
 on his desk.) "And no rumor of it must get out 
 from this house. It may be made public at any mo- 
 ment, and I wish you to know beforehand in order 
 that you may not be taken by surprise. Well, it is 
 this. I have had information that the Emperor of 
 Germany will be received into the Catholic Church 
 to-night. I needn't tell you what that means. He 
 is quite fearless and quite conscientious; and there 
 is not the slightest doubt that he will, sooner or 
 later, make it impossible for the Socialists to con- 
 gregate any longer in Berlin. That will mean 
 either civil war in Germany — (I hear the Socialists 
 have been in readiness for this for some time past) 
 — or it will mean their dispersal everywhere. Eu- 
 rope, at any rate, will have to deal with them. 
 However, that's in the future. The important 
 thing at the present is that we should be able to show 
 our full strength when the time comes. There will 
 be thanksgivings throughout England, of course, as 
 soon as the news is published, and I wish you to 
 be in readiness to make what arrangements are nec- 
 essary. It was the Lourdes miracle, which you 
 witnessed, that has finished the affair. As you 
 know, the Emperor has been on the edge of this for 
 months past." 
 
 The Cardinal spoke quietly and diplomatically 
 
1 88 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 enough; but the other could see how deeply moved 
 he was by this tremendous development. The Em- 
 peror's position had been the one flaw in the Cath- 
 olic organization of Europe — and indeed of the 
 world. Now the last stone was laid, and the arch 
 was complete. The single drawback was that no 
 statesman or prophet could conjecture with certainty 
 what the effect on the Socialists would be. 
 
 *' And how are you, Monsignor ? " asked the 
 Cardinal suddenly, smiling at him. 
 
 " I am getting on very well, your Eminence ! " 
 
 " I should like to say that, for myself, I am more 
 than satisfied,'^ went on the other. *' You seem to 
 me to have regained all your old grip on things — 
 and in some points to have more than regained it. 
 I have written to Rome — " (he broke off). 
 
 " It's the details that still trouble me, your Emi- 
 nence. For instance, in this heresy-trial, I cannot 
 remember the procedure, or the penalties, or any- 
 thing else." 
 
 '' That'll all come back," smiled the Cardinal. 
 " After all, the principles are the point. Well, I 
 mustn't detain you. You're to be at Westminster 
 at twelve." 
 
 " Yes, your Eminence. We've nearly finished 
 now. The monks are very well satisfied. But the 
 main body of them do not come to Westminster 
 until they formally reenter. Cardinal Campello 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 189 
 
 has written to say that he will be with us on the 
 20th for certain." 
 
 " That is very good. . . . Then good morn- 
 ing, Monsignor." 
 
 It was nearly midnight before Monsignor Mas- 
 terman pushed away the book that lay before him 
 and leaned back in his chair. He felt sick and dazed 
 at what he had read. 
 
 First, he had studied with extreme care the con- 
 stitution of the Heresy-Court, and had sent off a 
 couple of hours ago the formal letters to th6 Do- 
 minican Provincial and two other priests whom he 
 had selected. Then he had studied the procedure 
 of the court, and the penalties assigned. 
 
 At first he could not believe what he read. He 
 had turned more than once to the title-page of the 
 great quarto, thinking that he must find it to be a 
 reprint of some medical work. But the title was 
 unmistakable. The book was printed in Rome in 
 the spring of the present year, and contained an 
 English supplement, dealing with the actual rela- 
 tions of the Church laws with those of the coun- 
 try. There were minor penalties for minor of- 
 fenses; there was at every turn an escape for the 
 accused. He might, even in the last event, escape 
 all penalties by a formal renouncement of Chris- 
 
I90 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 tianity; but if not, if he persisted simultaneously in 
 claiming a place in the Church of Christ and in 
 holding to a theological opinion declared erroneous 
 by the Court of Appeal ratified by the Pope, he was 
 to be handed over to the secular arm; and by the 
 laws of England — as well as of every other Eu- 
 ropean country except Germany — the penalty in- 
 flicted by the secular arm was, in the instance of a 
 tonsured clerk, death. 
 
 It was this that staggered the priest. 
 
 Somewhere within him there rose up a protest so 
 overwhelmingly strong as to evade even an attempt 
 at deliberate analysis — a protest that rested on the 
 axiom that spiritual crimes deserved only spiritual 
 punishment. This he could understand. He per- 
 ceived clearly enough that no society can preserve 
 its identity without limitations; that no association 
 can cohere without definite rules that must be 
 obeyed. He was sufficiently educated then to un- 
 derstand that a man who chooses to disregard the 
 demands of a spiritual society, however arbitrary 
 these demands may seem to be, can no longer claim 
 the privileges of the body to which he has hitherto 
 adhered. But that death — brutal physical death 
 — could by any civilized society — still less any 
 modern Christian society — be even an alternative 
 penalty for heresy, shocked him beyond description. 
 
 A ray of hope had shone on him when he first 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 191 
 
 read the facts. It might be, perhaps, that this was 
 merely a formal sentence, as were the old penalties 
 for high treason abandoned long before they were 
 repealed. He turned to the index; and after a 
 search leaned back again in despair. He had seen 
 half a dozen cases quoted, within the last ten years, 
 in England alone, in which the penalty had been 
 inflicted. 
 
 It was half an hour before he stood up, with one 
 determination at least formed in his mind — that he 
 would consult no one. He had learnt in the last 
 few weeks sufficient distrust of himself to refrain 
 from formulating conclusions too soon, and he 
 learnt enough of the world in which he found him- 
 self to understand that positions accepted as self- 
 evident by society in general, which yet seemed im- 
 possible to himself, after all occasionally turned out 
 to be at least not ridiculous. 
 
 But to think that it was the young monk with 
 whom he had talked at Lourdes who was to be the 
 center of the process he himself had to prepare! 
 . . . He understood now some of the hints that 
 Dom Adrian Bennett had let fall. 
 
 (in): 
 
 A card was brought up to him a couple of even- 
 ings later as he sat at his desk; and as he turned it 
 over Father Jervis himself hurried in. 
 
192 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " May I speak to you alone an instant? " he said; 
 and glanced at the secretaries, who rose and went 
 out without a word. 
 
 " You look unwell," said the old priest keenly, as 
 he sat down. 
 
 Monsignor waved a deprecatory hand. 
 
 " Well — I'm glad I caught you in time," went 
 on the other. " I saw the man come in ; and won- 
 dered whether you knew about him." 
 
 " Mr. Hardy." 
 
 " Yes — James Hardy." 
 
 "Well — I just know he's not a Catholic; and 
 something of a politician." 
 
 " Well, he's quite the shrewdest man the secu- 
 larists have got. He's a complete materialist. And 
 I've not the slightest doubt he's heard of your ill- 
 ness and has come to see whether he can fish any- 
 thing out of you. He's exceedingly plausible ; and 
 very dangerous. I don't know what he's come 
 about, but you may be certain it's something im- 
 portant. It may be to do with the Religious 
 Houses; or the Bill for the reestablishment of the 
 Church. But you may depend upon it, it's some- 
 thing vital. I thought I'd better remind you who 
 he is." 
 
 The priest stood up. 
 
 '* Thank you very much, father. Is there jsiny- 
 thing else? Have you any news for me? " 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 193 
 
 Father Jervis smiled. 
 
 " No, Monsignor. You know more than I do, 
 now . . . Well, I'll tell Mr. Hardy you'll see 
 him. Number one parlor? " 
 
 '' That'll do very well. Thanks." 
 
 It was growing towards dusk as Monsignor Mas- 
 terman passed down the corridor a few minutes 
 later ; and he paused a moment to glance out upon 
 the London street through the tall window at the 
 end. Not that there was anything particular to be 
 seen there; indeed the street, at the moment he 
 looked, was entirely empty. But he looked up for 
 an instant at the great electric news-sheet where 
 the headlines were displayed, above the corner shop 
 on the way to Victoria Street where the papers 
 were sold. But there was no news. There was 
 the usual announcement of the weather conditions, 
 a reference to one or two land-cases, and a political 
 statement. 
 
 Then he went on. 
 
 The parlor with the glass doors was lighted as he 
 came in, and a man in a black lawyer's dress stood 
 up to greet him. He was rosy-faced and genial, 
 clean shaven, above the middle-height, and his man- 
 ner was very deferential and attractive. 
 
 The first minute or two was taken up by Mr. 
 Hardy's congratulations on the other's appearance, 
 and on his complete recovery. There was not a 
 
194 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 trace of anxiety or nervousness in his manner; and 
 the priest almost insensibly found himself begin- 
 ning to discount his friend's warning. Then, quite 
 suddenly, the other turned to business. 
 
 " Well, I suppose I must come to the point. What 
 I want to ask is this, Monsignor. Can you tell me 
 in confidence (I assure you I will be discreet) 
 whether the ecclesiastical authorities here realize 
 the rush of Socialists that is bound to come, so 
 soon as the Emperor's conversion is publicly an- 
 nounced? " 
 
 " I — " began the priest. 
 
 " One moment, please, Monsignor. I do not in the 
 least want to force any confidences. But you know 
 we infidels " — (he smiled charmingly and mod- 
 estly) — '' we infidels regard you as our best friends. 
 The State seems to know nothing of mercy. But 
 the Church is always reasonable. And we poor 
 Socialists must live somewhere. So I wished — " 
 
 '' But my dear sir," began Monsignor. '' I think 
 you're assuming too much. Has the Emperor 
 shown any signs — ? " 
 
 Across the other's face he suddenly saw pass a 
 look of complete vacancy, as if he were no longer 
 attending; and, simultaneously, he heard a sudden 
 sound which he could not at first identify, through 
 the open windows looking on to Ambrosden Ave- 
 nue. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 195 
 
 " What is that ? " exclaimed the lawyer sharply ; 
 and stood up. 
 
 Again from the street there rose the roar of 
 voices, cheering, followed by a sharp punctuating 
 cry. 
 
 " Come this way," said the priest. " We can see 
 from the corridor." 
 
 When they reached the window the whole aspect 
 of the street had changed. Half-way from where 
 they stood, to the end where the sheet placard was 
 erected, was a gathering, surging mob, increasing 
 as they looked. From the left, from behind the 
 west end of the cathedral clock a continual stream 
 poured in, met by two others, the one down the 
 avenue of figures that ran and gesticulated, the 
 other from the direction of Victoria Street. And 
 from the whole arose gusts of cheering, marking 
 the pauses in the speech of some tiny figure which, 
 mounted beside the news-sheet, appeared to be de- 
 livering a speech. 
 
 Monsignor glanced at the news-sheet, and there, 
 in gigantic letters, over the space where the 
 weather had been discussed just now, was the an- 
 nouncement made public at the very instant when 
 the leader of the English Socialists was attempting 
 to discover the truth of the rumor that had reached 
 him: — 
 
196 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 THE EMPEROR OF GERMANY WAS RECEIVED INTO THE 
 CATHOLIC CHURCH ON THURSDAY EVENING. 
 
 And beneath it : 
 
 PROCLAMATION TO THE SOCIALISTS ANNOUNCED 
 FOR TO-NIGHT. 
 
 Monsignor read it, unconscious of all else ex- 
 cept the astounding fact. Then he turned to speak, 
 but found himself alone. 
 
 (IV) 
 
 London went soberly mad with enthusiasm that 
 night, and Monsignor Masterman, standing on the 
 cathedral roofs with half a dozen priests, watched 
 what could be seen of the excitement for half an 
 hour, before going downstairs for the Te Deum in 
 the great church. 
 
 The cathedral was, indeed, largely, the center 
 round which the enthusiasm concentrated itself. 
 Two other whirlpools eddied in Parliament Square, 
 and round St. Paul's, where the Archbishop of Lon- 
 don preached a sermon from the steps. Even these 
 facts, although in a sense he knew they must be 
 so, drove home into the priest's mind the realization 
 of how the Church was, once again, as five hun- 
 dred years ago, the center and not merely a depart- 
 ment of the national life. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 197 
 
 In every direction, as he leaned over Ambrosden 
 Avenue, as he looked down Francis Street to right 
 and left, everywhere nothing of the streets was visi- 
 ble under the steadily moving pavement of heads. 
 Every space between the tall houses resembled the 
 flow of an intricate stream, with its currents, its 
 eddies, its back-waters, beneath the clear radiance 
 of the artificial light. Here and there actors w^ere 
 seen gesticulating in dumb show, for all sounds 
 were drowned in the steady subdued roar of voices. 
 There was no delirium, no horse-play; the citizens 
 were too well disciplined. Occasionally from this 
 point or that a storm of cheering broke out as some 
 great man was recognized. 
 
 About half-past nine mounted policemen began 
 to make their appearance from Victoria Street, and 
 an open way was gradually formed leading to a 
 cleared space in front of the Cathedral. Ten min- 
 utes later cars began to follow, as the great folks 
 began to arrive for the Te Deum, and almost si- 
 multaneously the bells broke out, led by the solemn 
 crash of the great " St. Edward " from the cam- 
 panile. 
 
 (V) 
 
 They read in the morning the full text of the 
 proclamation to the Socialists. 
 
 As Monsignor Masterman came up from break- 
 
198 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 fast, he felt his arm taken, and there was Father 
 Jervis, his clever old face lit up by excitement. He, 
 too, carried a morning paper under his arm. 
 
 '' I would have a talk with you about this," he 
 said. " Have you seen the Cardinal yet? " 
 
 '' I'm to see him at ten. I feel perfectly helpless. 
 I don't understand in the least." 
 
 " Have you read it through yet? " 
 
 " No, I glanced at it only, I wish you'd help me 
 through, father." 
 
 The old priest nodded. 
 
 " Well, well, read every word of it first." 
 
 As they passed into the sitting-room, the prelate 
 slipped forward the little door-plate that announced 
 that he was within, but engaged. Then, without a 
 word, they sat down, and there was dead silence 
 for twenty minutes, broken only by the rustle of 
 turning pages, and an occasional murmur or raised 
 voices from the groups that still wandered round 
 the Cathedral — pools of that vast river that had 
 filled every channel last night. Father Jervis ut- 
 tered a small exclamation once or twice. 
 
 Monsignor laid down the sheets at last and 
 sighed. 
 
 "Finished, father?" 
 
 '^ Oh, yes ! I've been re-reading. Now let us 
 talk." 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 199 
 
 Father Jervis turned back to the front page, set- 
 tled the paper on his knee, and leaned back. 
 
 " The main point is this," he said. " Repressive 
 measures will be passed in Germany, as soon as the 
 act can be got through. That will mean that Ger- 
 many will be brought up into line with the rest of 
 Europe, America, Australia, and half Asia, 
 throughout her whole empire. That will mean 
 again that our own repressive measures will really 
 and truly be put into force. At present they are 
 largely inoperative." 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 " Well, we've got laws against things like blas- 
 phemy and heresy, and particularly the dissemina- 
 tion of heresy, and all the rest; but they're prac- 
 tically never put into force except in very flagrant 
 cases. For instance. Socialist and infidel speeches 
 can be delivered freely in what are called private 
 houses, which are really clubs. Well, that sort 
 of thing cannot possibly go on. The infidels have 
 complained of tyranny, of course — that's part of 
 the game. As a matter of fact they've been per- 
 fectly free, unless they gave actually public offense. 
 They've distributed their pamphlets and done what 
 they liked. Well, of course it was impossible to 
 be really strict so long as Germany was lax. They 
 could always meet in Berlin, and have their pam- 
 
200 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 phlets printed there; and we could do nothing. 
 But, you see, the whole situation's changed with the 
 Emperor's conversion. He's one of those heavy, 
 consistent men — quite stupid, of course — who 
 act their principles right out to the furthest detail. 
 So long as he was agnostic he allowed almost any- 
 thing to go on. And now he's a Christian he'll un- 
 derstand that that must stop. He's responsible be- 
 fore God, you see, as the ruler — " 
 
 " But the people. What of the people ? " 
 
 Father Jervis stared. 
 
 "The people? Why, they're the ruled, aren't 
 they?" 
 
 " But — er — democracy — " 
 
 "Democracy? Why, no one believes in that, of 
 course. How could they? " 
 
 " Go on, father." 
 
 " But, Monsignor, you must get that clear. You 
 must remember we're really educated people, not 
 half-educated." 
 
 Monsignor twitched with irritation. He could 
 not understand even yet. 
 
 " Father, do you mean that the people won't re- 
 sent this sudden change of front on the part of the 
 Emperor? Certainly, if they're really liberally- 
 minded they'll tolerate his following his own con- 
 science. But how can they justify his suddenly 
 dictating to them? " 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 201 
 
 The priest leaned forward a little. His old man- 
 ner came back, and once more he spoke to Mon- 
 signor as to a child. 
 
 " Monsignor, listen carefully, please. I assure 
 you you're completely out of date. What the Ger- 
 man people will say now is this : * Up to now the 
 Emperor has been agnostic, and therefore he has 
 not allowed any laws against heresy. Now he is a 
 Catholic, and therefore he will cause laws to be 
 passed against heresy.' '' 
 
 " And they won't resent that ? " snapped the prel- 
 ate, now thoroughly irritated. 
 
 Father Jervis lifted a pacific hand. 
 
 " My dear friend, the Germans — like all other 
 educated nations — believe that their ruler is meant 
 by God to rule them. And they also believe that 
 Catholicism is the true religion. Very well, then. 
 When a ruler is Catholic they obey him implicitly, 
 because they know that he will be kept straight in 
 all matters of right and wrong by the Pope, who 
 is the Representative of God. In non-vital matters 
 they will obey him because he is their ruler, and 
 therefore they are bound in conscience to do so." 
 
 " And when the ruler is not Catholic? " 
 
 " Again, in non-vital matters they will obey him. 
 And in vital matters — supposing, that is, he passed 
 a law against Christianity (which, of course, now- 
 adays no man could certainly do) — then they 
 
202 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 would appeal to the Pope, and, if the law was en- 
 forced, destroy it and take the penalties." 
 
 " Then the Pope is the real ruler — the final court 
 of appeal? " 
 
 ''Certainly. Who else should be? Isn't he the 
 Vicar of Christ?" 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 '' There," said the priest more easily. " And now 
 we really must get back to the point. I said just 
 now that the conversion of the Emperor will mean 
 a tightening up of repressive measures against the 
 infidels everywhere. They won't be allowed to con- 
 gregate, or disseminate their views any longer." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 ''Well, the point is, what will happen? There 
 must be an explosion or a safety-valve. And even 
 if there is an explosion there must be a safety-valve 
 afterwards, or there will be another explosion." 
 
 " What you told me about America — " 
 
 " That was on the tip of my tongue," said Father 
 Jervis. " And I expect there'll be the solution." 
 
 " Let's see," said Monsignor reflectively ; " you 
 told me there were certain cities in America where 
 infidels were tacitly allowed to have things their 
 own way — I think you mentioned Boston? " 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " And you think that that will be officially au- 
 thorized now — I mean that there will be definite 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 203 
 
 colonies where the infidels will be allowed complete 
 liberty?" 
 
 " Under restrictions — yes." 
 
 *' What sort of restrictions?" 
 
 " Well, they won't be allowed to have an army or 
 an aery — " 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " An aery," repeated Father Jervis — " an air- 
 fleet, I mean. That wouldn't do : they might make 
 war." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 " I don't see what better safety-valve could be 
 suggested. They could work out their own ideas 
 there as much as they liked. Of course, details 
 would come later." 
 
 "And the rest of the Proclamation?" asked the 
 other, lifting the sheet. 
 
 " I think we've got at the essentials," said the 
 priest, glancing again at his own copy, " and at the 
 immediate results. Of course, all his other meas- 
 ures don't come into force till the Houses pass 
 them. In fact, nothing of the Proclamation has 
 force until that happens. I expect the Bill for the 
 Establishment of Catholicism will take some time. 
 We shall get ours through before that. They'll 
 pass a few small measures immediately, no doubt 
 • — as to the Court chaplains and so on." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 14 
 
204 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " I really think we've got at the principles," said 
 the priest again, meditatively. " Are they clear to 
 you?" 
 
 Monsignor rose. 
 
 " I think so," he said. " I'm very much obliged, 
 Father. Fm sorry I was stupid just now; but you 
 know it's extraordinarily bewildering to me. I still 
 don't seem to be able to grasp all you said about 
 Democracy." 
 
 The old priest smiled reassuringly. 
 
 ** Well, you see, the universal franchise reduced 
 Democracy ad ahundum fifty years ago. Even the 
 uneducated saw that. And then there came the 
 reaction to the old king-idea again." 
 
 Monsignor shook his head. 
 
 " I don't see how the people ever consented to 
 give up the power when once they'd got it." 
 
 '' Why, in the same way that kings used to lose it 
 in the old days — by revolution." 
 
 " Revolution ? Who revolted ? " 
 
 " The many who were tyrannized over by the 
 few. For that's what democracy really means." 
 
 Monsignor smiled at what he conceived to be a 
 paradox. 
 
 ''Well, I must go to the Cardinal," he said. 
 " It's just on ten o'clock." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 (I) 
 
 TT was three weeks later that the Benedictines 
 took formal possession of Westminster Abbey, 
 and simultaneously that Pontifical High Mass was 
 sung in the University churches of Oxford, 
 Cambridge, and Durham, to mark the inauguration 
 of their new life. 
 
 Monsignor Masterman was appointed to attend 
 upon the Cardinals in the Abbey; and as he awoke 
 that morning, it seemed to him once more as if 
 he were living in a dream of strange and intoxi- 
 cating unreality. Everywhere in the house, as he 
 passed along the corridors, as he gave and received 
 last instructions before starting, there seemed the 
 same tension of expectancy. Finally, as he went 
 up to the Cardinals' rooms to announce the start, 
 he found the two prelates, both in their scarlet, sit- 
 ting in silence, looking out over the crowded silent 
 streets. 
 
 He bowed at the door w^ithout speaking, and then, 
 turning, led the way. 
 
 As they came down to the door where the horsed 
 205 
 
2o6 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 State carriages were waiting, for a moment the wall 
 and the avenue of faces, in front and to right and 
 left, struck him almost with a sense of hostility. 
 A murmur that was almost a roar greeted the 
 gleam of scarlet as the cardinals came out; then 
 silence again, and a surge of downbent heads as the 
 two raised their hands in blessing. 
 
 Monsignor himself sat facing the Cardinals in the 
 glass coach, as at a foot-pace the six white horses, 
 with grooms and postilions, drew them slowly past 
 the long length of the Cathedral, round to the right, 
 and into Victoria Street. There he drew a long 
 breath, for he had never seen or dreamed of such 
 a sight as that which met him. From end to end 
 of the side street, and in the direction of Old Vic- 
 toria Station, across the roadway as well, from 
 every w^indow and from every roof, looked a silent 
 sea of faces, that broke into sound and rippling 
 motion as the last carriage came in sight. He had 
 not realized till this moment the tremendous appeal 
 to the imagination which this formal restoration 
 of the old Abbey to the sons of its original founders 
 and occupants made to the popular mind. Here 
 again there had been working in his mind an unde- 
 fined sense that the Church had her interests, and 
 the nation hers. He had not understood that the 
 two were identified once more; and identified, too, 
 to a degree which had perhaps never before been 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 207 
 
 reached. Even in mediaeval days there had been 
 crises and even periods during which the secular 
 power stood on one side and the sacred on another ; 
 as when Henry had faced St. Thomas, with the na- 
 tion torn in factions behind the two champions. 
 But the lesson, it seemed, had been learned at last; 
 Caesar had learned that God was his ultimate sanc- 
 tion; and Church and nation, now perhaps for the 
 first time, stood together as soul and body united in 
 one personality. 
 
 If Victoria Street suggested such a thought as 
 this. Parliament Square drove it home. As the 
 coach drew up at the west door of the Abbey, and 
 ]\Ionsignor stepped out with his robes about him, 
 like a ground-bass to the ecstatic pealing of the 
 bells overhead, he heard the great roar of welcome 
 roll out over the wide space, reverberate back from 
 Westminster Hall and the Government buildings op- 
 posite, and die down into heart shaking silence 
 again, as the scarlet flash was seen at the Abbey 
 doors. The great space was filled in every foot 
 with a crowd that was of one heart and soul in its 
 welcome of this formal act of restitution. 
 
 Within, the monks waited, headed by their ab- 
 bot, in a wide circle of some hundred persons, in the 
 extreme end of the nave about the door. The 
 proper formalities were carried out; and the secu- 
 lars, led by the cardinals, passed up the enormous 
 
2o8 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 church between the tapestries that hung from every 
 pillar to the music of the Ecce Sacerdos magnus. 
 
 The old monuments were gone, of course — re- 
 moved to St. Paul's — and for the first time for 
 nearly three hundred years it was possible to see 
 the monastic character of the church as its builders 
 had designed it. Over the screen hung now again 
 the Great Rood with Mary and John ; and the altars 
 of the Holy Cross and St. Benedict stood on either 
 side of the choir-gates. 
 
 And so they waited, the Cardinals in their thrones 
 beside the high-altar, and the man who had lost 
 his memory beside them; while the organ pealed 
 out continuously overhead and endless footsteps 
 went to and fro over the carpeted ways and the 
 open stone spaces of the transepts. Once more 
 upon this man, so bewildered by this new world 
 in which he found himself, descended a flood of 
 memories and half-perceived images. He looked 
 up to the far-off vaulted roof and the lantern be- 
 neath the central tower; he looked down the long 
 row of untenanted stalls; across the transepts, clean 
 and white again now as at the beginning, filled 
 from end to end across the floor with the white of 
 surplices and the dusky colors of half the religious 
 habits of the world; he caught here and there the 
 gleam of candle-flames and gold and carving from 
 the new altars, set back again, so far as might be, 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 209 
 
 in their old stations; and again it seemed to him 
 that he had Hved in some world of the imagination, 
 as if he saw things which kings and prophets had 
 desired to see and had not seen unless in visions of 
 faith and hope that never found fulfillment. 
 
 He whispered softly to himself sometimes; old 
 forgotten names and scenes and fragments came 
 back. It seemed to him as if in some other life he 
 had once stood here — surely there in that transept 
 — a stranger and an outcast — watching a liturgy 
 which was strange to him, listening to music, lovely 
 indeed to the ear, yet wholly foreign in this home 
 of monks and prayer. Surely great statues had 
 stood before them — statesmen in perukes who si- 
 lently declaimed secular rhetoric in the house of 
 God, swooning women, impossible pagan personifi- 
 cations of grief, medallions, heathen wreaths, and 
 broken columns. Yet here as he looked there was 
 nothing but the decent furniture of a monastic 
 church — tall stalls, altars, images of the great ones 
 of heaven, wide eloquent spaces that gave room to 
 the soul to breathe. . . . He had dreamed the 
 other perhaps ; he had read histories ; he had seen 
 pictures. . . . 
 
 He again broke oflf in full blast; and under the 
 high roofs came pealing the cry of a trumpet. He 
 awoke with a start; the Cardinals were already on 
 their feet at a gesture from a master of cere- 
 
2IO THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 monies. Then he stepped into his place and went 
 down with them to the choir-gates to meet the 
 King. . . . 
 
 (n) 
 
 It was in the Jerusalem chamber when the King 
 was gone, a couple of hours later, that the new 
 abbot of Westminster came up to him. He was a 
 small, rosy man with very clear, beautiful eyes. 
 
 ** Can you speak to me for five minutes, Mon- 
 signor? " he said. 
 
 The other glanced across at the Cardinals. 
 
 " Certainly, father abbot." 
 
 The two went out, down a little passage, and 
 into a parlor. They sat down. 
 
 " It's about Dom Adrian," said the abbot ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 Monsignor checked the sudden shock that ran 
 through him. He knew he must show no emo- 
 tion. 
 
 " It's terribly on my conscience," went on the 
 other, with distress visibly growing as he spoke. 
 " I feel I ought to have seen which way he was 
 going. He was one of my novices, you know, be- 
 fore we were transferred. . . . He would 
 have been here to-day if all had been well. He was 
 to have been one of my monks. I suggested his 
 name." 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 211 
 
 Monsignor Masterman began to deprecate the 
 self-accusation of the other. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the abbot sharply. '* But the 
 point is whether anything can be done. The trial 
 begins on Monday, you see." 
 
 "Will he submit?" 
 
 The abbot shook his head. 
 
 " I don't think so. He's extraordinarily deter- 
 mined. But I wanted to know if you could give 
 me any hope on the other side. Could you do any- 
 thing for him with the Cardinal, or at Rome? " 
 
 " I ... I will speak to the Cardinal, cer- 
 tainly, if you wish. But — " 
 
 " Yes, I know. But you know a great deal de- 
 pends on the temper of the court. Facts depend 
 for their interpretation upon the point of view." 
 
 " But I understand that it's definite heresy — 
 that he denies that there is any distinction between 
 the miracles of the Church and — " 
 
 The abbot interrupted. 
 
 " Yes, yes, Monsignor. But for all that there's 
 a great deal in the way these things are approached. 
 You see there's so much neutral ground on which the 
 Church has defined nothing." 
 
 " I am afraid, from what I've seen of the papers, 
 that Dom Adrian v\^ill insist on a clear issue." 
 
 "I'm afraid so; I'm afraid so. We'll do our 
 best here to persuade him to be reasonable. And 
 
212 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 I thought that if you perhaps would do your best 
 on the other side — would tell the Cardinal, as from 
 yourself, what you think of Dom Adrian — " 
 
 Monsignor nodded. 
 
 *' If we could but postpone the trial for a while," 
 went on the abbot almost distractedly. " That 
 poor boy! His face has been with me all to-day." 
 
 For an instant Monsignor almost gave way. He 
 felt himself on the point of breaking out into a 
 burst of protest against the whole affair — of de- 
 nouncing the horror and loathing that during these 
 last days had steadily grown within him — a hor- 
 ror that so far he had succeeded in keeping to him- 
 self. Then once more he crushed it down, and 
 stood up for fear his resolution should give way. 
 
 " I will do what I can, my lord," he said coldly. 
 
 (Ill) 
 
 A great restlessness seized upon the man who 
 had lost his memory that night. 
 
 He had thought after his return from abroad 
 that things were well with him again — that he had 
 learned the principles of this world that was so 
 strange to him ; and his busy days — all that had 
 to be done and recovered, and his success in doing 
 it — these things at once distracted and soothed 
 him. And now once more he was back in his be- 
 wilderment. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 213 
 
 One great principle it was whicli confused his 
 whole outlook — the employment of force upon the 
 side of Christianity. Here, on the large scale, was 
 the forcible repression of the Socialists; on a small 
 scale, the punishment of a heretic. What kind of 
 religion was this that preached gentleness and prac- 
 ticed violence? . . . 
 
 Between eleven and twelve o'clock he could bear 
 it no longer. The house was quiet, and the lights 
 for the most part gone out. He took his hat and 
 thin cloak, throwing this round him so as to hide 
 the purple at his throat, went softly down the corri- 
 dors and stairs, and let himself out noiselesly into 
 Ambrosden Avenue. He felt he must have air and 
 space; he was beginning almost to hate this silent, 
 well-ordered ecclesiastical house, where wheels ran 
 so smoothly, so inexorably, and so effectively. 
 
 He came out presently into Victoria Street and 
 turned westwards. 
 
 He did not notice much as he went. Only his 
 most superficial faculties paid attention to the great, 
 quiet, lighted thoroughfare, to the few figures that 
 moved along, to the scattered sentinels of the City 
 of Westminster police in their blue and silver, who 
 here and there stood at the corners of the cross- 
 streets, w^ho saluted him as he went by ; to the little 
 lighted shrines that here and there hung at the 
 angles. Certainly it was a Catholic city, he per- 
 
214 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 ceived in his bitterness, drilled and disciplined by its 
 religion; there was no noise, no glare, no apparent 
 evil. And the marvel was that the people seemed 
 to love to have it so ! He remembered questioning 
 a friend or two soon after his return to England 
 as to the revival of these Curfew laws, and the ex- 
 traordinary vigilance over morals; and the answer 
 he had received to the effect that those things were 
 taken now as a matter of course. One priest had 
 told him that civilization in the modern sense would 
 be inconceivable without them. How else could 
 the few rule the many? . . . 
 
 He came down, across Parliament Square, to the 
 river at last, walking swiftly and purposelessly. A 
 high gateway, with a guard-room on either side, 
 spanned the entrance to the wide bridge that sprang 
 across to Southwark, and an officer stepped out as 
 he approached, saluted, and waited. 
 
 He drove down his impatience with an effort, re- 
 membering the espionage (as he called it) practiced 
 after nightfall. 
 
 " I want to breathe and look at the river," he 
 said sharply. 
 
 The officer paused an instant. 
 
 " Very good, father," he said. 
 
 Ah, this was better ! . . . The bridge, empty 
 from end to end, so far as he could see, ran straight 
 over to the south side, where, once again, there 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 215 
 
 rose up the guard-house. He turned sharply when 
 he saw it, and leaned on the parapet looking east- 
 wards. 
 
 The eternal river flowed beneath him, clean and 
 steady and strong, between the high embankments. 
 (He knew by now all about the loch-system that 
 counteracted the ebb and flow of the tides.) 
 Scarcely a hundred yards away curved out another 
 bridge, and behind that another and another, down 
 into the distance, all outlined in half-lights that 
 shone like stars and flashed back like heaven itself 
 from the smooth-running water beneath. An ex- 
 traordinary silence lay over all — the silence of a 
 sleeping city — though it was scarcely yet mid- 
 night, and though the city itself on either side of 
 the river lay white and glowing in the lights that 
 burned everywhere till dawn. 
 
 At first it quieted him — this vision of earthly 
 peace, this perfection to which order and civilization 
 had come; and then, as he regarded it, it enraged 
 him. . . . 
 
 For was not this very vision an embodiment of 
 the force that he hated? It was this very thing 
 that oppressed and confined his spirit — this inex- 
 orable application of eternal principles to temporal 
 affairs. Here was a city of living men, each an 
 individual personality, of individual tastes, thoughts, 
 and passions, each a world to himself and monarch 
 
2i6 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 of that world. Yet by some abominable trick, it 
 seemed, these individuals were not merely in ex- 
 ternal matters forced to conform to the Society 
 which they helped to compose, but interiorly, too; 
 they actually had been tyrannized over in their con- 
 sciences and judgments, and loved their chains. If 
 he had known that the fires of revolt lay there 
 sleeping beneath this smooth exterior he would have 
 hated it far less; but he had seen with his own 
 eyes that it was not so. The crowds that had 
 swarmed a while ago round the Cathedral, poured 
 in and filling it for the Te Deiim of thanksgiving 
 that one more country had been brought under the 
 yoke; the sea of faces that had softly applauded 
 and bowed beneath the blessing of those two Car- 
 dinals in scarlet ; the enthusiasm, the more amazing 
 in its silent orderliness, which had greeted the res- 
 toration of the old national Abbey to its Benedic- 
 tine founders — even the very interviews he had 
 had with quiet, deferential men, who, he understood, 
 stood at the very head of the secular powers; the 
 memory of the young King kissing the ring of the 
 abbot at the steps into the choir — all these things 
 proved plainly enough that by some supernatural 
 alchemy the very minds of men had been trans- 
 formed, that they were no longer free to rebel and 
 resent and assert inalienable rights — in short, that 
 a revolution had passed over the world such as his- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 217 
 
 tory had never before known, that men no longer 
 lived free and independent lives of their own, but 
 had been persuaded to contribute all that made them 
 men to the Society which they composed. 
 
 He perceived now clearly that it was this forced 
 contribution that he hated — this merging of the 
 individual in the body, and the body one of prin- 
 ciples that were at once precise and immutable. It 
 was the extinction of self. 
 
 Then, almost without perceiving the connection, 
 he turned in his mind to Christianity as he con- 
 ceived it to be — to his ideal figure of Christ; and 
 in an instant he saw the contrast, and why it was 
 that the moral instinct within him loathed and re- 
 sented this modern Christian State. 
 
 For it was a gentle Figure that stood to him for 
 Christ — God ? yes, in some profound and mysterious 
 way, but, for all earthly purposes of love and imi- 
 tation, a meek and persuasive Man whose kingdom 
 was not of this world, who repudiated violence and 
 inculcated love; One who went through the world 
 with simple tasks and soft words, who suffered 
 without striking, who obeyed with no desire to rule. 
 
 And what had this tranquil, tolerant Figure in 
 common with the strong discipline of this Church 
 that bore His name — a Church that had waited so 
 long, preaching His precepts, until she grew mighty 
 and could afford to let them drop; this Church 
 
2i8 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 which, after centuries of blood and tears, at last had 
 laid her hands upon the scepter, and ruled the world 
 with whom she had pleaded in vain so long; this 
 Church who, after two thousand years of pain, had 
 at last put her enemies under her feet — " re- 
 pressed " the infidel and killed the heretic? 
 
 And so the interior conflict went on within this 
 man, who found within him a Christianity with 
 which the Christian world in which he lived had no 
 share or part. He still stared out in the soft au- 
 tumn night at the huge quiet city, his chin on his 
 hands and his elbows on the parapet, half perceiving 
 the parable at which he looked. Once it was this 
 river beneath him that had made the city; now the 
 city set the river within bars and ordered its goings. 
 Once it was Christianity — the meek and gentle 
 spirit of Christ — that had made civilization; now 
 civilization had fettered Christianity in unbreakable 
 chains. . . . Yet even as he resented and re- 
 belled he felt he dared not speak. There were great 
 forces about him, forces he had experienced for 
 himself — Science tamed at last, self-control, organ- 
 ization, and a Peace which he could not understand. 
 Every man with whom he had to do seemed kind 
 and tender; there was the patient old priest who 
 taught him and bore with him as with a child, the 
 fatherly Cardinal, the quiet, serene ecclesiastics of 
 the house in which he lived, the controlled crowds, 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 219 
 
 the deferential great men with whom he talked. 
 But it was their very strength, he saw, that made 
 them tender; the appalling power of the machine, 
 which even now he felt that he but half understood, 
 was the very thing that made it run so smoothly. It 
 had the horror of a perfectly controlled steel piston 
 that moves as delicately as a feather fan. 
 
 For he saw how inexorable was that strength 
 which controlled the world; how ruthless, in spite 
 of smooth and compassionate words, towards those 
 who resisted it. The Socialists were to be " re- 
 pressed " ; the heretic was to be tried for his life ; 
 and in all that wide world in which he lived it 
 seemed that there was not one Christian who re- 
 coiled, not one breath of public opinion that could 
 express itself. 
 
 And he — he who hated it — must take his part. 
 A Fate utterly beyond his understanding had set 
 him there as a wheel in that mighty machine; and 
 he must revolve in his place motionlessly and un- 
 resistingly in whatever task was set before him. 
 
 Once only, as he stared out at the great pros- 
 pective view, did his heart sicken and fail him. 
 He dropped his face upon his hands, and cried to 
 the only Christ whom he knew in silence. . . . 
 
 15 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 (I) 
 
 TT was not until the afternoon of the third day, 
 •*' as the trial of Dom Adrian Bennett drew to its 
 close, that the man who had lost his memory could 
 no longer resist the horrible fascination of the af- 
 fair, and presented himself at the door of the court- 
 room. He had learned that morning that the end 
 of the trial w^as in sight. 
 
 It was outside a block of buildings somewhere to 
 the north of St. Paul's Cathedral that the car set 
 him down. He learned at the porter's lodge the 
 number of the court, and then passed in, following 
 his directions, through a quadrangle that w-as all 
 alight with scarlet creepers, where three or four 
 ecclesiastics saluted him, up a staircase or two, and 
 found himself at last at a tall door bearing the 
 number he w^anted. As he hesitated to knock, the 
 door opened, and a janitor came out. 
 
 " Can I go in? " asked the priest. " I am from 
 Archbishop's House." 
 
 " I can take you into the gallery at the back, 
 
 220 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 221 
 
 Monsignor," said the man. '' The body of the 
 court is full." 
 
 '' That will do." 
 
 They went round a corner together and came to a 
 door up three or four stairs. The janitor unlocked 
 this and threw it back. Further steps rose within 
 the doorway, and Monsignor as he set foot on the 
 first had a vivid impression that the court he was 
 approaching was crowded with people. There was 
 no sound at first, but an atmosphere of intense and 
 expectant force. 
 
 It was a little curtained gallery in which the priest 
 found himself, not unlike a box at a theater, look- 
 ing out upon the court from the corner immedi- 
 ately adjacent to the wall against which the raised 
 seats of the judges were placed. He- looked round 
 the court, himself sitting a little back in a kind of 
 shame, first identifying the actors in this dreadful 
 drama. He was glad that the gallery had no other 
 occupant than himself. 
 
 First there were the judges — three men sitting 
 beneath a canopied roof, beneath which, over their 
 heads, hung a large black and white crucifix. He 
 knew them, all three. There was the Dominican in 
 the center — one of that Order which has had 
 charge of heresy courts since the beginning — a 
 large-faced, kindly-featured, rosy man, with a 
 crown of white hair, leaning back now with closed 
 
222 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 eyes, listening, and obviously alert; on his right, 
 farther from the spectator, sat the Canon-Theolo- 
 gian of Westminster, a small, brown-faced man 
 with black eyes, looking considerably younger than 
 his years; and on this side the third judge, pale and 
 bald and colorless — a priest who held the degree 
 of Doctor in Physical Science as well as in The- 
 ology — he at this instant was drumming gently 
 with a large white hand on the edge of his desk. 
 
 Beneath the judges' dais was the well of the 
 court, very much, somehow, as Monsignor had ex- 
 pected ( for this was his first experience in a Church 
 court), with the clerks' table immediately beneath 
 the desks, and half a dozen ecclesiastics ranged at 
 it. Some strange-looking instruments stood within 
 reach of the presiding clerk, but he recognized these 
 as the mechanical recorders, of which he had had 
 some experience himself. They were of the nature 
 of phonographs, and by an exceedingly ingenious 
 and yet very simple system could be made to repeat 
 aloud any part of the speeches or answers that had 
 been uttered in the course of the trial. At either 
 end of the clerks' table rose up a structure like a 
 witness-box, slightly below the level of the judges' 
 desks. Opposite the desks was the lightly railed 
 dock for the prisoner. The rest of the court was 
 seated for the public, and as the spectator saw, was 
 completely filled, chiefly with ecclesiastics. Even 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 223 
 
 the gangways were thronged with standing figures. 
 And over all hung that air of intense expectancy 
 and attention. 
 
 He glanced once more round the court, once more 
 at the judges. Then he allowed himself to look 
 full at the prisoner, whom he had not seen since his 
 departure from Lourdes. 
 
 Dom Adrian was just as he remembered him, 
 perhaps a shade paler from the fierce attention of 
 the last three days, but he had the same serene, con- 
 fident air; his eyes were bright and luminous, and 
 his voice (for he was speaking at this moment) 
 perfectly natural and controlled. 
 
 It was hard at first to pick up the thread of what 
 he was saying. He had a sheet or two of paper 
 before him, to which he referred as he spoke, and 
 he seemed to be summing up, in a very allusive man- 
 ner, some earlier speeches of his. Technical terms 
 made their appearance from time to time, and de- 
 crees were quoted by their initial Latin words — 
 decrees which conveyed nothing to the listener in 
 the gallery. It was difficult, too, at this distance, 
 to understand the very swift Latin which he spoke 
 in a conversational voice that was almost casual. 
 His whole air was of one who is interested, but not 
 overwhelmingly concerned, in the subject under de- 
 bate. 
 
 He ended at last, and bowed. 
 
224 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 Obviously they were not at a very critical part of 
 the trial, thought Monsignor. He felt extraor- 
 dinarily reassured. He had expected more of a 
 scene. 
 
 The Dominican opened his eyes and took up a pen. 
 He glanced at his companions, but they made no 
 sign or movement. 
 
 ** You have made it perfectly clear," he said. 
 " Nothing could be clearer. I see " (he turned 
 slightly to right and left, and his fellow- judges 
 nodded gently in acquiescence) — '' I see no reason 
 to modify what I said just now, and the judgment 
 of the court must stand. Nothing can be clearer 
 to my mind — and I must say that my assessors 
 wholly concur, as you heard just now — nothing 
 can be clearer than that you have contradicted in 
 the most express terms the decrees in question, and 
 that you have refused to modify or to withdraw 
 any of the theses under dispute. Further, you have 
 refused to avail yourself of any of the releases 
 which are perfectly open to you by law. You de- 
 clined all those openings which I indicated to you, 
 and you appear determined to push the matter to 
 extremes. I must tell you then plainly that I see 
 nothing for it but the forwarding of our opinions 
 to Rome, and I cannot hold out to you the smallest 
 prospect that you will meet with a different judg- 
 ment from the highest court." 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 225 
 
 He paused a moment. 
 
 There was a profound silence in the court. As 
 Monsignor Masterman glanced round, unable to un- 
 derstand what it was that caused this sense of tre- 
 mendous tension, he noticed a head or two in that 
 array of faces drop suddenly as if in overwhelming 
 emotion. He looked at the prisoner ; but there was 
 no movement there. The young monk had put his 
 papers neatly together, and was standing, upright 
 and motionless, with his hands clasped upon them. 
 The Dominican's voice went on abruptly — 
 
 " Have you anything further to say before the 
 court dissolves? " 
 
 " I should like to express my sense of the ex- 
 treme fairness and considerateness of my judges," 
 said the monk, " to say again, as at the beginning, 
 that I commit my cause unreservedly into the hands 
 of God." 
 
 The three judges rose together; a door opened 
 behind and they disappeared. Instantly a buzz of 
 tongues began and the sound of shifting feet. As 
 Monsignor glanced back again at the dock, amazed 
 at the sudden change of scene, he saw the monk's 
 head disappearing down the staircase that led be- 
 low from the dock. He still did not understand 
 what had happened. He still thought that it was 
 some minor stage of the process that was finished, 
 probably on some technical point. 
 
226 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 (n); 
 
 He still sat there wondering, thinking that he 
 would let the corridors clear a little before he went 
 out again, and asking himself what it was that had 
 caused that obvious sensation during the judge's 
 last words. To all outward appearance, nothing 
 could be less critical than what he had seen and 
 heard. Plainly the trial was going against the pris- 
 oner, but there had been no decision, no sentence. 
 The inquisitors and the prisoner had talked together 
 almost like friends discussing a not very vital mat- 
 ter. And yet the sensation had been overwhelm- 
 ing. . . . 
 
 As he rose at last, still watching the emptying 
 court, he heard a tap on the door, and before he 
 could speak, the Abbot of Westminster rustled up 
 the steps, in his habit and cross and gold chain. 
 His face looked ominously strained and pale. 
 
 " I ... I saw you from the court, Monsig- 
 nor. For God's sake ... sit down again an 
 instant. Let me speak with you." 
 
 Monsignor said nothing. He could not even now 
 understand. 
 
 " I must thank you for your kind offices, Mon- 
 signor. I know you did what you could. His Em- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 227 
 
 inence sent for me after he had seen you. And 
 . . . and I must ask you to help us again 
 . . . at Rome." 
 
 " Certainly — anything. . . . But — " 
 
 " I fear it's hopeless," went on the abbot, star- 
 ing out into the empty court, where an usher was 
 moving quickly about from table to table setting 
 papers straight. " But any chance that there is 
 must be taken. . . . Will you write for us, 
 Monsignor? or better still, urge the Cardinal? 
 There is no time to lose." 
 
 ^' I don't understand, my lord," said the prelate 
 abruptly, suddenly convinced that more had hap- 
 pened than he knew. " I was only here just at the 
 end, and . . . what is it I can do ? " 
 
 The abbot looked at him. 
 
 " That was the end," he said quietly. " Did you 
 not hear the sentence ? " 
 
 Monsignor shook his head. A kind of sickness 
 seemed to rise from his heart and envelope him. 
 
 " I heard nothing," he said. " I came in during 
 Dom Adrian's last speech." 
 
 The abbot licked his dry lips; there was a won- 
 dering sort of apprehensiveness in his eyes. 
 
 " That was the last formality," he said. " Sen- 
 tence was given twenty minutes ago." 
 
 " And •— " 
 
22S THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 The abbot bowed his head, plucking nervously at 
 his cross. 
 
 " It has to go to Rome to be ratified," he said 
 hurriedly. " There will be a week or two of delay. 
 Dom Adrian refused any release. But . . . 
 but he knows there is no hope." 
 
 Monsignor Masterman leaned back and drew a 
 long breath. He understood now. But he per- 
 ceived he must give no sign. The abbot talked on 
 rapidly ; the other caught sentences and names here 
 and there : he grasped that there was no real possi- 
 bility of a reversal of the judgment, but that yet 
 every effort must be made. But it was only with 
 one part of his mind, and that the most superficial, 
 that he attended to all this. Interiorly he was oc- 
 cupied wholly wdth facing the appalling horror that, 
 with the last veil dropped at last, now looked him in 
 the eyes. 
 
 He stood up at last, promising he would see the 
 Cardinal that night; and then his resolve leapt to 
 the birth. 
 
 " I should like to see Dom Adrian alone," he said 
 quietly ; " and I had better see him at once. Can 
 you arrange that ? " The abbot stopped at the door 
 of the gallery. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I think so. Will you wait here, 
 Monsignor? " 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 229 
 
 (HI) 
 
 Monsignor Masterman lifted his eyes as the door 
 closed, and saw the young monk standing before, 
 beside the little table. 
 
 He had sat down again in the gallery while the 
 abbot was gone, watching mechanically the ushers 
 come into the court and remove the recording-boxes 
 one by one; and meantime in his soul he watched 
 also, rather than tried to arrange, the thoughts that 
 fled past in ceaseless repetition. He could plan 
 nothing, formulate nothing. He just perceived, as 
 a man himself sentenced to death might perceive, 
 that the Supreme Horror was a reality at last. The 
 very ordinariness of the scene he had witnessed, 
 the familiarity of some of the faces (he had sat 
 next at dinner, not a week ago, the brown- faced 
 Canon-Theologian), the conversational manner of 
 the speakers, the complete absence of any dramatic 
 solemnity — these things increased the terror and 
 repugnance he felt. Were the preliminaries of 
 Death for Heresy so simple as all that? Was the 
 point of view that made it possible so utterly ac- 
 cepted by every one as to allow the actual consum- 
 mation to come about so quietly ? . . . 
 
 The thing seemed impossible and dreamlike. He 
 strove to hold himself quiet till he could under- 
 stand. . . . 
 
230 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 But at the sight of the young monk, pale and 
 tired-looking, yet perfectly serene, his self-control 
 broke down. A spasm shook his face ; he stretched 
 out his hands blindly and helplessly, and some sound 
 broke from his mouth. 
 
 He felt himself takeii by the arm and led for- 
 ward. Then he slipped into a chair, and dropped 
 his face in his hands upon the table. 
 
 It was a few moments before he recovered and 
 looked up. 
 
 " There, there, Monsignor," said the monk. '^ I 
 I didn't expect this. There's nothing 
 to—" 
 
 "But . . . but—" 
 
 " It's a shock to you, I see. . . . It's very 
 kind. . . . But I knew it all along. Surely 
 you must have known — " 
 
 " I never dreamt of it. I never thought it con- 
 ceivable. It's abominable; it's — " 
 
 " Monsignor, this isn't kind to me," rang out the 
 young voice sternly; and the elder man recovered 
 himself sharply. " Please talk to me quietly. 
 Father Abbot tells me you will see the Cardinal." 
 
 *' I'll do anything — anything in my power. Tell 
 me what I can do." 
 
 He had recovered himself, as under a douche of 
 water, at the sharpness of the monk's tone just now. 
 He felt but one thing at this instant, that he would 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 231 
 
 strain every force he had to hinder this crime. He 
 remained motionless, conscious of that sensation of 
 intense tightness of nerve and sinew in which an 
 overpressed mind expresses itself. 
 
 The monk sat down, on the further side of the 
 table. 
 
 "That's better, Monsignor," he said, smiling. 
 ..." Well, there's really not much to do. In- 
 sanity seems the only possible plea." 
 
 He smiled again, brilliantly. 
 
 " Tell me the whole thing," said the prelate sud- 
 denly and hoarsely. "Just the outline. I don't 
 understand; and I can do nothing unless I do." 
 
 "You haven't followed the case?" 
 
 Monsignor shook his head. 
 
 The monk considered again. 
 
 " Well," he said. " This is the outline ; I'll leave 
 out technical details. I have written a book (which 
 will never see the light now) and I sent an abstract 
 of it to Rome, giving my main thesis. It's on the 
 miraculous element in Religion. I'm a Doctor in 
 Physical Science, you know, as well as in Theology. 
 Now there's a certain class of cure (I won't bother 
 you with details, but a certain class of cure) that 
 has always been claimed by theologians as evidently 
 supernatural. And I'll acknowledge at once that 
 one or two of the decrees of the Council of 
 i960 certainly seem to support them. But my 
 
2Z2 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 thesis is, first, that these cures are perfectly explica- 
 ble by natural means, and secondly, that therefore 
 these decrees must be interpreted in a sense not usu- 
 ally received by theologians, and that tliey do not 
 cover the cases in dispute. I'm not a willful heretic, 
 and I accept absolutely, therefore, that these decrees, 
 as emanating from an ecumenical council, are in- 
 fallibly true. But I repudiate entirely — since I am 
 forced to do so by scientific fact (or, we will say, 
 by what I am persuaded is scientific fact) — the 
 usual theological interpretation of the wording of 
 the decrees. Well, my judges take the other view. 
 They tell me that I am wrong in my second point, 
 and therefore wrong also in my first. They tell me 
 that the decrees do categorically cover the class of 
 cure I have dealt with ; that such cures have been 
 pronounced by the Church, therefore, to be evidently 
 supernatural; and that therefore I am heretical in 
 both my points. On my side, I refuse to submit, 
 maintaining that I am differing, not from the Cath- 
 olic Church as she really is (which would be hereti- 
 cal), but from the Catholic Church as interpreted 
 by these theologians. I know it's rash of me to set 
 myself against a practically universal and received 
 interpretation ; but I feel myself bound in conscience 
 to do so. Very well ; that is the point we have now 
 reached. I could not dream of separating myself 
 from Catholic Unity, and therefore that way of es- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 233 
 
 cape is barred. There was nothing for it, then, but 
 for my judges to pronounce sentence ; and that they 
 did, ten minutes before you came in. (I saw you 
 come in, Monsignor.) I am sentenced, that is to 
 say, as an obstinate heretic — as refusing to submit 
 to the plain meaning of an ecumenical decree. There 
 remains Rome. The whole trial must go there ver- 
 batim. Three things may happen. Either I am 
 summoned to explain any statements that may seem 
 obscure. (That certainly will not happen. I have 
 been absolutely open and clear.) Or the sentence 
 may be quashed or modified. And that I do not 
 think will happen, since I have, as I know, all the 
 theologians against me." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 The prelate heard the words, and indeed followed 
 their sense with his intellect ; but it appeared to him 
 as if this concise analysis had no more vital connec- 
 tion with the real facts than a doctor's diagnosis 
 with the misery of a mourner. He did not want 
 analysis; he wanted reassurance. Then he braced 
 himself up to meet the unfinished sentence. 
 " Or — " he murmured. 
 
 " Or the sentence will be ratified," said the monk 
 quietly. And again there was silence. It was the 
 monk again who broke it. " Where Father Abbot 
 seems to think you can help me, perhaps, Monsig- 
 nor, is in persuading the Cardinal to write to Rome. 
 
234 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 I do not quite know what he can do for me; but I 
 suppose the idea is that he may succeed in urging 
 that the point is a disputed one, and that the case 
 had better wait for further scientific as well as 
 theological investigation." 
 
 Monsignor flung out his hands suddenly. The 
 strain had reached breaking-point. 
 
 " What's the good! " he cried. " It's the system 
 — the whole system that's so hateful . . . 
 hateful and impossible." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " It's the system," he cried again. " From be- 
 ginning to end it's the system that's wrong. I hate 
 it more every day. It's brutal, utterly brutal and 
 unchristian." He stared miserably at the young 
 monk, astonished at the cold look in his eyes. 
 
 The monk looked at him questioningly — with- 
 out a touch of answering sympathy, it seemed — 
 merely with an academic interest. 
 
 ** I don't understand, Monsignor. What is it that 
 you—" 
 
 " You don't understand ! You tell me you don't 
 understand! You who are suffering under it! 
 Why—" 
 
 " You think I'm being unjustly treated? Is that 
 it? Of course I, too, don't think that — " 
 
 " No, no, no," cried the elder man. " It's not 
 you in particular. I don't know about that — I 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 235 
 
 don't understand. But it's that any living being 
 can live under such tyranny — such oppression of 
 free thought and judgment! What becomes of sci- 
 ence and discovery under a system like this ? What 
 becomes of freedom — of the right to think for 
 oneself? Why—'' 
 
 The young monk leaned a little over the table. 
 
 " Monsignor, you don't know what you are say- 
 ing. Tell me quietly what it is that's troubling 
 you. Quietly, if you please. I can't bear much 
 more strain." 
 
 The man who had lost his memory mastered him- 
 self with an effort. His horror had surged up just 
 now and overwhelmed him altogether, but the ex- 
 traordinary quiet of the other man and his appar- 
 ently frank inability to understand what was the 
 matter brought him down again to reality. Sub- 
 consciously, too, he perceived that it would be a re- 
 lief to himself to put his developing feeling into 
 words to another. 
 
 " You wish me to say ? Very well — " 
 
 He hesitated again for words. 
 
 *' You are sure you'd better ? I know you've been 
 ill. I don't want to — " 
 
 Monsignor waved it away with a little gesture. 
 
 '' That's all right," he said. " I'm not ill now. 
 I wish to God I were ! " 
 
 '* Quietly, please," said the young man. 
 
 16 
 
236 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 He swallowed in his throat and rearranged him- 
 self in his chair. He felt himself alone and aban- 
 doned, even where he had been certain of an emo- 
 tional sympathy. 
 
 " I know I'm clean against public opinion in 
 what I think. I've learnt that at last. I thought 
 at first that it was the other way, as ... as I 
 think it must have been a hundred years ago. But 
 I see now that all the world is against me — all 
 except, perhaps, the people who are called in- 
 fidels.'^ 
 
 " You mean the Socialists? " 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so. Well, it seems to me that 
 the Church is . . ." (he hesitated, to pick his 
 words) "is assuming an impossible attitude. Take 
 your own case ; though that's only one : it's the same 
 everywhere. There are the sumptuary and domes- 
 tic laws; there's the 'repression,' as they call it, of 
 the Socialists. But take your own case. You are 
 perfectly satisfied that your conclusions are scien- 
 tific, aren't you? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You're a Christian and a Catholic. And yet, 
 because these conclusions of yours are condemned 
 — not answered, mind you, or refuted by other sci- 
 entists — but just condemned — condemned by ec- 
 clesiastics as contrary to what they assume to be 
 true — you . . . you are — " 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 237 
 
 He broke off, struggling again with fierce emo- 
 tion. 
 
 He felt a hand on his arm. 
 
 " Monsignor, you're too excited. May I ask you 
 some questions instead ? " 
 
 Monsignor nodded. 
 
 " Well, don't take my case only. Take the sys- 
 tem, as you said just now. I really want to know. 
 . . . You think that the Socialists ought not to 
 be repressed — that every man ought to be free to 
 utter his opinions, whatever they may be. Is that 
 it?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " However revolutionary they may be ? " 
 
 Monsignor hesitated. He had considered this 
 point before. He felt his answer was not wholly 
 satisfactory. But the monk went on. 
 
 " Suppose these opinions were subversive of all 
 law and order. Suppose there were men who 
 preached murder and adultery — doctrines that 
 meant the destruction of society. Would you allow 
 these, too, to publish their opinions broadcast? " 
 
 "Of course, you must draw the line somewhere," 
 began Monsignor. "Of course — " 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon? " 
 
 " You said that we must draw the line some- 
 where. I ask you where? " 
 
238 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " Well, that, of course, must be a matter of de- 
 gree." 
 
 " Surely it must be one of principle. . . . 
 Can't you give me any principle you would allow ? " 
 
 The passion of just now seemed wholly gone. 
 Monsignor had an uncomfortable sense that he had 
 behaved like a child and that this young monk was 
 on firmer ground than himself. But again he hesi- 
 tated. 
 
 " Well, would you accept this principle ? " asked 
 Dom Adrian. *' Would you say that every society 
 has a right to suppress opinions which are directly 
 subversive to the actual foundations on which itself 
 stands? Let me give an instance. Suppose you 
 had a country that was a republic, but that allowed 
 that other forms of government might be equally 
 good. (Suppose, for instance, that while all ac- 
 quiesced more or less in the republic, yet that many 
 of the citizens personally preferred a monarchy.)' 
 Well, I suppose you would say it was tyranny for 
 the republic to punish the monarchists with death? " 
 
 '' Certainly." 
 
 " So should L But if a few of the citizens re- 
 pudiated all forms of government and preached An- 
 archy, well, I suppose you would allow that the 
 government would have a perfect right to silence 
 them?" 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 239 
 
 " Of course," said Dom Adrian quietly. " It was 
 what you allowed just now. Society may, and 
 must, protect itself." 
 
 " What's that got to do with it? These Socialists 
 are not Anarchists. You're not an atheist. And 
 even if you were, what right would the Church have 
 to put you to death?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, but the Church wouldn't put 
 me to death then." 
 
 Monsignor made an impatient movement. 
 
 " I don't understand in the least," he said. " It 
 seems to me — " 
 
 " Well, shall I give you my answer ? " 
 
 Monsignor nodded. 
 
 The monk drew a breath and leaned back once 
 more. To the elder man the situation seemed even 
 more unreal and impossible than at the beginning. 
 He had come, full of fierce and emotional sympathy, 
 to tell a condemned man how wholly his heart was 
 on his side, to repudiate with all his power the 
 abominable system that had made such things possi- 
 ble. And now, in five minutes, the scene had be- 
 come one of almost scholastic disputation; and the 
 heretic, it seemed — the condemned heretic — was 
 defending the system that condemned him to a man 
 who represented it as an official ! He waited, almost 
 resentfully. 
 
 " Monsignor," said the young man, *' forgive me 
 
240 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 for saying so; but it seems to me you haven't 
 thought this thing out — that you're simply carried 
 away by feehng. No doubt it's your illness. . . . 
 Well, let me put it as Avell as I can. . . /' 
 
 He paused again, compressing his lips. He was 
 pale, and evidently holding himself hard in hand; 
 but his eyes were bright and intelligent. Then he 
 abruptly began again. 
 
 " What's wrong with you, Monsignor," he said, 
 " is that you don't realize — again, no doubt, owing 
 to your loss of memory — that you don't realize 
 that the only foundation of society at the present 
 day is Catholicism. You see vre knoiv now that 
 Catholicism is true. It has reasserted itself finally. 
 Every other scheme has been tried and has failed; 
 and Catholicism, though it has never died, has once 
 more been universally accepted. Even heathen 
 countries accept it de facto as the scheme on which 
 the life of the human race is built. Very well, then, 
 the man who strikes at Catholicism strikes at so- 
 ciety. If he had his w^ay society would crumble 
 down again. Then what can Catholic society do ex- 
 cept defend itself, even by the death penalty? Re- 
 member, the Church does not kill. It never has ; it 
 never will. It is society that puts to death. And 
 it is certainly true to say that theologians, as a whole, 
 would undoubtedly abolish the death penalty to-mor- 
 row if they could. It's an open secret that the 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 241 
 
 Holy Father would do away with it to-morrow if 
 he could." 
 
 '' Then why doesn't he ? Isn't he supreme ? " 
 snapped the other bitterly. 
 
 " Indeed not. Countries rule themselves. He 
 only has a veto if an actually unchristian law is 
 passed. And this is not actually unchristian. It's 
 based on universal principles." 
 
 " But — " 
 
 "Wait an instant. . . . Yes, the Church 
 sanctions it. So did the Church approve of the 
 death penalty in the case of murder — another sin 
 against society. Well, Christian society a hundred 
 years ago inflicted death for the murder of the 
 body; Christian society to-day inflicts death for a 
 far greater crime against herself — that is, murder- 
 ous attacks against her own life-principle." 
 
 " Then the old Protestants were right after all," 
 burst in Monsignor indignantly ; ** they said that 
 Rome would persecute again if she could." 
 
 " If she could? " said the monk questioningly. 
 
 "If she was strong enough." 
 
 " No, no, no ! " cried the other, beating his hand 
 on the table in gentle impatience ; " it would be hope- 
 lessly immoral for the Church to persecute simply 
 because she was strong enough — simply because 
 she had a majority. She never persecutes for mere 
 opinions. She has no right to use force. But, as 
 
242 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 soon as a country is convincedly Catholic — as soon, 
 that is to say, as her civihzation rests upon Cathol- 
 icism and nothing else, that country has a perfect 
 right to protect herself by the death penalty against 
 those who menace her very existence as a civilized 
 community. And that is what heretics do ; and that 
 is what Socialists do. Whether the authorities are 
 right or wrong in any given instance is quite an- 
 other question. Innocent men have been hanged. 
 Orthodox Catholics have suffered unjustly. Per- 
 sonally I believe that I myself am innocent; but I 
 am quite clear that if I am a heretic" (he leaned 
 forward again and spoke slowly), " if I am a heretic, 
 I must be put to death by society." 
 
 Monsignor was dumb with sheer amazement, and 
 a consciousness that he had been baffled. He felt 
 he had been intellectually tricked ; and he felt it an 
 additional outrage that he had been tricked by this 
 young monk with whom he had come to sympa- 
 thize. 
 
 "But the death penalty!" he cried. ''Death! 
 that is the horror. I understand a spiritual pen- 
 alty for a spiritual crime — but a physical one, 
 
 Dom Adrian smiled a little wearily. 
 
 " My dear Monsignor," he said, " I thought I had 
 explained that it was for a crime against society. 
 I am not put to death for my opinions ; but because, 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 243 
 
 holding tnose opinions, which are declared heretical, 
 and refusing to submit to an authoritative decision, 
 I am an enemy of the civil state which is upheld 
 solely by the sanctions of Catholicism. Remember 
 it is not the Church that puts me to death. That is 
 not her affair. She is a spiritual society." 
 
 " But death ! death, anyhow ! " 
 
 The man's face grew grave and tender. 
 
 '* Is that so dreadful," he said, " to a convinced 
 Catholic?" 
 
 Monsignor rose to his feet. It seemed to him 
 that his whole moral sense was in danger. He made 
 his last appeal. 
 
 ''But Christ!" he cried; "Jesus Christ! Can 
 you conceive that gentle Lord of ours tolerating all 
 this for one instant! I cannot answer you now; 
 though I am convinced there is an answer. But is 
 it conceivable that He who said, ' Resist not evil,' 
 that He who Himself was dumb before his murder- 
 ers — " 
 
 Dom Adrian rose, too. An extraordinary inten- 
 sity came into his eyes, and his face grew paler still. 
 He began in a low voice, but as he ended his voice 
 rang aloud in the little room. 
 
 " It is you who are dishonoring our Lord," he 
 said. " Certainly He suffered, as we Catholics, too, 
 can suffer, as you shall see one day — as you have 
 seen a thousand times already, if you know any- 
 
244 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 thing of the past. But is that all that He is? 
 . . . Is He just the Prince of Martyrs, the su- 
 preme Pain-bearer, the silent Lamb of God? Have 
 you never heard of the wrath of the Lamb? of the 
 eyes that are as a flame of fire? of the rod of iron 
 with which He breaks in pieces the kings of the 
 earth? . . . The Christ you appeal to is noth- 
 ing. It is but the failure of a Man with the Divinity 
 left out . . . the Prince of sentimentalists, and 
 of that evil old religion that once dared to call itself 
 Christianity. But the Christ we worship is more 
 than that — the Eternal Word of God, the Rider on 
 the W^hite Horse, conquering and to conquer. 
 . . . Monsignor, you forget of what Church you 
 are a priest! It is the Church of Him who refused 
 the kingdoms of this world from Satan, that He 
 might win them for Himself. He has done so! 
 Christ reigns! . . . Monsignor, that is what 
 you have forgotten ! Christ is no longer an opinion 
 or a theory. He is a Fact. Christ reigiis! He 
 actually rules this world. And the world knows 
 it." 
 
 He paused for one second, shaking with his own 
 passion. Then he flung out his hands. 
 
 " Wake up, Monsignor ! Wake up ! You are 
 dreaming. Christ is the King of men again, now — 
 not of just religiously minded devots. He rules, 
 because He has a right to rule. . . . And the 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 245 
 
 civil power stands for Him in secular matters, and 
 the Church in spiritual. I am to be put to death! 
 Well, I protest that I am innocent, but not that the 
 crime charged against me does not deserve death. 
 I protest, but I do not resent it. Do you think I 
 fear death? ... Is that not in His hands, 
 too? . . . Christ reigns, and we all know it. 
 And you must know it, too ! " 
 
 All sensation seemed to have ebbed from the man 
 who listened. . . . He was conscious of a white 
 ecstatic face with burning eyes looking at him. He 
 could no longer actively resist or rebel. It was only 
 by the utmost effort that he could still keep from 
 yielding altogether. Some great pressure seemed to 
 enfold and encircle him, threatening his very ex- 
 istence as an individual. So tremendous was the 
 force with which the words were spoken, that for 
 an instant it seemed as if he saw in mental vision 
 that which they described — a Supreme Dominant 
 Figure, wounded indeed, yet overmastering and 
 compelling in His strength — no longer the Christ 
 of gentleness and meekness, but a Christ who had 
 taken His power at last and reigned, a Lamb that 
 was a Lion, a Servant that was Lord of all; One 
 that pleaded no longer, but commanded. . . . 
 
 And yet he clung still desperately and blindly to 
 his old ideal. He pushed off from Him this dom- 
 inating Presence; his whole self and individuality 
 
246 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 would not yield to Him who demanded the sacrifice 
 of both. He saw this Christ at last, and by a flash 
 of intuition perceived that this was the key to this 
 changed world he found so incomprehensible; and 
 yet he would not have it — he would not have this 
 Man to rule over him. . 
 
 He made one last effort ; the vision passed and he 
 stood up, feeling once more sensation come back, 
 understanding that he had saved himself from an 
 extinction more utter than that of death. 
 
 " Well," he said quietly — so quietly that he al- 
 most deceived himself, too, — " well, I will remem- 
 ber what you say, Dom Adrian, and I will do what 
 I can with the Cardinal." 
 
CHAPTER lY 
 
 (I) 
 
 CCT'M afraid it's been a great shock," said Father 
 **■ Jervis soothingly. ** And Fm not surprised, 
 after your illness. . . . Yes, I quite see your 
 point. Of course it must seem very strange. 
 . . . Now what about coming over to Ireland 
 for a week? The Cardinal will be delighted, I'm 
 sure." 
 
 The blow had fallen this morning — a fortnight 
 after the trial had ended. 
 
 First, the answer had come back from Rome that 
 the sentence was ratified — a sentence simply to the 
 effect that the Church could no longer protect this 
 tonsured and consecrated son of hers. Then the 
 formalities of handing over the monk to the secular 
 authorities had taken place, in accordance with the 
 Clergy Discipline Amendment Act of 1964 — an 
 Act by which the secular houses of Representatives 
 had passed a code of penalties for clerks condemned 
 by the ecclesiastical courts — clerks, that is to say, 
 who had availed themselves of Benefit of Clergy 
 and had submitted themselves to ecclesiastical juris- 
 
 247 
 
248 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 diction. Under that Act Dom Adrian had been re- 
 moved to a secular prison, his case had been re- 
 examined and the secular sentence passed. And 
 this morning Monsignor had read that the sentence 
 had been carried out. . . . He neither knew 
 nor dared to ask in what form. It was enough that 
 it was death. 
 
 There had been a scene with the startled secre- 
 taries. Fortunately Monsignor had been incoher- 
 ent. One of them had remained with him while 
 the other ran for Father Jervis. Then the two lay- 
 men had left the room, and the priests alone to- 
 gether. 
 
 Things were quieter now. Monsignor had recov- 
 ered himself, and was sitting white and breathless 
 with his friend beside him. 
 
 *' Come to Ireland for a week," said the old man 
 again, watching him with those large, steady, bright 
 eyes of his. " It is perfectly natural, under the 
 circumstances, that the thing should be a shock. To 
 us, of course — '' 
 
 He broke off as Monsignor looked up with a 
 strange white glare in his eyes. 
 
 " Well, well," said the old man. " You must give 
 yourself a chance. You've been working magnifi- 
 cently; I think perhaps a little too hard. And we 
 don't want another breakdown. . . . Then I 
 take it you'll come to Ireland? We'll spend a per- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 249 
 
 fectly quiet week, and be back in time for the meet- 
 ing of Parliament." 
 
 Monsignor made a small movement of assent with 
 his head. (He had had Ireland explained to him 
 before.) 
 
 " Then I'll leave you quietly here for a little. 
 Call me up if you want me. I'll tell the secretaries 
 to work in the next room. I'll see the Cardinal at 
 once, and we'll go by the five o'clock boat. I'll ar- 
 range everything. You needn't give it a thought." 
 
 A curious process seemed to have been at work 
 upon the mind of the man who had lost his mem- 
 ory, since his interview with the monk immediately 
 after the trial. At first a kind of numbness had 
 descended upon him. He had gone back to his busi- 
 ness, his correspondence, his interviews, his daily 
 consultation with the Cardinal, and had conducted 
 all these things efficiently enough. Yet, underneath, 
 the situation arranged itself steadily and irresistibly. 
 It had become impressed upon him that, whether for 
 good or evil, the world was as it was ; that Christian 
 civilization had taken the form which he perceived 
 round him, and that to struggle against it was as 
 futile, from a mental point of view, as to resent the 
 physical laws of the universe. Nothing followed 
 upon such resistance except intense discomfort to 
 oneself. It might be insupportably unjust that one 
 could not fly without wings, yet the fact remained. 
 
250 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 It might be intolerably unchristian that a tonsured 
 clerk should be put to death for heresy, yet he was 
 put to death, and not a soul, it seemed (not even the 
 victim himself) resented it. Dom Adrian's protest 
 had been not against the execution of heretics, but 
 against the statement that he was a heretic. But 
 he had refused to submit to a decision which he ac- 
 knowledged as authoritative, and found no fault, 
 therefore, with the consequence of such refusal. The 
 condemnation, he granted, was perfectly legal and 
 therefore extrinsically just; and it was the penalty 
 he had to pay for an individualism which the re- 
 sponsible authorities of the State regarded as dan- 
 gerous to the conditions on which society rested. 
 And the rest was the business of the State, not of 
 the Church. 
 
 The scheme then -was beginning to grow^ clear to 
 this man's indignant eyes. Even the " repression " 
 of the Socialists fitted in, logically and inexorably. 
 And he began to understand a little more w^hat Dom 
 Adrian had meant. There stood, indeed, imminent 
 over the world (whether ideally or actually w^as an- 
 other question) a tremendous Figure that was al- 
 ready even more Judge than Saviour — a Person- 
 ality that already had the Power and reigned; one 
 to whose feet all the world crept in silence, who 
 spoke ordinarily and normally through His Vicar 
 on earth, w^ho was represented on this or that plane 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 251 
 
 by that court or the other; one who was literally a 
 King of kings; to whose model all must be con- 
 formed; to whose final judgment every creature 
 might appeal if he would but face that death through 
 which alone that appeal might be conveyed. Such 
 was the scheme which this priest began to discern; 
 and he saw how the explanation of all that bewil- 
 dered him lay within it. Yet none the less he re- 
 sented it; none the less he failed to recognize in it 
 that Christianity he seemed once to have known, 
 long ago. Outwardly he conformed and submitted. 
 Inwardly he was a rebel. 
 
 He sat on silent for a few minutes when his 
 friend had left him, gradually recovering balance. 
 He knew his own peril well enough, but he was not 
 yet certain enough of his own standpoint — and 
 perhaps not courageous enough — to risk all by de- 
 claring it. He felt helpless and powerless — like a 
 child in a new school — before the tremendous 
 forces in whose presence he found himself. For 
 the present, at least, he knew that he must obey. 
 * • • 
 
 " You will be astonished at Ireland," said Father 
 
 Jervis a few hours later, as they sat together in the 
 
 little lighted cabin on their way across England. 
 
 " You know, of course, the general outlines? " 
 17 
 
252 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 Monsignor roused himself. 
 
 " I know it's the Contemplative Monastery of 
 Europe," he said. 
 
 " Just so. It's also the mental hospital of Eu- 
 rope. You see it's very favorably placed. None of 
 the great lines of volors pass over it now. It's en- 
 tirely secluded from the world. Of course there are 
 the secular business centers of the country, as they 
 always were, in north and south — Dublin and Bel- 
 fast; they're like any other towns, only rather 
 quieter. But outside there you might say that the 
 whole island is one monastic enclosure. I've 
 brought a little book on it I thought you might like 
 to look at." 
 
 He handed a little volume out of his bag. (It 
 was printed on the usual nickel-sheets, invented by 
 Edison fifty years before.) 
 
 "And to-night?" asked Monsignor heavily. 
 
 " To-night we're staying at Thurles. I made all 
 arrangements this afternoon." 
 
 " And our programme ? " 
 
 Father Jervis smiled. 
 
 " That'll depend on the guest-master," he said. 
 " We put ourselves entirely under his orders, as I 
 told you. He'll see us to-night or to-morrow morn- 
 ing; and the rest is in his hands." 
 
 " What's the system? " asked Monsignor suddenly 
 and abruptly looking at him. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 253 
 
 ''The system?" 
 
 '' Yes." 
 
 Father Jervis considered. 
 
 '' It's hard to put it into words," he said. " I 
 suppose you might say that they used atmosphere 
 and personaHty. They're the strongest forces we 
 know of — far stronger, of course, than argument. 
 It's very odd how they used to be neglected — " 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 *' Yes ; until quite recently there was hardly any 
 deliberate use of them at all. Well, now we know 
 that they effect more than any persuasion . . . 
 or . . . diet. And of course enclosed Re- 
 ligious naturally become experts in interior self- 
 command, and therefore can apply these things bet- 
 ter than any one else." 
 
 He waved his hands vaguely and explanatorily. 
 
 *' It's impossible to put it into words," he said. 
 " The very essence of it is that it can't be." 
 
 Monsignor sighed and looked drearily out of the 
 window. 
 
 As the hours of the day had gone by it had been 
 this dreariness that had deepened on him, after the 
 violent emotions of the morning. It was as if he 
 already saw himself beaten down and crushed by 
 those forces he had begun to recognize. And even 
 this reminder that he was passing for a few days 
 under a tyranny that was yet more severe failed to 
 
254 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 requicken any resentment. Inwardly the fire smol- 
 dered still red and angry ; outwardly he was passive 
 and obedient, and scarcely wished to be otherwise. 
 
 There was nothing of interest to be seen out of 
 the window. The autumn evening was drawing in, 
 and the far-off horizon of hills, with the rim of the 
 sea already visible beyond it, was dark and lead- 
 colored under the darkening sky. He thought 
 vaguely of Dom Adrian, in that melancholy and in- 
 effective mood that evening suggests ... he 
 had been alive at this hour last night . . . and 
 now . . . Well, he had passed to the secret 
 which this world interpreted now so confidently. 
 
 They halted above Dublin, and he watched, as 
 weeks ago at Brighton, the lighted stage swing out- 
 side the windows. He noted a couple of white- 
 frocked monks or friars, hooded in black, standing 
 among the rest. Then he watched the stage drop 
 out of sight, and the lights of Dublin spin eastwards 
 and vanish. Then he turned listlessly to the book 
 his friend had given him, and began to read. 
 
 As he stood himself on the platform at Thurles, 
 bag in hand (they brought no servants to Ireland), 
 it seemed to him that already there was a certain 
 sense of quietness about him. He told himself it 
 was probably the result of self-suggestion. But, 
 for all that, it seemed curiously still. Beneath he 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 255 
 
 saw great buildings, flattened under the height at 
 which he stood — court after court, it appeared, each 
 lighted invisibly and as clear as day. Yet no figures 
 moved across them; and in the roadways that ran 
 here and there was no crawling stream of ant-like 
 beings such as he had seen elsewhere. Even the 
 officials seemed to speak in undertones ; and Father 
 Jervis said no word at all. Then, as he felt the 
 swift dropping movement beneath his feet, he saw 
 the great lighted ship he had just left whirl off west- 
 wards, resembling a gigantic luminous moth, yet 
 without bell or horn to announce its journey. 
 
 He followed his friend out through the doorway 
 of the ground-platform to which the stage de- 
 scended, and into the interior of a great white car 
 that waited — still with a strange sense of irrespon- 
 sibility and heaviness. He supposed that all was 
 w^ell — as well as could be in a world such as this. 
 Then he leaned back and closed his eyes. There 
 were three or four others in the great car, he no- 
 ticed; but all were silent. 
 
 He opened them again as the car stopped. But 
 the priest beside him made no movement. He 
 looked out and saw that the car was halted between 
 two high walls and in front of a great arched gate- 
 way. Even as he looked the gates rolled back 
 noiselessly and the car moved through. (The others 
 had got out, he noticed.) 
 
256 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 It seemed, as they sped on, as if they were going 
 through the streets of some strange dead city. All 
 through which they passed was perfectly visible in 
 the white artificial light. Now they ran between 
 high walls; now along the side of a vast courtyard; 
 now a structure resembling the side of a cloister 
 slid by them swiftly and steadily — gone again in 
 an instant. It was not until afterwards that he 
 realized that there had hardly been one window to be 
 seen ; and not one living being. 
 
 And then at last the car stopped, and a monk 
 in brown opened the door of the car. 
 
 (Ill) 
 
 Monsignor woke next morning, already conscious 
 of a certain sense of well-being, and looked round 
 the little white room in which he lay, agreeably ex- 
 pectant. 
 
 Last night had helped to soothe him a little. He 
 had supped with his friend in a small parlor down- 
 stairs, after having been warned not to speak, ex- 
 cept in case of absolute necessity, to the lay brother 
 who waited on them; and after supper had had ex- 
 plained to him more at length what the object of the 
 expedition really was. It was the custom, he heard, 
 for persons suffering from overstrain or depression, 
 whether physical, mental, or spiritual, to come across 
 to Ireland to one of those Religious Houses with 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 257 
 
 which the whole country was covered. The only- 
 thing demanded of these retreatants was that they 
 should obey, absolutely and implicitly, the directions 
 given to them during their stay, and that their stay 
 should not be less than for three full days. 
 
 '* We shall not meet after to-night," said Father 
 Jervis, smiling. " I shall be under as strict orders 
 as you." 
 
 After they had parted for the night, the man who 
 had lost his memory had studied the little book given 
 to him, and had learned more or less the system 
 under which Ireland lay. The whole island, he 
 learned, was the absolute and inalienable possession, 
 held under European guarantees, of the enclosed 
 Religious Orders, with whose dominion no interfer- 
 ence was allowed. All the business offices of the 
 country and the ports of the enormous agricultural 
 industries were concentrated in Dublin and Belfast ; 
 the rest of the island was cultivated, ruled, and 
 cared for by the monks themselves. (He read 
 drearily through the pages of statistics showing 
 how once again, as in mediaeval days, under the 
 labor of monks the land had blossomed out into ma- 
 terial prosperity; and how this prosperity still in- 
 creased, year by year, beyond all reckoning.) Of 
 men, there were the Carthusians, the Carmelites, the 
 Trappists, and certain sections of Benedictines; of 
 women, there were the Carmelites, the Poor Clares, 
 
258 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 the Augustinian canonesses, and certain other Bene- 
 dictines. Special arrangements between these regu- 
 lated the division of the land and of the responsibili- 
 ties; and the Central Council consisted of the Pro- 
 curators and other representatives of the various 
 bodies. 
 
 In return for the possession of the land, and for 
 the protection guaranteed by the European govern- 
 ments, one, and one only demand was made — 
 namely, that a certain accommodation should be of- 
 fered — the amount determined by agreement year 
 by year — both for these Retreat-houses in general, 
 and for what were called " Hospitals-of-God " in 
 particular. These hospitals were nothing else in 
 reality than enormous establishments for the treat- 
 ment of the mentally unbalanced; for it had been 
 found by recent experience that the atmosphere su- 
 premely successful in such cases — especially those 
 of certain well-marked types — was the atmosphere 
 of the strongest and most intense religion. Statis- 
 tics had shown without a doubt that, even apart 
 from cases of actual possession (a phenomenon per- 
 fectly recognized now by all scientists), minds that 
 were merely weak or subject to neutral delusions 
 recovered incalculably more quickly and surely in 
 the atmosphere of a Religious House than in any 
 other. These cases, too, were isolated with the 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 259 
 
 greatest care, owing to the extraordinary discoveries 
 recently made, and verified over and over again, in 
 the realm of '' mental infection." 
 
 So Monsignor had learned last night; and as he 
 lay in his little white room this morning, waiting for 
 the instructions that he had been informed would 
 arrive before he need get up, it seemed that even to 
 his own tortured brain some breath of relief had 
 already come. The world seemed perfectly still. 
 Once from far away he heard the note of a single 
 deep-toned bell ; but, for the rest, there was silence. 
 There was no footstep in the house, no footstep out- 
 side. From where he lay he could see out through 
 his low window into a tiny windowless court, white 
 like his own room, except where the level lawn ran 
 to the foot of the wall and a row of tawny autumn 
 flow^ers rose against it. Above the white carved 
 parapet opposite ran skeins of delicate cloud against 
 the soft blue sky. It was strange, he thought, to be 
 conscious in this utter solitude and silence of an 
 incomparable peace. . . . 
 
 When he opened his eyes again, he saw that the 
 hooded lay brother had come in while he dozed, and 
 had begun to set the room to rights. A door, w^hite 
 like the wall, which he had not noticed last night, 
 stood open opposite his bed, and he caught sight of 
 a tiny bathroom beyond. A little fire of wood was 
 
26o THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 leaping in the white-tiled chimney; and before it 
 stood a table. The window, too, was set open, and 
 the pleasant autumn air streamed in. 
 
 Then the brother came up to the bedside, his face 
 invisible under the peaked hood that hung over it. 
 He uttered a sentence or two in Latin, bidding him 
 get up and dress. He was not to say Mass this 
 morning. " Father " would come in as soon as he 
 had breakfasted and give him his instructions for 
 the day. That was all. 
 
 Monsignor got out of bed and went into the bath- 
 room, where his clothes were already arrayed. 
 When he came back a quarter of an hour later, he 
 found a tray set out with simple food and milk on 
 the table beside the fire. As he finished and said 
 grace the door opened noiselessly, and a priest "in 
 the Carthusian habit came in, closing the door be- 
 hind him. 
 
 (IV) 
 
 As the two faced one another for an instant, the 
 Englishman perceived in a glance that this monk 
 was one of the most impressive-looking men he had 
 ever set eyes on. He was well over six feet in 
 height, and, in his rough, clumsy white dress he 
 seemed enormously muscular and powerful. He 
 carried himself loosely, with an air of strength, al- 
 most swinging in his gait. But it was his face that 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 261 
 
 above all was remarkable. His hood lay back on 
 his shoulders, and from its folds rose his strong 
 throat and head, all as hairless as a statue's ; and as 
 the priest glanced at him he saw that strange sug- 
 gestion as of a bird's head that some types convey » 
 His nose was long, thin, and curved ; his lips color- 
 less and compressed; his cheeks modeled in folds 
 and hollows over the bones beneath; and his eyes, 
 of an extraordinarily light gray, looked out under 
 straight upper lids, as of an eagle. 
 
 So much for the physical side. 
 
 But, stranger than all this, was the unmistakable 
 atmosphere that seemed to enter with him — an at- 
 mosphere that from one side produced a sense of 
 great fear and helplessness, and on the other of a 
 kind of security. In an instant Monsignor felt as 
 a wounded child might feel in the presence of a sur- 
 geon. And, throughout the interview that followed, 
 this sensation deepened incalculably. 
 
 The man said nothing — not even a word of 
 greeting — as he came across the room. He just 
 inclined his head a little, with a grave and business- 
 like courtesy, and waved the other back into his 
 chair. Then, still standing himself, he began to 
 speak in a deep but quite quiet voice, and very 
 slowly and distinctly. 
 
 '' You understand, Monsignor, the terms on which 
 you are here? Yes. Very well. I do not wish 
 
262 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 you to say Mass until your last morning. I have 
 spoken to Father Jervis about you. . . . 
 
 " Meanwhile, for to-day you are at liberty to walk 
 in the court outside as much as you w^ish, to read as 
 you wish — in fact, to occupy yourself as you like 
 in this room, the ambulatory downstairs, the roof 
 overhead, and the garden. You are to write no let- 
 ters, and to speak to no one. You will have your 
 meals in the next room alone, where you will also 
 find a few books. I wish you to get as quiet and 
 controlled as you can. To-morrow morning I will 
 come in again at the same time and give you further 
 directions. You will find a tribune opening out at 
 the end of this corridor, looking into a chapel where 
 the Blessed Sacrament is reserved. But I do not 
 wash you to spend there more than one hour in the 
 course of the day." 
 
 The monk was silent again, and did not even 
 raise his eyes. Monsignor said nothing. There 
 was really nothing to say. He felt entirely power- 
 less, and not even desirous to speak. He under- 
 stood that to obey was simply inevitable, and that 
 silence was what was wished. 
 
 " I do not wish you to rehearse at all what you 
 intend to say to me to-morrow," went on the monk 
 suddenly. " You are here to show me yourself and 
 your wounds, and there must be no false shame. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 263 
 
 You will say what you feel to-morrow, and I shall 
 say what I think. I wish you a happy retreat." 
 
 Then, again without a word, but with that same 
 inclination of his head, he went swiftly across the 
 room and was gone. 
 
 It was all completely unexpected, and Monsignor 
 sat a few minutes astonished, without moving. He 
 had not uttered a syllable ; and yet, in a sense, that 
 seemed quite natural. He had seen the monk look 
 at him keenly as he came in, and w^as aware that 
 that had been the inspection by some new kind of 
 expert. Probably the monk had heard the outlines 
 of the case from Father Jervis, and had just looked 
 in this morning, not only to give his instructions, but 
 to ratify by some peculiar kind of intuition the ac- 
 count he had heard. Yet the ignominy of it all 
 did not touch him in the least. He felt more than 
 ever like a child in the hands of an expert, and, like 
 a child, content to be so. Conventions and the mu- 
 tual little flatteries of the world outside appeared 
 meaningless here. 
 
 He said a little office presently, and then set out 
 to explore his ground. 
 
 The room he was in communicated with a lobby 
 outside, from which a staircase descended to a 
 little cloistered and glazed ambulatory opening on 
 to the garden. Another staircase rose to a door 
 
264 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 obviously leading to the roof. Besides the bed- 
 room door there were two others ; the one which he 
 entered first took him into a little sitting-room also 
 looking on to the garden, and furnished simply with 
 a table, an easy chair, and a few books ; the other 
 opened directly on to a tiny gallery looking out 
 sideways upon a perfectly plain sanctuary, with a 
 stone altar, a lamp, and a curtained tabernacle, 
 which seemed to be a chapel of some church whose 
 roof only was visible beyond a high closed screen. 
 He knelt here a minute or two, then he passed 
 back again to the lobby and ascended the staircase 
 leading to the roof. He thought that from here 
 he might form some idea as to the place in which he 
 was. 
 
 The flat roof, tiled across, and guttered so as to 
 allow the rain-water to escape, at first seemed closed 
 in on all sides with walls over six feet high. Then 
 he perceived that each wall was pierced with a tiny 
 double window, so contrived that it was possible to 
 see out easily and comfortably without being seen. 
 He went straight to one of these and looked through. 
 As far as he could see stretched what looked like 
 the roofs of a great town, for the most part 
 flattish, but broken here and there, and especially 
 towards the horizon, by tall buildings pierced with 
 windows, and in three or four cases by church tow- 
 ers. Lnmediately beneath him lay a vast court- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 265 
 
 yard like that of a college, with a cluster of elms, 
 ruddy with autumn colors, in the midst of the cen- 
 tral lawn. There was no human being in sight 
 on this side; the roofs, many of them parapeted like 
 his own, stretched out into the distance, their ranks 
 here and there broken by lines which appeared to 
 indicate roadways running beneath. He saw a 
 couple of cats on the grass below. 
 
 On all sides, as he went from window to window 
 of the little roofless room, there was the same kind 
 of prospect. In one direction he thought he rec- 
 ognized the way he must have come last night; 
 and, looking more carefully, noticed that the town 
 seemed to be less extended. Half a mile away the 
 roofs ceased, standing up against a mass of foliage 
 that blotted out all beyond. It was here that he 
 caught sight of a man — a white figure that crossed 
 a patch of road that curved into sight and out again. 
 
 It was extraordinarily still in this Religious town. 
 Certainly there were a few sounds; a noise of far- 
 off hammering came from somewhere and presently 
 ceased. Once he heard a door close and footsteps 
 on stone that faded into silence ; once he heard the 
 cry of a cat, three or four times repeated; and 
 once, all together, from every direction at once, 
 sounded bells, each striking one stroke. 
 
 He began to walk up and down after a while, 
 marveling, trying to reconstruct his ideas once 
 
266 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 more, and to take in the astonishing system and 
 organization whose signs were so evident about him. 
 Certainly it was thorough and efficient. There must 
 be countless institutions — hospitals, retreat-houses, 
 cloisters, besides all the offices and business cen- 
 ters necessary for carrying on this tremendous 
 work; and yet practically no indication of any move- 
 ment or bustle made itself apparent. So far as 
 solitude was concerned, he might be imprisoned in 
 a dead city. And all this deepened his impressions 
 of peace and recuperation. The silence, through his 
 knowledge, was alive to him. There must be, al- 
 most within sound of a shout, hundreds of living 
 persons like himself yet all intent, in some form 
 or another, upon that same overwhelming silence 
 in which facts could be received and relations read- 
 justed. 
 
 Yet even this, as he reflected upon it, had certain 
 elements of terror. Here again, under another dis- 
 guise, was the force that he had feared in London 
 — the force that had sent Dom Adrian noiselessly 
 out of life, that proposed to deal with refractory 
 instincts in human nature — such as manifested 
 themselves in Socialism — as a householder might 
 deal with a plague of mice, drastically and irresisti- 
 bly ; the force that moved the wheels and drove the 
 soundless engines of that tremendous social-religious 
 machine of which he, too, was a part. It was here. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 267 
 
 too, then; it was this that had closed him in here 
 for three days in his tiny domicile in this great 
 dumb city; it was this that held the whole under 
 an invisible discipline; it was this that had looked 
 at him out of the hawk's eyes and spoken to him 
 through the colorless lips of the monk who had 
 given him his instructions this morning. . . . 
 
 Once more then his individuality began to reassert 
 itself, and to attempt to cast off the spell even of 
 this peace that promised relief. He became aware 
 of an extraordinary loneliness of soul, an isolation 
 in the deepest regions of his soul from all others. 
 The rest of the world, it seemed, had an under- 
 standing about these matters. Father Jervis and 
 the Carthusian, no doubt, had talked him over ; they 
 accepted as an established and self-evident philos- 
 ophy this universal unity and authority; they re- 
 garded himself, who could not yet so accept it, as 
 a spiritual, if not an actual mental invalid. . . . 
 He had been brought here to be treated. . . . 
 Well, he would hold his own. 
 
 And then another mood comes on him — a tempta- 
 tion, as it seemed to him then, to fling personal re- 
 sponsibility overboard; to accept this tremendous 
 claim of authority to control even the thoughts of 
 the heart. Surely peace lay this way. To submit 
 to this crowned and sceptered Christ ; to reject for- 
 ever the other — this meant relief and sanity. 
 
 18 
 
268 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 He walked more and more quickly and abruptly 
 up and down the little tiled space. He was con- 
 scious of a conflict all confused with dust and 
 smoke. He began to hesitate as to which was the 
 higher, even which was the tolerable course — to 
 sink his individuality, to throw up his hands and 
 drown, or to assert that individuality openly and 
 defiantly, and to take the consequences. 
 
 (V) 
 
 He awoke the next morning after a troubled night, 
 conscious instantly of a sense of crisis. In one way 
 or another, it seemed, he would have to come to a 
 decision. The monk would be with him in less than 
 an hour. 
 
 He dressed as before and breakfasted. Then, as 
 the monk did not come, he went out to the tribune 
 to pray and to prepare himself. 
 
 Ten minutes later the door opened quietly, and 
 the lay-brother who had attended on him bowed to 
 him as he turned, in sign that he was to come. 
 
 The monk was standing by the fireplace as he 
 came in ; he bowed very slightly. Then the two sat 
 down. " Tell me why you have come here, Mon- 
 signor." 
 
 The prelate moistened his lips. He was aware 
 again of an emotion that was partly terror and 
 partly confidence. And there was mixed with it, 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 269 
 
 too, an extraordinary sense of simplicity. Con- 
 ventionalities were useless here, he saw ; he was ex- 
 pected to say what was in his heart, but at first he 
 dared not. 
 
 '' I . . . I was recommended to come," he 
 said. " My friends thought I needed a little rest." 
 
 The other nodded gently. He was no longer 
 looking straight at him, the secular priest was re- 
 lieved to see. 
 
 " Yes? And what form does It take? " 
 
 Still the patient hesitated. He began a sentence 
 or two, and stopped again. 
 
 Then the monk lifted his great head and looked 
 straight at him. 
 
 " Be quite simple, Monsignor," he said, " you 
 need fear nothing. You are here to be helped, are 
 you not ? Then tell me plainly." 
 
 Monsignor got up suddenly. It seemed to him 
 that he must move about. He felt restless, as a man 
 who has lived In twilight might feel upon coming 
 out Into sudden brilliant and healthful sunlight. 
 He began to walk to and fro. The other said noth- 
 ing, but the restless man felt that the eyes were 
 watching and following every movement. He re- 
 flected that It was unfair to be stared at by eyes 
 that were gray, outlined In black, and crossed by 
 straight lids. Then he summoned his resolution. 
 
 " Father," he said, *' I am unhappy altogether." 
 
270 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 ''Yes? (Sit down, please, Monslgnor.) " 
 
 He sat down, and leaned his forehead on his 
 hands. 
 
 " You are unhappy altogether," repeated the 
 monk. " And what form does that unhappiness 
 take?" 
 
 Monsignor lifted his face. 
 
 ''Father," he said, "you know about me? You 
 know about my history ? . . . My memory ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know all that. But It is not that which 
 makes you unhappy? " 
 
 " No," cried the priest suddenly and impulsively, 
 " it is not that. I wish to God it were ! I wish to 
 God my memory could leave me again ! " 
 
 " Quietly, please." 
 
 But the other paid no attention. 
 
 " It is . . . it is the world I am living in — 
 this brutal world. . . . Father, help me ! " 
 
 The monk drew a breath and leaned back, and 
 his movement had the effect of a call for silence. 
 Neither spoke for a moment. 
 
 Then — 
 
 " Just tell me quite simply, from the beginning," 
 said the monk. 
 
 (VI) 
 
 It was nearly half an hour later that Monsignor 
 ended, and leaned back, at once exhausted and ex- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 271 
 
 cited. He had said it all — he had said even more 
 than he had previously formulated to himself. Now 
 and then, as he paused, the monk with a word or 
 two, or a strangely compelling look, had soothed 
 or encouraged him. And he had told the whole 
 thing — the sense that there was no longer any es- 
 cape from Christianity, that it had dominated the 
 world, and that it was hateful and tyrannical in its 
 very essence. He confessed that logic was against 
 him, that a wholly Christian society must protect 
 itself, that he saw no way of evading the conse- 
 quences that he had witnessed; and yet that his en- 
 tire moral sense revolted against the arguments of 
 his head. It seemed to him, he said in effect, as 
 if he were held in a grip which controlled his whole 
 sentiment; as if the universe itself were in a con- 
 spiracy against him. For there was wanting, he 
 said, exactly that which was most characteristic of 
 Christianity, exactly that which made it divine — 
 a heavenly patience and readiness to suffer. The 
 cross had been dropped by the Church, he said, and 
 shouldered by the world. 
 
 The monk sat silent a moment or two, as motion- 
 less as he had been at the beginning. Monsignor 
 perceived by now, even through his fierce agitation, 
 that this man never moved except for a purpose; 
 he made no gestures when he spoke; he turned his 
 head or lifted his eyes only when it was necessary. 
 
2J2 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 Then the monk's voice began again, level and un- 
 emotional : 
 
 " A great deal of what you say, Monsignor, is 
 merely the effect of a nervous strain. A nervous 
 strain means that the emotional or the receptive 
 faculties gain an undue influence over the reasona- 
 ble intelligence. You admit that the logic is flaw- 
 less, yet that fact does not reassure you, as it would 
 if you were in a normal condition." 
 
 " But — " 
 
 " Wait, please, till I have done. I know what 
 you wish to say. It is that your sense of protest 
 is not merely sentimental, but rather moral ; is it not 
 so?" 
 
 Monsignor nodded. It was precisely what he had 
 wished to say. 
 
 " That is not true, however. It is true that your 
 moral sense seems outraged, but the reason is that 
 you have not yet all the data (the moral sense is 
 a department of the reason, remember). You 
 admit the logic of society's defending itself; but it 
 seems to you that that which is, as you very prop- 
 erly said, the divine characteristic of Christianity 
 — I mean, readiness to suffer rather than to in- 
 flict suffering — is absent from the world ; that the 
 cross, as you said again, has been dropped by the 
 Church. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 273 
 
 " Now, if you will reflect a moment, you will see 
 that it is very natural that that should appear so, 
 in a world that is Christian. It is very natural 
 that there should not be persecution of Christians, 
 for example, since there is no one to persecute them, 
 and therefore that you should see only the rights 
 of the Church to rule and not its divine prerogative 
 of pain. But I suppose that if you saw the oppo- 
 site, if you were to watch the other process, and 
 see that the Church is still able to suffer, and to ac- 
 cept suffering, in a manner in which the world is 
 never capable of suffering, I imagine you would be 
 reassured." 
 
 Monsignor drew a long breath. 
 
 " I thought so. . . . Well, does not the Con- 
 templative Life reassure you? And are you aware 
 that in Ireland alone there are four millions of per- 
 sons wholly devoted to the Contemplative Life? 
 And that, so great is the rush of vocations, the con- 
 tinent of Europe — " 
 
 " No," cried the priest harshly. " Voluntary suf- 
 fering is not the same thing. . . . I . . . 
 I long to see Christians suffering at the hands of 
 the world." 
 
 " You mean that you are doubtful as to how they 
 would bear it ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
274 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 The monk smiled, slowly and brilliantly, and 
 there was a look of such serene confidence in his 
 face that the other was amazed. 
 
 "Well . . /' he paused again. "Well, I 
 take it that we have laid our finger upon what it is 
 that troubles you. You admit that the Church is 
 right to be active — " 
 
 " No — I — " 
 
 " By your reason, I mean, Monsignor." 
 
 " Yes," said Monsignor slowly. " By my rea- 
 son/' 
 
 " But that you are not satisfied that the Church 
 can still suffer ; that it seems to you she has lost that 
 which is of her very essence. If you saw that, you 
 would be content." 
 
 " I suppose so," said the other hesitatingly. 
 
 The monk rose abruptly. 
 
 " We have talked enough for to-day," he said. 
 " You will kindly spend the rest of the day as yes- 
 terday. Do not say Mass in the morning. I will 
 be with you at the same time." 
 
 (VII) 
 
 It was on the last morning of their stay at Thurles 
 that Monsignor had an opportunity of seeing some- 
 thing of the real character of the place. 
 
 The lay monk came to him again, as he was finish- 
 ing breakfast, and abruptly suggested it. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 275 
 
 " I shall be very happy," said Monsignor. 
 
 Certainly his stay had done him good in some 
 indefinable manner he could not altogether under- 
 stand. Each morning he had talked ; but there was 
 no particular argument which he could recall that 
 had convinced him. Indeed, the monk had told 
 him more than once that bare intellectual arguments 
 could do nothing except clear the ground of actual 
 fallacies. Certainly the points had been put to him 
 clearly and logically. He perceived now that, so 
 far as reason was concerned, Christian society could 
 not do otherwise than silence those who attacked 
 the very foundations of its existence ; and he also 
 understood that this was completely another matter 
 from the charge that men had been accustomed to 
 bring against the Church, that she " would perse- 
 cute if she had the power." For it was not the 
 Church in any sense that used repression; it was 
 the State that did so; and as Dom Adrian had 
 pointed out, this was of the very essence of all civil 
 government. But this was not new to him. Rather 
 his stay in Thurles had, by quieting his nervous 
 system, made it possible for him to elect to follow 
 his reason rather than his feelings. His feelings 
 were as before. Still in the bottom of his con- 
 sciousness he felt that the Christ which he had 
 known w^as other than the Christ who now reigned 
 on earth. But now he had been enabled to make the 
 
2;6 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 decision over which he had previously hesitated ; he 
 had sufficiently recovered at least so far as to go 
 back to his work and to do what seemed to be the 
 duty to which his reason pointed, and in action at 
 least to ignore his feelings. This much had 
 been done. He did not yet understand by what 
 means. 
 
 A car waited in the little court to w^hich the two 
 came down. The monk beckoned him to enter, and 
 they moved off. 
 
 " This quarter of the monastery," began the monk 
 abruptly, '' is entirely of the nature you have seen. 
 It is composed of flats and apartments throughout, 
 for the simple retreats such as your own. Each 
 father who is employed in this kind of work has his 
 round of visits to make each day." 
 
 '* How many monks are there altogether, father, 
 in Thurles? " 
 
 " About nine thousand." 
 
 " I beg your pardon ? " 
 
 " About nine thousand. Of these about six thou- 
 sand live a purely Contemplative life. No monk 
 tmdertakes any work of this kind until he has been 
 professed at least fifteen years. But the regula- 
 tions are too intricate to explain just now." 
 
 *' Where are we going first — " 
 
 " Stay, Monsignor " (the monk interrupted him 
 by a hand on his arm). " We are just entering the 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 2^j 
 
 northern quarter. It is the serious cases that are 
 dealt with here." 
 
 "Serious?" 
 
 "Yes; where there is a complete breakdown of 
 mental powers. That building there is the first of 
 the block of the gravest cases of all — real mania." 
 
 Monsignor leaned forward to look. 
 
 They were passing noiselessly along the side of a 
 great square; but there was nothing to distinguish 
 the building indicated from the rest. It just stood 
 there, a tall pile of white stone; and the top of a 
 campanile rose above it. 
 
 " You have worked there, father? " 
 
 " I worked there for two years," said the monk 
 tranquilly. " It is distressing work at first. Would 
 you care to look in? " 
 
 Monsignor shook his head. 
 
 " Yes, it is distressing work, but there are great 
 consolations. Two out of every three cases at least 
 are cured, and we have a certain number of voca- 
 tions from the patients." 
 
 " Vocations ! " 
 
 " Certainly. Mania in the majority of cases is 
 nothing else than possession. In fact some authori- 
 ties are inclined to say that it is exceptional to find 
 it otherwise. And in the other cases it is gener- 
 ally the force of an exceptionally strong will that 
 has lost its balance, and is powerful enough to dis- 
 
278 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 regard all ordinary checks of reason and common 
 sense and human emotion. Well, a character like 
 that is capable of a good deal. Each case is, of 
 course, completely isolated in this department as in 
 all others. It is incredible to think that less than a 
 hundred years ago such patients were herded to- 
 gether. The system now, of course, is to surround 
 them with completely healthy conditions and com- 
 pletely self-restrained attendants. That gradually 
 rebuilds the physical and nervous conditions, and 
 exorcism is not administered until there is sufficient 
 reserve force for the patient partly, at any rate, to 
 cooperate." 
 
 Monsignor was silent. Again he felt bewilder- 
 ment at the amazing simplicity and common sense 
 of it all. 
 
 *' I am taking you," said the monk presently, " to 
 the central quarter — to the monastery proper. It 
 is there that the main body of the monks live. The 
 church is remarkable. It is the third largest 
 monastic church in the world. . . . We are 
 just entering the quarter now," he added. 
 
 Monsignor leaned forward as the air darkened, 
 and was in time to see great gates swinging slowly 
 together again as if to meet after the car had 
 passed. It was still twilight as they sped on, and 
 he perceived that they were passing with that ex- 
 treme and noiseless swiftness with which they had 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 279 
 
 come up some kind of tunnel lit by artificial light. 
 Then again there was a rush of daylight and the car 
 stopped. 
 
 " We must go on foot here," said the monk, and 
 opened the door. 
 
 The priest, still marveling, stepped out after him, 
 and followed through a postern door; and then, as 
 he emerged, understood more or less the arrange- 
 ment of the buildings. 
 
 He stood on the edge of an enormous courtyard, 
 perhaps five hundred yards across. This was laid 
 down with a lawn, crossed in every direction with 
 paved paths. But that at which he chiefly stafed 
 was at a church whose like he had never set eyes 
 on before. It was the sanctuary end, obviously, 
 that faced him; the farther end ran back into the 
 high walls, pierced here and there by low doors, 
 with which the court was surrounded. The church 
 itself rose perhaps two hundred feet from floor to 
 roof. It was straight from end to end, the line 
 broken only by a tall, severe tower at the point where 
 it joined the wall of the court; and running round 
 it, jutting out in a continuous block, like a plat- 
 form, was a low building, plainly containing chapels. 
 The whole was of white stone, unrelieved by carving 
 of any kind. Enormous narrow lancet windows 
 showed above the line of chapels, springing perhaps 
 forty feet from the ground, and rising to a line 
 
28o THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 immediately below the roof. The whole gave an 
 impression of astounding severity and equally as- 
 tounding beauty. It had the kind of beauty of a 
 perfectly bare mountain or of an iceberg. It was 
 graceful, and yet as strong as iron; it was cold, and 
 yet obviously alive. 
 
 " Yes," said the monk, as they went aross the 
 court, " it is impressive, is it not ? It is the monas- 
 tic church proper. It can hold, if necessary, ten 
 thousand monks. But you will see when we look 
 in. 
 
 " The court we are now in is surrounded by clois- 
 ters. There are just nine thousand cells; there are, 
 perhaps, fifty unoccupied now. Each cell, as you 
 know, is a little house in itself, with three or four 
 rooms and a garden ; so we need space. The ceme- 
 teries are beyond the cloisters. We bury, as you 
 know, in the bare earth without a coffin." 
 
 It was like the creation of a dream, thought 
 the priest, as he walked with his guide, listening 
 to the quiet talk. He had seen some of these facts 
 in the book that Father Jervis had lent him; but 
 they had meant little to him. Now he began to 
 understand, and once more a kind of inexplicable 
 terror began to affect him. 
 
 But as, five minutes later, he stood in the high 
 western gallery of the church, and saw that enor- 
 mous place stretching beyond calculation to where 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 281 
 
 thin, clear, glass, sanctuary windows rose in a group, 
 like snow-blades, above the white pavement before 
 the altar; as he saw the ranks of stalls running 
 up, tier above tier, and understood that, all told, 
 they numbered ten thousand, one-third of them on 
 this side of the screen, in the lay brothers' choir, 
 and two-thirds beyond ; as he imagined what it must 
 be to watch this congregation of elect souls stream 
 in, each with his lantern in his hand, through the 
 countless doors that ended each little narrow gang- 
 way that disappeared among the stalls; as he pic- 
 tured the thunder of the unemotional Carthusian 
 plain-song — as he saw all this with his bodily eyes, 
 standing silent beside the silent monk, and began 
 little by little to take in what it all meant, and what 
 this world must be in which such a condition of 
 things was accepted — a world where Contempla- 
 tives at last were honored as the kings of the earth, 
 and themselves controlled and soothed the lives of 
 whom the world despaired; as his imagination ran 
 out still farther, and he remembered that this was 
 but one of innumerable houses of the kind — as he 
 began to be aware of all this, and of what it sig- 
 nified as regards the civilization in which he found 
 himself — his terror began to pass, and to give place 
 to an awe, and to a kind of exaltation, such as 
 neither Rome nor Lourdes nor London had been 
 able even to suggest. . . . 
 
282 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 (viii) 
 
 " Well ? " said Father Jervis smiling as the two 
 met on the platform that evening, to wait for the 
 English-bound air-ship. 
 
 Monsignor looked at him. 
 
 " I am glad I came," he said. " No ; it is not all 
 well with me, even yet. But I will try again." 
 
 The other nodded, still smiling. 
 
 "Who was the father who looked after me?" 
 added the prelate. " He said he had talked with 
 you." 
 
 " He is considered one of the best they have," 
 said the other. " I asked for him specially. He 
 hardly ever fails. You are impressed by him ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes . . . but he did nothing particu- 
 lar." 
 
 " That is just it," smiled the old priest. He added 
 after a pause, as the bell rang — 
 
 "You feel ready for work again? You know 
 what lies before you? " 
 
 Monsignor nodded slowly. 
 
 '' You mean the Establishment of the Church ? 
 . . . Yes; I am ready." 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 'nr^HE scheme had been in the air for nearly two 
 •^ years, as Monsignor learned from his papers ; 
 and for the last month or two had come more to the 
 front than ever. But he had not realized how close 
 it was. 
 
 It was at the end of October that the Cardinal 
 sent for him and revealed two more facts. The 
 first was that it was the intention of His Majesty's 
 Government to appoint a Commission to consider 
 once more the Establishment of Catholicism as the 
 State religion of England; and the second was that 
 secret negotiations had been proceeding now for 
 the last eight months between China, Japan, the 
 Persian Empire, and Russia, as to the formal rec- 
 ognition of the Pope as Arbitrator of the East. 
 
 " Both points," said the Cardinal, " are abso- 
 lutely sub sigillo until you hear of them from other 
 sources. And I need not tell you, Monsignor, that 
 they have the very strongest mutual effects." 
 
 " I beg your pardon? " 
 283 
 
 19 
 
284 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " Think it over," said the Cardinal, and waved 
 him pleasantly away. 
 
 From that time forward, as week followed week, 
 the work became enormous. He was present at in- 
 terviews of which he understood not more than one- 
 half of the allusions; yet with that extraordinary 
 skill of which he was made aware by the compli- 
 ments of the Cardinal and of his own friends, he 
 showed never a sign of his ignorance. Papers con- 
 stantly passed under his hands, disclosing to him 
 the elaborate preparations that had already been 
 made on the part of the State authorities ; and ques- 
 tions on various points of discipline were contin- 
 ually submitted to him, at the bearing of which he 
 could only guess. 
 
 It seemed to him remarkable that so much fuss 
 should be made upon w^hat was by now almost en- 
 tirely a matter of form, since by the restoration of 
 Catholic property, recognition of Church courts, 
 and a hundred other details, as well as by the af- 
 fection of the people, the Church already enjoyed 
 supreme power. 
 
 He put this once, lightly, to Father Jervis. 
 
 " The public is affected by forms much more than 
 by principles," said that priest, smiling. " They 
 have already accepted the principles; but even at 
 the eleventh hour they might take fright at the 
 forms." 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 285 
 
 " Do you mean it is possible that a Bill, if it was 
 brought forward, might not pass? " 
 
 " Certainly it's possible. Otherwise, why haven't 
 we had a Commission appointed? The Socialists 
 aren't beaten yet. But it's not likely; or the Bill 
 wouldn't be brought forward at all." 
 
 The prelate said nothing. 
 
 It was not until a few days before Christmas that 
 the Cardinal was sent for. 
 
 At the beginning of the month the Commission 
 had been appointed by an overwhelming majority 
 in the House. The proposal had been brought for- 
 ward suddenly by the Government, and with a speed 
 and an employment of business-like methods that 
 seemed very strange to the man who had lost his 
 memory, and who still had hanging about him a 
 curious atmosphere of earlier days, the Commission 
 had despatched an immense amount of work within 
 three weeks. 
 
 It was impossible to know how far negotiations 
 had got; but even the Cardinal himself was taken 
 by surprise when he received an Invitation to attend 
 the sitting of the Commission. He sent for Mon- 
 slgnor Masterman at once. 
 
 " You will attend me, Monslgnor, please. I shall 
 have to appear alone, but I should like you to be at 
 hand." 
 
 It was with very much confused emotions that 
 
286 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 Monsignor found himself, a day or two later, walk- 
 ing up and down a corridor in the House of Repre- 
 sentatives. He had arrived with the Cardinal, had 
 gone up the broad staircase behind him, and had 
 followed him even into the committee room. A 
 long table faced him as he entered, and he noticed 
 with an odd little thrill how every man sitting there, 
 from the white-faced, white-haired man at the head, 
 down to the clean-shaven, clever-looking young man 
 nearest the door, had risen as the two ecclesiastics 
 came in. The table, he noticed, was strewed with 
 papers. An empty chair stood at the lower end of 
 the table — a red chair, he saw, with gilded wood. 
 
 The Cardinal sat down. The rest sat down, all 
 in silence. Monsignor placed the despatch-box in 
 front of his chief, opened it, laid a few books in 
 order, and went out. . . . 
 
 Even now, in spite of all the knowledge that he 
 had, and the constant contemplation of the cold facts 
 of the case, it seemed to him, as on a dozen occa- 
 sions before since his lapse of memory, as if life 
 was not as real as it seemed. Somewhere, down 
 in the very fiber of him, was an assumption that 
 England and Catholicism were irreconcilable things 
 — that the domination of the one meant the sup- 
 pression of the other. Certainly history was against 
 him. For more than a thousand years Church and 
 State in England had been partners. It was but 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 287 
 
 for three hundred years — and those years of con- 
 fusion and of the gradual elimination of the super- 
 natural — that the two had been at cross-purposes. 
 Was it not historically certain, therefore, that, should 
 the supernatural ever be reaccepted in all its force, 
 a partnership should again spring up between a 
 State that needed a Divine authority behind its own 
 and the sole Institution which was not afraid to 
 stand out for the supernatural with all its conse- 
 quences? Theology was against him; for if there 
 was anything that theology thought explicitly, it 
 was that the soul was naturally Christian, and there- 
 fore imperfect without the full Christian Revela- 
 tion. 
 
 And yet, as he walked, he was annoyed. The 
 proposed Establishment of the Church by the State 
 appeared to him uncharacteristic of both — of the 
 Church, since he still tended to think that she must 
 in her essence be at war with the world; of the 
 State, since he still tended to think that that, too, in 
 its essence, must be at war with religion. In spite 
 of what he had seen, he had not yet grasped with 
 his imagination that which both experience and 
 intellect justified as true — namely, that it is the 
 function of the Church to guide the world, and the 
 highest wisdom of the world to organize itself on a 
 supernatural basis. 
 
 He walked up and down, saying nothing. At one 
 
288 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 end of the long corridor a couple of secretaries 
 whispered together on a settee ; at the other he saw 
 passing and repassing hurrying figures that went 
 about their business. Doors opened occasionally, 
 and a man came out; once or twice he saluted an 
 acquaintance. But all the while his attention re- 
 mained fixed upon the door numbered XI, behind 
 which this quietly significant affair proceeded. The 
 whole place seemed a very temple of stillness. The 
 thick carpet underfoot, the noiseless doors, the ad- 
 mirable system of the place — all contributed to 
 make a great solemnity. 
 
 He tried to remind himself that he was present 
 at the making of history, but it was useless. Again 
 and again as, with an effort, he forced the principles 
 before his mind, his attention whirled off to a detail 
 ■ — to a contemplation of his chief taking his seat 
 in the House of Lords and to the fabric of the car- 
 pet on which he walked; to the silent whisper of 
 one of the two conversational secretaries ; to a won- 
 der as to the form of prayer with which the first 
 professedly Catholic Parliament in England for 
 more than four hundred years would open. 
 
 Then he checked himself, reminded himself of 
 certain old proverbs about cups and hares, reflected 
 that Socialism was not beaten yet (in Father Jer- 
 vis's phrase), as recent events in Germany had 
 shown. ... 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 289 
 
 Once as he turned at the end of the corridor 
 furthest from the secretaries, an interesting little 
 incident happened. A door opened abruptly, and a 
 man coming out quickly almost ran against him. 
 Then the man took off his hat and smiled. 
 
 '' I beg your pardon, Monsignor ... I 
 . . . I can guess your business here." 
 
 Monsignor smiled, too, a little guiltily. He recog- 
 nized the Socialist leader who had called on him a 
 few months before. 
 
 "Yes: and I'm afraid you don't approve," he 
 
 said. 
 
 Mr. Hardy made a little deprecatory gesture, still 
 holding his hat in his hand. 
 
 " Oh ! I'm a believer in majorities," he said. 
 "And there's no doubt you have the majority. 
 But—" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I hope you will be merciful. That is your Gos- 
 pel, you know." 
 
 " You think we have the majority? " 
 
 " Oh, certainly. The enfranchisement of women 
 settled all that. They are always clerical, you 
 know." 
 
 Monsignor felt the point prick him. He riposted 
 
 gently. 
 
 "Well, you will have to take refuge in Ger- 
 many," he said. 
 
290 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 The face of the other changed a httle; his eyelids 
 came down just a fraction. 
 
 " That's exactly what I'm going to do, Monsignor 
 — I — but I think there's somebody wanting you." 
 
 Monsignor turned. There was a hand beckoning 
 him from behind a face, as if in agitation, from the 
 entrance to door No. XL 
 
 " If you'll excuse me," he said, and hurried off. 
 
 " I thought you'd like to be present at the end, 
 Monsignor," whispered the member who had beck- 
 oned him. " The Cardinal is just speaking." 
 
 Committee room number XI seemed strangely 
 quiet, as the prelate slipped in behind his friend and 
 stood motionless. One voice was speaking; and, 
 as he tried to catch the sense, he looked round the 
 faces, that were all turned in his direction. He saw 
 Mr. Manners on the extreme left. 
 
 Every man sat without moving, simply listening, 
 it seemed, with an extraordinary attention; some 
 leaning forward, some back, with the papers disre- 
 garded on the table. A couple of recording ma- 
 chines stood now in the center. Then he began to 
 catch the words. . . . 
 
 " I think, gentleman," said the voice from behind 
 the high-backed chair, " that I need say no more. 
 We have discussed at length, and I hope to your sat- 
 isfaction, the particular points on which you de- 
 sired information: and my answers have brought 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 291 
 
 out, I think, the essence of all the conditions on 
 which alone the Church can accept the terms pro- 
 posed. 
 
 " I wish it to be brought before the House, per- 
 fectly clearly, that in her own province the Church 
 must be supreme. She must have an entire and 
 undisputed right over her own doctrine and dis- 
 cipline; for that is at the root of her only claim to 
 be heard. In respect to any legislation which, in 
 her opinion, touches the eternal principles of mo- 
 rality — in all such things, for example, as the mar- 
 riage law — her supreme authority must be re- 
 spected; as well as in all those other matters of 
 the same nature upon which you have questioned 
 me. 
 
 " But on the other side the Church recognizes, 
 and always will recognize, the right of a free peo- 
 ple to govern themselves; and, not only recognizes 
 that right, but will support it with all the power at 
 her command. I have acknowledged that in a few 
 instances in history ecclesiastics have interfered un- 
 duly with what did not concern them — interfered, 
 that is, not as citizens (for that is their right, in 
 common with all other citizens) — but in the Name 
 of Religion. Now that, gentlemen, is simply a thing 
 of the past. If secular rulers have learned by ex- 
 perience, so have ecclesiastical rulers. ... I 
 have invited investigation into the history of the 
 
292 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 last hundred years ; and I have answered those few 
 charges that have been brought — I hope to your 
 satisfaction." (There was a murmur of applause.) 
 
 *' In secular matters, therefore, the Church will 
 be wholly on the side of liberty. Ecclesiastical au- 
 thorities, for example, would be the first to wel- 
 come a repeal of legislation as regards heresy; but, 
 on the other hand, we fully recognize the right of 
 a secular State to protect itself, even by the death 
 penalty, against those who threaten the existence 
 of the sanctions at which a secular State takes its 
 stand. We recognize her right, I say ; but I do not 
 mean by that that you will not find ecclesiastics who 
 hold that it is, to put it mildly, a deplorable policy. 
 
 " However, I have said all this before, both in 
 public, and now again in answer to your questions ; 
 and I think that, at any rate, so far as I am con- 
 cerned, I shall not be to blame if the nation accepts 
 the proposed change under a misapprehension. 
 
 " You see, gentlemen, the attempt that ended fifty 
 years ago — the attempt that was called in its day 
 Protestantism — to establish a religion which was 
 to be secondary in any sense to the State, failed and 
 failed lamentably, in spite of the noble lives that 
 were spent in laboring for such a compromise. For 
 it is the whole essence of a Supernatural Religion 
 to be supreme in its own province — the very ad- 
 jective asserts it; and any endeavor to compromise 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 293 
 
 on this entirely vital point is in itself a denial of the 
 principle. For a while this was not perceived. 
 Men regarded the Christian Church — or rather, 
 that which they took to be the Christian Church — 
 merely, on its earthly side, as an organization com- 
 parable to a State. They did not seem to see that 
 Religion must always have a wider basis than any 
 secular body, since it deals with eternity as well as 
 with time, while the State, professedly, treats only 
 of temporal things. The consequence was either 
 conflict, whenever supernatural elements clashed 
 with natural, or else the subservience of Religion, 
 and its consequent loss of prestige, as well as of its 
 supernatural character. A National Church, there- 
 fore, is a contradiction in terms, since it asserts that 
 that which is in its very nature larger than this 
 world must yet be confined within the limits not 
 only of this world, but even of a part of it. . . . 
 Well, I need not labor that point. You grasped it, 
 gentlemen, even before you were good enough to 
 ask me to give evidence before this Commission. 
 I felt it, however, only right that such conditions 
 should be reiterated and recorded before matters 
 went any further. 
 
 " The Church, therefore, is perfectly content to 
 remain as she has always remained in this country 
 for the last four centuries — a free society govern- 
 ing the consciences of her children. Or she is con- 
 
294 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 tent to take outwardly and officially that position 
 which she has always, at least tacitly, claimed, and 
 to reassume her civil dignity and her civil responsi- 
 bilities. But she is not content to waive any of 
 those Divine Rights with which her Founder en- 
 dowed her, even in return for the greatest privi- 
 leges ; still less is she content to receive those privi- 
 leges under false pretenses. . . ." 
 
 Again the low murmur of applause broke out, 
 and three or four men shifted their positions 
 slightly. 
 
 Monsignor was conscious again, suddenly and 
 vividly, of that double sense of unreality and of in- 
 tense drama which he had felt so often before at 
 critical moments.. It seemed to him amazing, and 
 yet more amazingly simple, that such claims should 
 be put in such words under such circumstances. It 
 was astounding that such things should be said, and 
 yet more astounding that they needed to be said, for 
 were they not, after all, the very elements of civil 
 and religious relations? . . . 
 
 There was something, too, in the voice of the in- 
 visible speaker that thrilled his very heart. The 
 tones were completely tranquil, there were no ges- 
 tures, and the very force that spoke was unseen. 
 Yet in the quiet fluency, the note of absolute assur- 
 ance, there was a dominating appeal that was al- 
 most hypnotic in its effect. He had perceived this 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 295 
 
 characteristic of the Cardinal often before; he had 
 noticed it first on that occasion on which, for the 
 first time in his knowledge, he had come into his 
 presence, still staggered by the shock of his mental 
 failure and recovery. But he had never appreci- 
 ated the strength of the personality so clearly. The 
 Cardinal was no orator in the ordinary sense ; there 
 was no thunder or pathos or drama in his manner. 
 But his complete assurance and the long, gentle, in- 
 cisive sentences, moving like rollers in a calm sea, 
 were more affecting than any passion could be. 
 . It seemed to him now the very incarnation 
 of that spirit of the Church that at once attracted 
 and repelled him — of its serenity, its gentleness, 
 its reasonableness, and its irresistible force. 
 
 Then, in a slightly higher note, and with a per- 
 ceptible increase of deliberation, the voice went on. 
 
 " I must add one word, gentlemen. 
 
 " I said just now that the Church was content to 
 be as she has recently been in this country — con- 
 tent, that is, so long as she continues to enjoy the 
 liberty with which England endows her. 
 
 " And perhaps, as her chief minister in this coun- 
 try, I ought to say no more. But, gentlemen, I am 
 an Englishman as well as a Catholic, and I love 
 England only less than I love the Church. I say 
 frankly that I do love her less. No man who has 
 any emotion that can be called religious can say 
 
296 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 otherwise. I tell you plainly that should it come to 
 be a choice between Csesar and God — between the 
 King and the Pope — I should throw myself at once 
 on the side of Christ and his Vicar. . . ." 
 
 (Monsignor drew a breath. It seemed to him 
 that this w^as appallingly plain speaking. He ex- 
 pected a murmur of remonstrance. He glanced at 
 the faces, but there was no movement or change, ex- 
 cept that a young member suddenly smiled, as with 
 pleasure.) 
 
 " But I love England," went on the voice, " pas- 
 sionately and devotedly. And in spite of what I 
 said just now I must add that, as an Englishman, 
 there is but one more thing that I desire for my 
 country, and that is that she may carry out that 
 project on whose account you, gentlemen, have met 
 to-day." 
 
 (Again a murmur of applause rose, and sank 
 again instantly.) 
 
 " You have kindly asked me to make this little 
 speech, and I do not wish to turn it into a sermon, 
 but I must conclude by saying that, splendid as is 
 the history of England in many points, there is one 
 black blot upon the page, and that, the act of hers 
 by which she renounced Christ's Vicar, by whom 
 kings reign. You have done justice at last in re- 
 turning to us those possessions which our fore- 
 fathers dedicated to God's service. But there 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 297 
 
 remains one more thing to do, formally and deliber- 
 ately as one kingdom, to return to Him who is 
 King of kings. I know it will come some day. As 
 individuals, Englishmen have already returned to 
 Him. But a corporate crime must be expiated by 
 corporate reparation, and it is that reparation which 
 has already waited too long. I am an old man, gen- 
 tlemen. That, no doubt, is why I have been so ver- 
 bose, but my one prayer for the last thirty years has 
 been that the corporate reparation may be made 
 within my own lifetime. . . ." 
 
 The voice suddenly trembled. 
 
 Then the watcher saw the chair pushed back, and 
 the little scarlet cap covering the white hair rise 
 above it. Simultaneously every man rose to his feet. 
 
 '' That is all, gentlemen." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. 
 
 Then the applause broke out. It was not loud 
 or noisy, as there were scarcely two dozen men in 
 the room, yet it was astonishingly affecting, just 
 the tapping of hands on the table and a murmur of 
 voices. 
 
 The Cardinal silenced it by a gesture. 
 
 " One word, gentlemen. ... I have said 
 nothing of any opposition. Perhaps it would have 
 been better if I had. But I will only say this, and 
 it is something of a warning, too. I do not believe 
 that this Bill that is spoken of will necessarily mean 
 
298 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 peace. I am aware of the dangers that are threat- 
 ening; perhaps I am even more aware of them than 
 any other person present. And yet, for all that, I 
 am not in favor of delay." 
 
 He turned suddenly, and with his long smooth 
 step was at the door almost before Monsignor had 
 time to open it and step aside. There was no time 
 for any other man to speak. 
 
 The car had hardly moved off from the door be- 
 fore Monsignor turned to his chief. 
 
 " Your Eminence," he said, " what was that 
 about danger? I did not understand." 
 
 The thin face was a little pale with the exertions 
 of the speech, as it turned to him in answer. 
 
 " I will tell you that," he said, '' as soon as the 
 Bill becomes law." 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 TT was an astounding scene in which Monsignor 
 •*' found himself, six weeks later — extraordinary 
 from the extreme quietness of it, and the enormous 
 importance of the issue for which they waited. 
 
 The Cardinal and he had gone down to Lord 
 Southminster's house on the coast of Kent for three 
 or four days to wait for the final news, as it was 
 wished to avoid the possibility of any dangerous 
 excitement on the night of the division; and it was 
 thought that the Cardinal's absence might be of 
 service in preventing any formidable demonstration 
 at Westminster. He was to return to London, in 
 the event of the Bill pajssing, on the following morn- 
 ing. 
 
 The situation was as follows : — 
 
 A completely unexpected opposition had showed 
 itself as soon as the Bill was announced. It was 
 perfectly well known that this opposition was al- 
 most entirely artificial ; but it was so well engineered 
 that there was grave doubt whether it might not af- 
 fect the voting in the Lower House. The Upper 
 
 299 
 
 20 
 
300 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 House, it was notorious, was practically unanimous 
 in favor of the Bill; and there had been one or 
 two unpleasant demonstrations outside the entrance 
 to the Second Chamber. 
 
 The opposition was artificial — that is to say, its 
 activities were managed after the manner of a 
 stage-army, and the protesters were largely Ger- 
 man; but the crowds were so great, and the gen- 
 uineness of their opposition, such as it was, so ob- 
 vious, that very clear signs of wavering had become 
 apparent, even on the part of some of the more 
 prominent Ministers of the Crown. Twice, also, 
 during public appearances of the King, who was 
 well known as a strong advocate of the Bill, there 
 had been considerable disturbances amongst the 
 crowds. 
 
 All this had come, of course, to the ears of the 
 ecclesiastical authorities far more forcibly than the 
 world outside suspected. There had been threaten- 
 ing letters; twice the Cardinal's carriage had been 
 mobbed; a dozen well-known priests had been mo- 
 lested in the public streets. There had been meet- 
 ings and consultations of all kinds; there had even 
 been a moment wheji it seemed as if the Cardinal 
 and the Prime Minister stood almost alone in their 
 complete resolution. ... It was not that any 
 really responsible persons contemplated the aban- 
 donment of the Bill; but a party had almost been 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 301 
 
 formed for its postponement, in the hope that when 
 once the opposition had been dissolved it would be 
 difficult to reorganize it again. On the other hand, 
 the resolutes stood for the assertion that just be- 
 cause things were really critical in Germany — (in 
 the state of affairs that followed the Emperor's con- 
 version) — it was now the time for England to ad- 
 vance, that any hesitation shown now would 
 be taken as a sign of weakness, and that the 
 Socialists' cause would be thereby enormously 
 advanced. 
 
 Three or four results therefore were possible, 
 from the determination of the Government to push 
 the Bill forward and to present it for its second 
 reading this evening. First, it might pass trium- 
 phantly, if the leaders could succeed in inspiring 
 their followers with confidence. Secondly, it might 
 be rejected, if the panic spread; for, under the new 
 parliamentary system that had succeeded fifty years 
 ago to the old Party Government, it was impossible 
 to reckon accurately on how members would ulti- 
 mately vote. Thirdly, it might pass with a narrow 
 majority; and in this event, it was certain that a 
 very long delay would follow before the Upper 
 House would have an opportunity of handing it in 
 for the Royal assent. Fourthly — well, almost 
 anything else might happen, if the crowd, assembled 
 in Parliament Square, and swelled every hour by 
 
302 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 new arrivals, showed itself predominantly hostile. 
 
 Lord Southminster's house needs no description. 
 It is probably, even to-day, as well known as any 
 place in England : there is no guide book which does 
 not give at least three or four pages to the castle, 
 as well as a few lines to the tiny historical seaside 
 village beneath from which the marquisate derives 
 its name. And it was in the little dining-room that 
 adjoined the hall that the man who had lost his 
 memory found himself on this evening with half a 
 dozen other men and a couple of ladies. 
 
 It was a small octagonal room, designed in one 
 of the towers that looked out over the sea ; paneled 
 in painted wood and furnished with extreme plain- 
 ness. On one side a door opened upon the three 
 little parlors that were used when the party was 
 small ; at the back a lobby led into the old hall itself ; 
 on the third side was the door used by the servants. 
 
 Lord Southminster himself was still a young 
 man, who had not yet married. His grandfather 
 had become a Catholic in the reign of Edward VII ; 
 and the whole house had reverted to the old religion 
 under which it had been originally built, with the 
 greatest ease and grace. The present owner was 
 one of the rising politicians who were most de- 
 termined to carry the Bill through; and he had al- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 303 
 
 ready made for himself something of a reputation 
 by his speeches in the Upper House. Monsignor 
 had met him half a dozen times already, and thor- 
 oughly liked this fair-haired, clean-shaven young 
 man who was such a devoted adherent of the Cath- 
 olic cause. 
 
 A little silence had fallen after old Lady South- 
 minster and her sister had gone out, and it had 
 been curious to notice how little had been said dur- 
 ing dinner of the event that was proceeding in Lon- 
 don. 
 
 Half a dozen times already since they had sat 
 down a silent man in the black gown of a secretary 
 had slipped in with a printed slip of paper and laid 
 it before the Marquis and then disappeared again, 
 and it was astonishing how the conversation had 
 ceased on the instant, as the paper was read and 
 passed round. 
 
 Those messages had not been altogether reassur- 
 ing. 
 
 The first was timed at 8:14, London, and had 
 been read before the clock chimed the quarter-past. 
 It ran: 
 
 " MEMBERS ARE ARRIVING AFTER DINNER. HAZEL- 
 TON MOBBED IN THE SQUARE.'"' 
 
 The second, ten minutes later, ran : 
 
304 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 FOUR TITANIC-LINE BOATS FROM GERMANY RE- 
 PORTED IN SIGHT. CORDON OF POLICE-VOLORS 
 
 The third: 
 
 *' MOB REPORTED DIRECTION OF HAMPSTEAD. THE 
 PRIME MINISTER HAS BEGUN HIS SPEECH. HOUSE 
 FULL." 
 
 The fourth, fifth, and sixth contained abstracts 
 from the speech, and added that it was becoming in- 
 creasingly difficult to hear, owing to the noise from 
 outside. 
 
 Twenty minutes had now elapsed and no further 
 message had been received. 
 
 Monsignor looked up at the Victorian clock over 
 the carved mantelpiece and glanced at his host. The 
 young man's eyes met his own. 
 
 " It's twenty-five past nine," said Lord South- 
 minster. 
 
 The Cardinal looked up. He had not spoken for 
 three or four minutes, but otherwise had shown no 
 signs of discomposure. 
 
 "And the last message was just after nine? " he 
 said. 
 
 The other nodded. 
 
 " What time is the division expected ? " 
 
 " Not before midnight. Three guns will be fired, 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 305 
 
 as I said, your Eminence, as soon as the division 
 has taken place. We shall know before my secre- 
 tary will have time to cross the hall." 
 
 Again there was silence. 
 
 Outside the night was quiet. The village itself 
 lay, spread out above the beach, a hundred feet be- 
 low the windows, and the only sound was the steady 
 lap and plash of the rollers upon the shingle. The 
 place was completely protected by the Southminster 
 estate from any encroachment of houses, and even 
 the station itself lay half a mile away inland. 
 
 Monsignor looked again at the faces of those who 
 sat with him. Opposite was Lord Southminster 
 himself in the ordinary quiet evening dress of his 
 class, his guild-badge worn, as the custom was, like 
 a star on his left breast. His face showed nothing 
 except an air of attention; there was no excitement 
 in it, nor even suspense. On his right sat the 
 Cardinal in his scarlet. He was smiling gravely to 
 himself, and his lips moved slightly now and then. 
 At this moment he was playing gently with a wal- 
 nut-shell that lay on his plate. The three others 
 showed more signs of excitement. Old General 
 Hartington, who could remember being taken to 
 London to see the festivities at the coronation of 
 George V, was leaning back in his chair frowning. 
 (He had been reminiscent this evening in a rather 
 voluble manner, but had not uttered a word now for 
 
3o6 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 five minutes.) The chaplain had shifted round in 
 his chair, watching the door, and the sixth man, a 
 cousin of the host, who, Monsignor understood, 
 held some responsible post in the Government volor 
 service, was sitting just now with his head in his 
 hands. 
 
 Still no one spoke. 
 
 The cousin pushed back his chair suddenly and 
 •went to the window. 
 
 "Well, Jack?" said the host. 
 
 "Nothing — just going to have a look at the 
 weather." 
 
 He stood there, having pulled back the curtain a 
 little and unlatched the shutter, looking out through 
 the glass. 
 
 Then Lord Southminster's reserve broke down. 
 
 " If it's not done to-night," he said abruptly, 
 " God only knows — Well, well." 
 
 " It will be done to-night," said the Cardinal, still 
 without lifting his eyes. 
 
 *' Certainly, your Eminence, if nothing interferes; 
 but how can we be sure of that? I know the Cab- 
 inet means business." 
 
 " It's half an hour since the last message," ob- 
 served the General. 
 
 Lord Southminster got up suddenly and went to 
 the lobby-door. As he went the door into the par- 
 lors opened and his mother looked in. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 307 
 
 "Any more news, my son? " 
 
 " No, mother. I was just going to ask." 
 
 The old lady came forward as her son went out 
 ■ — a splendid old creature in her lace and jewels — 
 active still and upright in spite of her years. She 
 made a little gesture as the men offered to move, 
 and went and leaned by the old-fashioned open fire- 
 place, such as her husband had put in at the restora- 
 tion throughout the house. 
 
 " Your Eminence, can you reassure us ? " she said, 
 smiling. 
 
 The Cardinal, too, smiled as he turned in his 
 chair. 
 
 " I am confident the Bill will pass," he said. 
 *' But I do not know yet what the price will be." 
 
 "Your Eminence means in England? Or else- 
 where?" asked the chaplain abruptly. 
 
 " In England and elsewhere, father." 
 
 Old Lady Jane Morpeth appeared at this mo- 
 ment, and the two ladies sat down on the high oak 
 settle that screened the fire from the window. They 
 showed no signs of anxiety; but Monsignor per- 
 ceived that their return at all to this room just now 
 was significant. Simultaneously the young man 
 came in again, closing the door behind him. 
 
 " Our inquiries are not answered," he said sharply. 
 " We are trying to get into touch with another of- 
 fice." 
 
3o8 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 No one spoke for a minute. Even to Monsig- 
 nor, who still found it hard always to understand the 
 communication-system of the time, it was obvious 
 that something must have happened. He knew that 
 Southminster Castle had been put into wireless touch 
 with the great Marconi office in Parliament Square, 
 and that a failure to be answered meant that some- 
 thing unexpected had happened. But it was entirely 
 impossible to conjecture for certain what this some- 
 thing might be. 
 
 " That is serious," remarked Lady Southminster, 
 without moving a muscle. 
 
 " I suppose so," said her son, and sat down again. 
 
 Then the man who was looking out of the 
 window turned and came back into the room, 
 latching the shutters and putting the curtains into 
 place. 
 
 "Well, Jack?" asked the General. 
 
 "I have counted eight or nine volors," he said; 
 " usually there are only two at this time. I went to 
 look for them." 
 
 "Which way?" 
 
 " Three this way and five the other." 
 
 Monsignor did not dare to ask for an interpre- 
 tation. But he was aware that the air of tenseness 
 in the room tightened up still further. 
 
 The General got up. 
 
 *' Southminster," he said, "I think Fll take a 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 309 
 
 stroll outside if I may. One might see something, 
 you know." 
 
 " Go up to the keep, i£ you like. There's a cov- 
 ered path most of the way up. There's a look out 
 there, you know. I had one set in case the wireless 
 failed. At any rate, they may see the rockets 
 farther along the coast." 
 
 Monsignor, too, stood up. His restlessness in- 
 creased every moment, although he scarcely knew 
 why. 
 
 " May I come with you, too? " he said. " Will 
 your Eminence excuse me ? " 
 
 (n) 
 
 The two said nothing as they went out through 
 the dimly lighted hall. Overhead hung the old ban- 
 ners in the high wooden roof ; a great fire blazed on 
 the hearth ; and under the musician's gallery at the 
 farther end they saw the bright little window be- 
 hind which sat the secretary. 
 
 They stopped here and peered in. 
 
 He was seated with his back to them before an 
 instrument not altogether unlike an old-fashioned 
 organ. A long row of black keys was in front of 
 him; and half a dozen stops protruded on either 
 side. Before him, in the front, a glass panel pro- 
 tected some kind of white sheet; and as the priest 
 looked in he could see a movement as of small 
 
3IO THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 bluish sparks playing upon this. He had long ago 
 made up his mind not to attempt to understand mod- 
 ern machinery; and he had no kind of idea what 
 all this meant, beyond a guess that the keys were 
 for sending messages, and the white sheet for re- 
 ceiving them. 
 
 " Any news ? " said the General suddenly. 
 
 The secretary did not move or answer. His 
 hands were before him, hidden, and he appeared en- 
 tirely absorbed. 
 
 It must have been a minute before he turned 
 round, drawing out as he did so from before him 
 a slip of paper like those he had already brought in. 
 
 " This is from Rye, sir," he said shortly. " They, 
 too, have lost communication with Parliament 
 Square. That is all, sir. I must take this in at 
 once." 
 
 The two passed on, still without speaking; and it 
 was not until they were going slowly up the long 
 covered staircase that ran inside the skirting wall 
 that connected the keep with the more modern part 
 of the castle that Monsignor began — 
 
 " Tm very ignorant," he said. " Can you tell me 
 the possibilities? " 
 
 The General paused before answering. 
 
 " Well," he said, " the worst possibility is a riot, 
 engineered by the Socialists. H that is successful, 
 it means a certain delay of at least several years; 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 311 
 
 and, at the worst, it means that the Socialists will 
 increase enormously throughout Europe. And then 
 anything may happen." 
 
 •' But I thought that all real danger was past, and 
 that the Socialists were discredited." 
 
 " Certainly, in one sense. In every country, that 
 is to say, they are in a negligible minority. But if 
 all these minorities are added together, they are not 
 negligible at all. The Cabinet has produced this 
 Bill suddenly, as of course you know, in order to 
 prevent any large Continental demonstration, as this 
 would certainly have a tremendous effect upon Eng- 
 land. But it seems that they've been organizing 
 for months. They must have known this was com- 
 ing . . ." 
 
 "And if the SociaHsts fail?" 
 
 " Well, then they'll make their last stand in Ger- 
 many. But you know this better than I do, Mon- 
 signor? " 
 
 " I know a good deal here and there," confessed 
 the other ; " but I find it hard sometimes to combine 
 it all. I had an illness, you know — " 
 
 " Ah, yes, yes." 
 
 They paused for breath in an embrasure in the 
 wall, where a section of a half -tower supported the 
 wall, itself running down on to the cliff side. A 
 couple of windows gave a view of the sea, now a 
 dark gulf under the cloudy sky, sprinkled with a 
 
312 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 few moving lights, here and there, of vessels going 
 up or down the Channel. 
 
 " And suppose the Bill passes ? " began the priest. 
 
 " If the Bill passes, we need fear nothing in Eng- 
 land, if it passes with a good majority. You know 
 Government is an extraordinarily delicate machine 
 nowadays; and if the Bill goes through really well, 
 it'll be an infallible sign that the country refuses to 
 take alarm. And if it fails, or only narrowly 
 passes — well, it'll be the other way. The whole 
 work will have to be done again, or at least be- 
 gun-" 
 
 He faced round suddenly. 
 
 " Monsignor," he said, " I wouldn't say this to 
 every one. But I tell you we're at a very critical 
 moment. These Socialists are stronger than any 
 one dreamed. Their organization is simply perfect. 
 Do you know any of them? " 
 
 " I have met Hardy." 
 
 " That's a brilliant man, you know." 
 
 They talked no more during the rest of the ascent, 
 until they emerged at last on to the top of the round 
 keep, where the old bonfires used to burn, and where 
 the old iron cradle, used even now at coronations 
 and great national events, still thrust up its skeleton 
 silhouette against the pale sky. To the priest's sur- 
 prise the silhouette was largely filled in. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 313 
 
 A figure came towards them, saluted, and stood 
 waiting. 
 
 "Eh? Who's this?" snapped the soldier. 
 
 *' The look out, sir. We've orders to watch 
 Rye." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " The wireless is out of communication, sir. His 
 lordship arranged a week ago that there should be 
 supplementary rockets." 
 
 " Where are the guns ? " asked Monsignor, who 
 was looking about him, at the empty leads, the bat- 
 tlemented parapet against the sky, and then back at 
 the servant's figure. 
 
 " Down below, father. They're to be fired from 
 here if three white rockets go up." 
 
 While the two others still talked, the priest went 
 to the side and looked over, again suddenly over- 
 whelmed by the strangeness of the whole position. 
 Once again there came on him the sense of irre- 
 sponsible unreality. . . . He stared out, hardly 
 seeing that on which he looked : the gray mass of 
 the lower castle beneath with lighted windows, at 
 the blankness beyond ; again with the scattered lights 
 — the nearer ones, within what seemed a stone's- 
 throw, along the village street — the farther ones, 
 infinitely remote, out upon the invisible sea. There 
 again, too, far off across the land, shone another 
 
314 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 cluster of lights, seen rather as a luminous patch, 
 that marked Rye. There, too, eyes were watching ; 
 there, too, it w^as felt that interests were at stake, 
 so vast and so unknown, that heaven or hell might 
 be within their limits. He looked inland, and there, 
 too, was darkness, but darkness unrelieved. Near 
 at hand, immediately below the bounding walls, rose 
 up the dark swelling outlines that he knew to be the 
 woods of the park, crowding up against the very cas- 
 tle walls themselves ; and beyond dimness after dim- 
 ness, to meet the sky. . . . 
 
 It seemed to him incredible, as he looked, that 
 things of such moment should be under way, some- 
 where beyond that sleeping country ; and yet, as his 
 eyes grew accustomed to the night, he could make 
 out at last a faint glow in the sky to the north that 
 marked the outskirts of that enormous city of which 
 he was a citizen, where such matters even now were 
 approaching a decision. 
 
 For it was only little by little that he had become 
 aware that a real crisis was at hand. The Cardinal 
 had told him the facts, indeed, in the dispassionate, 
 tolerant manner that was characteristic of him; but 
 the point of view necessary to take them in as a 
 coherent whole, to see them, not as isolated events, 
 but with the effect of the past upon them and their 
 hidden implications and probabilities for the future, 
 this needed that the observer should be of the tem- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 315 
 
 per and atmosphere of the time. For prophecy just 
 now was Httle better than feehng at outlines in the 
 dark. Facts could be discerned and apprehended 
 by all — and the priest was well aware of his own 
 capacities in this — but their interpretation was an- 
 other matter altogether. ... He felt helpless 
 and muzzled. . . . 
 
 The General came towards him. 
 
 *' Well," he said, " anything to be seen? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " We may as well make our way down again. 
 There's nothing to be gained by stopping here." 
 
 As they made their w^ay down again through the 
 covered passage, the General once more began to 
 talk about the crisis. 
 
 Monsignor had heard it all before ; but he listened 
 for all that. It seemed to him worth while to collect 
 opinions; and this soldier's very outspoken remarks 
 cast a sort of sharp clarity upon the situation that 
 the priest found useful. The establishment of the 
 Church in England was being regarded on the Con- 
 tinent as a kind of test case; and even more by the 
 Anglo-Saxon countries throughout the world. In 
 itself it was not so vast a step forward as might be 
 thought. It would make no very radical changes in 
 actual affairs, since the Church already enjoyed 
 enormous influence and complete liberty. But the 
 
 point was that it was being taken as a kind of sym- 
 21 
 
3i6 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 bol by both sides; and this explained on the one 
 hand the tactics of the Government in bringing it 
 suddenly forward, and the extraordinary zeal with 
 which the Socialists were demonstrating against it. 
 
 " The more I think of it," said the General, '' the 
 more — " 
 
 Monsignor stepped suddenly aside into the em- 
 brasure at which they had halted on the way up. 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 " I thought I saw — " 
 
 The General uttered a sharp exclamation, pressing 
 his head over the priest's shoulder. 
 
 " That's the second," whispered the priest harshly. 
 
 Together they waited, staring out together 
 through the tall, narrow window that looked towards 
 Rye. 
 
 Then for the third time there rose against the 
 far-off horizon, above that faint peak of luminosity 
 that marked where Rye watched over her marshes, 
 a thin line of white fire, slackening its pace as it 
 rose. 
 
 Before it had burst in sparks, there roared out 
 overhead a deafening voice of fire and thunder, 
 shaking the air about them, bewildering the brain. 
 Then another. Then another. 
 
 Beneath the two as they stood, shaking with the 
 shock, silent and open-mouthed, staring at one an- 
 other, in the courtyard a door banged ; then another; 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 317 
 
 and then a torrent of voices and footsteps as the 
 servants and grooms poured out of the lower doors. 
 
 (Ill) 
 
 Two hours later the two ecclesiastics sat together, 
 on either side of the large table in the Cardinal's 
 room. The Cardinal passed over the sheets one by 
 one as he finished them. One set was being brought 
 straight up here from the little office at the end of 
 the hall. Another set, they knew, was simultane- 
 ously being read aloud by Lord Southminster in the 
 hall below. 
 
 The guns had aroused even the most drowsy ; and 
 the whole population, village as well as castle, had 
 poured into the courtyard to hear the news. 
 
 Monsignor sat and read sheet after sheet after his 
 chief, hopelessly trying to notice and remember the 
 principal points of the report. Everything was re- 
 corded there — the assembling of the crowds, the 
 difficulty that the later members found in getting 
 through into the House at all; the breakdown of the 
 police arrangements; and the storming of the wire- 
 less station by an organized mob, many of whom had 
 been later put under arrest. 
 
 Then there was the Prime Minister's speech, re- 
 corded word by word in the machines, and translated 
 later, by machinery instead of by human labor, into 
 terms of dots and dashes, themselves transmitted 
 
3i8 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 again over miles of country, and retranslated again 
 by mechanical devices into these actual printed 
 sheets that the two were reading. 
 
 The speech was given in full, down to that tre- 
 mendous scene when half the House, distracted at 
 last by the cries that grew nearer and nearer, and 
 the messengers that appeared and reappeared from 
 outside, had risen to its feet. And then — 
 
 The Cardinal leaned back suddenly, with a swift 
 indrawing of his breath that was almost the first 
 sign of emotion that he had shown. 
 
 Monsignor looked up. The last two sheets were 
 still under the ringed hand that lay upon the table. 
 
 " Well, it's done," said the Cardinal softly, almost 
 as if talking to himself. " But it needed his last 
 card." 
 
 "Your Eminence?" 
 
 " The announcement as to the East," went on 
 the other, with the same air. '' I thank God it came 
 in time." 
 
 " Your Eminence, I don't understand." 
 
 The Cardinal looked at him full. 
 
 " Why," he said, " the Holy Father was accepted 
 as Arbitrator of the East by the united Powers this 
 morning. The news was in the Prime Minister's 
 hands at six o'clock. But Fm sorry he had to use 
 it; it would have been stronger without. . . . 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 319 
 
 Don't you understand, Monsignor? The House 
 would have refused to vote otherwise.'' 
 
 "But it's finished — it's finished, isn't it, your 
 Eminence? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, it's finished. Or had we better say it's 
 begun. Now the last conflict begins. . . . 
 Now, Monsignor, I'm afraid I must begin to dictate. 
 Would you mind setting the phonographs ? " 
 
 From the hall beneath rose a sudden confusion of 
 cheering and stamping of feet. 
 
PART III 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 (I). 
 
 44lt/rONSIGNOR," said the Cardinal, "I am 
 ^^^ afraid I shall have to ask you to go, after 
 all. It is extremely important that the Catholic 
 authorities in England should be represented in this 
 scheme. And I think you will have to travel with 
 the first batch. They leave Queenstown on the first 
 of April." 
 
 " Certainly. And when shall I be back, your Em- 
 inence? " 
 
 '' You must judge for yourself. It will not be 
 more than a month or six weeks at the outside, and 
 I dare say a good deal less. It will depend on the 
 temper of the settlers. The American civil authori- 
 ties will have the final arrangements. But it is ex- 
 ceedingly important that the emigrants should have 
 some one to speak for them ; and as, of course, the 
 Church will be believed to be really responsible, it 
 will be as well that an ecclesiastic should be their 
 friend. Identify yourself with them as far as pos- 
 sible. The civil authorities are sure to be inclined 
 to be hard." 
 
 323 
 
324 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " Very good, your Eminence." 
 
 The scheme had come to birth very rapidly. 
 
 After the second reading of the EstabHshment 
 Bill, it had been taken for granted, and rightly, that 
 the rest was but a matter of time, and it was calcu- 
 lated that, considering the Government's attitude, 
 the Bill would receive the royal assent before the 
 end of the summer. Immediately, therefore, the 
 more peaceable Socialists had taken fright, and in 
 every European country had made .representations 
 that now that their last refuges in Germany and 
 England had been closed to them, some arrangement 
 ought to be made by which they could enjoy com- 
 plete civil and religious liberty elsewhere. The idea 
 had been in the air, of course, for a considerable 
 time. There had been complaints on all sides that 
 public opinion was too strong, that Socialists, in 
 spite of the protection given to them, suffered a good 
 deal in informal ways owing to their opinions, and 
 that some expedient would have to be found for 
 their relief. Then America had come to the rescue, 
 openly and formally, and had offered Massachusetts, 
 which already had a large proportion of Socialists 
 in its population, as a colony which would be tol- 
 erated as definitely socialistic. Christians would be 
 warned that the new system would, if the Powers 
 agreed, be on definitely non-Catholic lines, and that 
 the emigration laws would be in future suspended 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 325 
 
 with regard to Massachusetts. There were, of course, 
 innumerable details still to be worked out, but by 
 the end of February the understanding was estab- 
 lished, and from every European country emigrant 
 parties were arranged. 
 
 There was something almost attractive about the 
 scheme to the popular mind. It had been talked of 
 for years before — this arrangement by which the 
 Socialists should have an opportunity of working 
 out once more those old exploded democratic ideas 
 to which they still clung so pathetically. Every 
 child knew, of course, how fifty years before the 
 experiment had been made in various places, and 
 how appalling tyranny had been the result — 
 tyranny that is over those who, in the Socialist com- 
 munities, still held to Individualism. But what 
 would happen, the world indulgently wondered, in 
 a community where there were no Individualists? 
 One of two things certainly would happen. Either 
 the scheme would work and every democrat be sat- 
 isfied, or the theory would be reduced to a practical 
 absurdity and the poison would be expelled forever 
 from the world's system. Besides, if this asylum 
 were once definitely secured and guaranteed by 
 the assent of the Powers, the new heresy laws that 
 were already coming to birth in Germany, that were 
 already enforced with considerable vigor in the 
 Latin countries, and were (it was known) being 
 
326 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 prepared and adapted for England — these could 
 now go forward and be applied universally, without 
 any fear of undue severity. It would, once and 
 for all, get rid of those endless complaints as to 
 Christian injustice in silencing the free expression 
 of infidel and socialistic ideas, and offer them a 
 refuge where such things could not only be dis- 
 cussed, but put to the test of practice. 
 
 Monsignor Masterman himself was still in a state 
 of personal indecision, but he certainly welcomed 
 this solution of some of his interior troubles, and he 
 had warmly supported the scheme at every oppor- 
 tunity he had. 
 
 But it was strange how he could not yet, in spite 
 of his efforts, get rid of that deep discomfort which 
 had been, for a time, lulled by his visit to Ireland. 
 There was still, deep down in his mind, a sense that 
 the Christianity he saw round him, and which he 
 himself helped to administer, was not the religion 
 of its Founder. There was still an instinct which 
 he could not eradicate, telling that the essence of 
 the Christian attitude lay in readiness to suffer. 
 And he only saw round him, so far as the public 
 action of the Church was concerned, a triumphant 
 Government. He could not conceal from himself a 
 fear that the world and the Church had, somehow or 
 other, changed places. . . . 
 
 However, this new scheme was, at any rate, an 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL =327 
 
 act both of justice and mercy, and he was very- 
 wining indeed — in fact he had actually proposed 
 it more than once — to go himself with the first emi- 
 grants from England to Massachusetts. 
 
 (ny 
 
 In spite of all that he had seen on his journeys, 
 he still found an extraordinary fascination in watch- 
 ing the scene at Queenstown, as the great Olympic- 
 line volors each carrying three hundred passengers, 
 one by one made ready and left. He himself was 
 to leave in the last of the four. 
 
 From the stage erected at the end of the long 
 headland to the south of the town, he could see the 
 harbor on the right, closed in by the city itself, 
 rising up from the water's edge to the huge cathe- 
 dral, finished, fifty years before; and on his left the 
 open sea. It was a brilliant spring morning; the 
 air, just charged with moisture and soaked by sun- 
 light, was a radiant medium through which the city 
 sparkled on one side and the long, low rollers shone 
 on the other, discharging themselves against the 
 foot of the rocks four hundred feet below where he 
 stood. Sea-birds wheeled and screamed about him, 
 tilting and sliding up the slopes of the fresh west 
 wind ; but he noticed that as the first volor detached 
 itself and slid out over the sea, pausing for an instant 
 to head round to the compass, as if by magic every 
 
328 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 bird was gone: he could see them far away, white 
 dots skimming inland as if for protection. 
 
 These Transatlantic volors were incalculably in 
 advance of any he had seen before. He turned, as 
 the first moved out, its long upper and lower decks 
 lined with watching, silent faces — of whom the 
 great majority were those of men — and asked for 
 a little information from the genial Irish canon who 
 had come from the cathedral with him, to see him 
 start. 
 
 " They are eight hundred feet long," he said, 
 " and limited to three hundred passengers. Of 
 course there's the crew and stewards besides. The 
 crossing varies from thirty-six to forty-eight hours. 
 . . . Yes, transhipments are sometimes made 
 during the voyage; but it's not usual. It involves 
 a good deal of delay." 
 
 Monsignor listened as the talk went on, gather- 
 ing a few facts here and there — the reason why 
 Queenstown was still retained, as in the days of the 
 old steamships, for a principal port, in spite of 
 the transformation of Ireland; the total weight 
 of the boats when the gas was out of them; above 
 all, the incredible speed that could be attained and 
 kept up, with a good following wind. He learned 
 also how, by the very rigid laws of air-way, en- 
 forced now by all nations under very heavy penal- 
 ties, the danger of collisions was practically abol- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 329 
 
 ished ; and so forth. The canon talked fluently and 
 well ; but the mass of new information was so great, 
 and the interest of watching so intense, that the in- 
 quirer's attention wandered a good deal. 
 
 He was watching the crowd of emigrants, two 
 hundred feet below on the ground, seen through the 
 spidery framework of the stage, railed off into a 
 circle, surrounded by barriers that kept out the on- 
 lookers; and diminishing visibly as he watched, as 
 the full platforms flew up to the embarking stage 
 just below where he stood and the empty platforms 
 descended again. The murmur of talking came up 
 to him like the buzz of a hive. 
 
 He understood that he was assisting at an his- 
 torical event. For to-day practically marked, in 
 England at any rate, the practical recognition of the 
 two principles which up to now had been found, 
 from their mutual irreconcilability, the cause of 
 practically all the wars, all the revolutions, all the 
 incessant human quarrels and conflicts, of which his- 
 tory was chiefly composed — their recognition and 
 their adjustment. These two principles were the 
 liberty of the individual and the demands of so- 
 ciety. On one side, every man had a certain in- 
 herent right to demand freedom; on the other, the 
 freedom of one individual was usually found to 
 mean the servitude of another. The solution, he 
 began to think, had arrived at last from the recogni- 
 
330 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 tion that there were, after all, only two logical theo- 
 ries of government: the one, that power came from 
 below, the other, that power came from above. The 
 infidel, the Socialist, the materialist, the democrat, 
 these maintained the one; the Catholic, the Mon- 
 archist, the Imperialist maintained the other. For 
 the two, he perceived, rose ultimately from two final 
 theories of the universe : the one was that of Monism 
 — that all life was one, gradually realizing itself 
 through growth and civilization; the other that of 
 Creation — that a Transcendent God had made the 
 world, and delegated His sovereign authority down- 
 wards through grade after grade. 
 
 So he meditated, remembering also that the for- 
 mer thing was rapidly disappearing from the world. 
 These Socialist colonies were not to be eternal, after 
 all: they were but temporary refuges for minds that 
 were behind the age. Probably another century or 
 two would see their disappearance. 
 
 The second and third boats started almost simul- 
 taneously, each suddenly sliding free from either 
 side of the stage. There was a ringing of bells; 
 one boat, he saw, shot ahead in a straight line, the 
 other curved out southwards. He watched the sec- 
 ond. 
 
 It resembled to his eyes a gigantic dragon-fly — 
 a long gleaming body, ribbed and lined, blazing and 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 331 
 
 winking in the spring sunlight, moving in a mist of 
 whirHng wings. From the angle at which he 
 watched its curve, it seemed now to hang sus- 
 pended, diminishing to the eye, now shooting sud- 
 denly ahead. . . . There it hung again, already 
 a mile away, as if poised and considering, then with 
 increasing speed it moved on and on, like a line of 
 brilliant light ; little metallic taps sounded across the 
 water; it met the horizon, rose above it, darkened, 
 again flashed suddenly. . . . 
 
 He turned to look for the other ; but, so far as he 
 could see, the huge blue arc was empty. He turned 
 again ; and the third, too, was gone. 
 
 A great ringing of bells sounded suddenly be- 
 neath him. 
 
 " YouVe got your luggage on board, Monsignor ? 
 . . . Well, you'd better be going on board your- 
 self. She'll start in five minutes." 
 
 The arrival at Boston harbor was one more 
 strange experience, and the more strange because the 
 man who had lost his memory knew that he was 
 coming into a civilization which, although utterly un- 
 known to him by experience, yet had in his anticipa- 
 tion a curious sense of familiarity. 
 
 They had met with westerly gales, and although 
 the movement of the ship seemed wholly unaffected 
 (so perfect was the balancing system), yet the 
 
 22 
 
332 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 speed was comparatively low, and it was not until 
 shortly before dawn on the second day that they 
 came in sight of the American coast. 
 
 Monsignor woke early that morning, and after 
 lying and listening for half an hour or so to the 
 strange little sounds with which the air was full — 
 the steady rush of wind like a long hush ; the shiver- 
 ing of some tiny loose scale in one of the planes out- 
 side his window; a minute inexplicable tapping be- 
 neath the floor of the cabin — all those sounds so 
 unidentifiable by the amateur, and yet so suggestive 
 — he got up, dressed, and went across to the ora- 
 tory, where he had said Mass on the previous morn- 
 ing, to say his prayers. When he had finished he 
 came out again, went upstairs, and along to the end 
 of the ship, whence from a protected angle he could 
 look straight ahead. The lights were all on, as the 
 sun was not yet up, and the upper deck, except for 
 a patrolling oflicer, was entirely empty. 
 
 For a while he could make out little or nothing 
 beyond the jutting prow beneath him, itself also il- 
 luminated, and various outlines and silhouettes of 
 devices and rigging which even now he did not prop- 
 erly understand. Then, as his eyes grew accus- 
 tomed to the dark, he began to see. 
 
 Beneath him flitted a corrugated leaden surface, 
 flecked occasionally with white, which he knew to be 
 water, eight hundred feet at least below, and once 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 333 
 
 he caught a gHmpse of a flattened-looking, fish- 
 shaped object, which went again in an instant, 
 hghted interiorly, which he guessed to be a coasting 
 steamer. Before him nothing at first was visible 
 except an enormous gulf of gloom, but presently, 
 as the dawn came on behind, this gulf became tinged 
 with a very faint rosy color in its upper half, en- 
 abling him to distinguish sea from sky, and almost 
 immediately afterwards the sea itself turned to a 
 livid pale tinge under the glowing light. 
 
 The next thing that he noticed was that the edge 
 of the sea against the sky began to look irregular 
 and blotted, a little lumpy here and there, and as he 
 looked this lumpiness grew and rose higher. 
 
 He turned as the step of an officer sounded close 
 to him. 
 
 " That's land, I suppose? " he said. 
 
 "Yes, father; we shall be in by half-past five. 
 . . . Beg your pardon, father, are you staying 
 long?" 
 
 Monsignor shook his head. 
 
 " That depends on a hundred things," he said. 
 
 " Curious idea this colony ; but I dare say it's 
 best." 
 
 Monsignor smiled and said nothing. 
 
 Interiorly his heart had been sinking steadily dur- 
 ing the journey. He had mixed freely with the 
 emigrants, and had done his best to make friends; 
 
334 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 yet there was something not only in their attitude 
 to him — for though they were respectful enough, 
 they wxre absolutely impervious to any advances, 
 seeming to regard him as independent but rather 
 timid children might look upon a strange school- 
 master — but in their whole atmosphere and outlook 
 that was a very depressing change from the curious, 
 impassive, but alert and confident air to which he 
 had grown accustomed among the priests and peo- 
 ple with whom he mixed. The one thing that 
 seemed to interest them was to discuss methods of 
 government and the internal politics of their future 
 life in Massachusetts. They asked a few questions 
 about crops and soil ; he even heard one group in ani- 
 mated conversation on the subject of schools, but 
 the talk dropped as soon as he attempted to join in 
 it. They all talked English, too, he noticed. 
 
 Yet though the atmosphere seemed to him very 
 ungenial, it appeared to him not altogether new; 
 there appeared, somewhere in the back of his mind, 
 to be even an element of sympathy. He felt almost 
 like one who, having climbed out of a pit to the 
 fresh air, looks back at others who not only live in 
 the pit, but are content to live there. 
 
 For the world in which he had now consciously 
 lived for the last twelve months was, in spite of the 
 sharp rigidity and certitude an inexorable logic from 
 which he shrank, undoubtedly a place of large hori- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 335 
 
 zons. In fact it seemed as if there were no hori- 
 zons. On all sides there stretched out illimitable 
 space, for eternity (with its corollaries) was fully as 
 effective in it as was time. Those with whom he 
 mixed, however little he might share their emotions, 
 at any rate, talked as if death was no more than 
 an incident in life. Secretly he distrusted the re- 
 ality of this confidence; but at least it appeared to 
 be there. But with these folks all was different. 
 These frankly made their plans for this world, and 
 this world only. Good government, stability, good 
 bodily health, equality in possessions and opportuni- 
 ties — these were their ideas of good; and better 
 government, greater stability, more perfect health, 
 and more uniform equality their ideals. 
 
 So he pondered, over and over again, trying to 
 understand why it was that he was at home with 
 neither party. With his old friends he felt himself 
 incapable of their certitudes and aspirations; with 
 these new people, viewed for the first time en masse, 
 he felt life resting on him like a stifling blanket. 
 He told himself bitterly that he resembled the child's 
 Amphibian, which could not live on the land and 
 died in the water. 
 
 He watched mechanically the vault of heaven 
 broaden and brighten with the sunrise behind, and 
 the waste beneath presently to show lines and 
 patches and enclosures as they approached Boston 
 
336 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 harbor. And his heart sank as each mile was 
 passed, and as presently against the clear sky there 
 stood up the roofs and domes and chimneys of the 
 Socialistic Canaan. 
 
 (m). 
 
 It was three or four days before he could again 
 form any coherent picture to himself of what this 
 new life would mean when once it was really under 
 way. 
 
 He was lodged in the Government buildings, 
 adapted a few years before from the old temple of 
 the Christian Scientists; and each day in the ro- 
 tunda he sat hour after hour with keen- faced Amer- 
 icans, and the few Europeans who had accompanied 
 the emigration boats that now streamed in contin- 
 ually. 
 
 He flung himself into the dreary work, such as it 
 was, with all his power ; for though he had little re- 
 sponsibility, he was there as the accredited agent of 
 the English ecclesiastical authorities, and his busi- 
 ness was to show as much alacrity and sympathy as 
 possible. 
 
 The city was, indeed, a scene of incredible con- 
 fusion, and a very strong force of police was needed 
 to prevent open friction between the belated and ag- 
 grieved Catholics for whom Boston would in future 
 be impossible as a home, and who not yet had faced 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 337 
 
 the need of migrating, and the new very dogmatic 
 inhabitants who already regarded the city as their 
 own. All legal arrangements had, of course, been 
 made before the first emigrants set foot on the con- 
 tinent; but the redistribution of the city, the sale of 
 farms, the settling of intolerable disputes between 
 various nationalities — aU these things, sifted al- 
 though they were through agents and officials, yet 
 came up to the central board in sufficient numbers to 
 occupy the members for a full nine hours a day. 
 
 It was at the end of the fourth day that Monsig- 
 nor went round the city in a car, partly to get some 
 air, and partly to see for himself how things were 
 settling down. 
 
 Of course, as he told himself afterwards, he 
 scarcely had a fair opportunity of judging how a 
 Socialist State would be when the machinery was in 
 running order. Yet it seemed to him that, making 
 all allowances for confusion and noise and choked 
 streets and the rest, underneath it all was a spirit 
 strangely and drearily unlike that to which he was 
 becoming accustomed in Europe. The very faces 
 of the people seemed different. 
 
 He stopped for a while in the quarter to which 
 the English had been assigned — that which in old 
 Boston had been, he learned, the Italian quarter. 
 Here, in the little square where he halted, every- 
 thing was surprisingly in order. The open space, 
 
23^ THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 paved with concrete, was unoccupied by any signs 
 of moving in; the houses were trim and neat, new 
 painted for the most part ; and people seemed to be 
 going about their business with an air of quiet or- 
 derliness. Certainly American arrangements, he 
 thought, were marvelously efficient, enabling as they 
 did some fifteen hundred persons to settle down into 
 new houses within the space of four days. (He 
 had learned something, while he sat on the central 
 board, of the elaborate system of tickets and offi- 
 cials and inquiry officers by which such miraculous 
 swiftness had been made possible.) 
 
 Here at least they were an orderly population, 
 going in and out of the houses, visiting in one cor- 
 ner of the square the vast general store that had 
 been provided beforehand, presenting their pledges, 
 which, at any rate for the present, were to take the 
 place of the European money that the emigrants had 
 brought with them. 
 
 He halted the car here, and leaning forward, be- 
 gan to look round him carefully. 
 
 The first thing that struck him was a negative 
 emotion — a sense that something external was lack- 
 ing. He presently perceived what this was. 
 
 In European towns, one of the details to which 
 he had become by now altogether accustomed was 
 the presence, in every street or square at which he 
 looked, of some emblem or statue or picture of a 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 339 
 
 religious nature. Here there was nothing. The 
 straight pavements ran round the square; the 
 straight houses rose from them, straight-windowed 
 and straight-doored. All was admirably sanitary 
 and clean and wholesome. He could see through 
 the windows of the house opposite which his car 
 was drawn up the clean walls within, the decent 
 furniture, and the rest. But there was absolutely 
 nothing to give a hint of anything beyond bodily 
 health and sanitation and decency. In London, or 
 Lourdes, or Rome there would at least have been a 
 reminder — to put it very mildly — of other possi- 
 bilities than these : of a Heavenly Mother, a Suffer- 
 ing Man ; a hint that solid animal health was not the 
 only conceivable ideal. It was a tiny detail; he 
 blamed himself for noticing it. He reminded him- 
 self that here, at any rate, was real liberty as he had 
 conceived it. 
 
 He began to scrutinize the faces of the passers- 
 by, sheltering himself behind his elbow that he might 
 not be noticed — appearing as if he were waiting 
 for some one. Women passed by, strong- faced and 
 business-like; men came up and passed, talking in 
 twos or threes. He even watched for some while 
 a couple of children who sat gravely together on a 
 doorstep. (That reminded him of the meeting of 
 to-morrow, when certain educational matters had 
 to be finally decided ; he remembered the proposed 
 
340 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 curriculum, sketched out in some papers that he 
 had to study this evening — an exceedingly sound 
 and useful ciirriculmn, calculated to make the pupils 
 satisfactorily informed persons.) 
 
 Again and again he told himself that it was fancy 
 that made him see in the faces of these people — 
 people, it must be remembered, who were not com- 
 monplace, but rather enthusiasts for their cause, 
 since they preferred exile to a life under the Chris- 
 tian system — that made him see a kind of blank- 
 ness and heaviness corresponding to that which the 
 aspect of their streets presented. Many of the faces 
 were intellectual, especially of the men — there was 
 no doubt of that; and all were wholesome-looking 
 and healthy, just as this little square was sensibly 
 built and planned, and the houses soundly con- 
 structed. 
 
 Yet, as he looked at them en masse, and com- 
 pared them with his general memories of the type 
 of face that he saw in London streets, there was 
 certainly a difference. He could conceive these peo- 
 ple making speeches, recording votes, discussing 
 matters of public interest with great gravity and con- 
 sideration ; he could conceive them distributing alms 
 to the needy after careful and scientific inquiry, ad- 
 ministering justice; he could imagine them even, 
 with an effort, inflamed with political passion, de- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 341 
 
 nouncing, appealing. . . . But It appeared to 
 him (to his imagination rather, as he angrily told 
 himself) that he could not believe them capable of 
 any absolutely reckless crime or reckless act of vir- 
 tue. They could calculate, they could plan, they 
 had almost mechanically perfect ideas of justice; 
 they could even love and hate after their kind. But 
 it was inconceivable that their passion, either for 
 good or evil, could wholly carry them away. In 
 one word, there was no light behind these faces, no 
 indication of an incomprehensible power greater 
 than themselves, no ideal higher than that gener- 
 ated by the common sense of the multitude. In 
 short, they seemed to him to have all the impas- 
 sivity of the Christian atmosphere, with none of its 
 hidden fire. 
 
 He gave the signal presently for the driver to 
 move on, and himself leaned back in his seat with 
 closed eyes. He felt terribly alone in a terrible 
 world. Was the whole human race then utterly 
 without heart? Had civilization reached such a 
 pitch of perfection — one part through supernatural 
 forces, and the other through human evolution — 
 that there was no longer any room for a man with 
 feelings and emotions and an individuality of his 
 own? Yet he could no longer conceal from him- 
 self that the other was better than this — that it was 
 
342 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 better to be heartless through too vivid a grasp of 
 eternal realities, than through an equally vivid grasp 
 of earthly facts. 
 
 As he reached the door of the great buildings 
 where he lodged, and climbed wearily out, the por- 
 ter ran out, hat in hand, holding a little green form. 
 
 " Monsignor,'' he said, " this arrived an hour ago. 
 We did not know where you were." 
 
 He opened it there and then. It contained half 
 a dozen words in code. He took it upstairs with 
 him, strangely agitated, and there deciphered it. 
 It bade him leave everything, come instantly to 
 Rome, and join the Cardinal. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 (I), 
 
 'nr^HERE was dead silence on the long staircase 
 ■"• of the Vatican, leading up to the Cardinal Sec- 
 retary's rooms, as Monsignor toiled up within half 
 an hour of his arrival at the stage outside the city. 
 A car was in waiting for him there, had whirled 
 him first to the old palace where he had stayed 
 nine months ago with Father Jervis; and then, on 
 finding that Cardinal Bellairs had been unexpect- 
 edly sent for from the Vatican, he had gone on there 
 immediately, according to the instructions that had 
 been left with the majordomo. 
 
 He knew all now ; wireless messages had streamed 
 in hour after hour during the flight across the At- 
 lantic. At Naples, where the volor had first touched 
 land, the papers already mentioned full and exhaust- 
 ive accounts of the outbreak, with the latest re- 
 ports; and by the time that he reached Rome he 
 was as well informed of the real facts of the case 
 as were any who were not in the inner circle of those 
 who knew. 
 
 343 
 
344 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 The Swiss guard presented his fantastic halberd, 
 as he passed in, panting after his climb; a man in 
 scarlet livery took his hat and cloak; another pre- 
 ceded him through the first anteroom, where an 
 ecclesiastic received him; and with this priest he 
 passed on through the second and third rooms up 
 to the door of the inner chamber. The priest pushed 
 the door open for him and he went in alone; the 
 door closed noiselessly behind him. The room was 
 the same as that which he remembered, all gold and 
 red damask, lighted from the roof, with the great 
 brass-inlaid writing table at the farther end, and the 
 broad settee against the right-hand wall, but it 
 seemed to him in his apprehensiveness that the sol- 
 emnity was greater and the hushed silence even 
 deeper. Two figures sat side by side on the settee, 
 each in the scarlet ferraiuola of ceremony. One, 
 Cardinal Bellairs, looked up at him and nodded, 
 even smiling a little; the other stood up and bowed 
 slightly, before extending his hand to be kissed. 
 This second figure was a great personality — Italian 
 by birth, an extraordinary linguist, a very largely 
 made man, both stout and tall, with a head of thick 
 and perfectly white hair. He had been a " rapa- 
 bile " at the last election ; and, it was thought, was 
 certain of the papacy some day, even though it was 
 unusual that a Secretary of State should succeed. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 345 
 
 He had a large, well-cut face, rather yellowish in 
 color, with very bright, half -veiled black eyes. 
 
 Monsignor kissed the ring without genuflecting, 
 as the custom was in the Vatican, and sat down on 
 the chair indicated. 
 
 No one spoke for a moment. 
 
 ** How much have you heard, Monsignor? " asked 
 Cardinal Bellairs abruptly. 
 
 " I have heard that the Socialists have seized 
 Berlin and the Emperor; that the city is fortified; 
 that there have been two massacres; and that the 
 Emperor's life is threatened unless the Powers grant 
 all the terms asked within . . . within four 
 days from now." 
 
 '' Have you heard of the death of Prince Otte- 
 one?" 
 
 " No, your Eminence." 
 
 " Prince Otteone was executed last night," said the 
 Cardinal simply. " He begged to go as the repre- 
 sentative of the Holy Father to treat for terms. 
 They said they were not there to treat, but to grant 
 terms. And they say that they will do the same for 
 every envoy who does not bring a message of com- 
 plete submission. That will be known everywhere 
 by midday." 
 
 Again there was silence. The Cardinal Secre- 
 tary glanced from one face to the other, as if hesi- 
 
346 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 tating. Monsignor made no attempt to speak. He 
 knew that was not his business. 
 
 " Can you guess why I have sent for you, Mon- 
 signor ? " 
 
 " No, your Eminence." 
 
 " I am leaving for Berlin myself to-night. The 
 Holy Father kindly allows me to do so. I wish to 
 leave some instructions about English affairs before 
 I go." 
 
 For a moment the priest's mind was unable to 
 take in all the significance of this. The Cardinal's 
 air was of one who announces that he is going into 
 the country for a few days. There was not the 
 faintest sign even of excitement in his manner or 
 voice. Before the priest could speak the Cardinal 
 went on. 
 
 " Your Eminence, I have told you what confi- 
 dence I rest in Monsignor Masterman. He has all 
 the affairs of the English Church in his hands. And 
 I desire that, if possible, he should be appointed 
 Vicar-Capitular in the event of my death." 
 
 The Secretary of State bowed. 
 
 " I am sure — " he began. 
 
 " Your Eminence," cried the priest suddenly, " it's 
 impossible . . . it's impossible." 
 
 The Englishman looked at him sharply. 
 
 " It is what I wish," he said. 
 
 Monsignor collected himself with a violent effort. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 347 
 
 He could not, even afterwards, trace the exact proc- 
 ess by which he had arrived so swiftly at his de- 
 termination. He supposed it was partly the drama 
 of the situation — the sense that big demands were 
 in the air; partly nervous excitement; partly a cer- 
 tain distaste with life that was growing on him; but 
 chiefly and foremost a passionate and devoted af- 
 fection for his chief, which he had never till this 
 instant suspected in himself. He only perceived, 
 as clearly as in a vision, that this gallant old man 
 must not be allowed to go alone, and that he — he 
 who had criticized and rebelled against the brutality 
 of the world — must go with him. 
 
 *' Your Eminence," he said, " it is impossible, be- 
 cause I must come with you to Berlin." 
 
 The Cardinal smiled and lifted his hand, as if to 
 an impetuous child. 
 
 " My dear fellow — " 
 
 Monsignor turned to the other. He felt cool and 
 positive, as if a breeze had fanned away his excite- 
 ment. 
 
 " You understand, your Eminence, do you not ? 
 
 It is impossible that the Cardinal should go alone. 
 
 I am his secretary. I can arrange everything with 
 
 . . . with the Rector of the English College 
 
 here, if there is no one else. That is right, is it not, 
 
 your Eminence? " 
 
 The Italian hesitated. 
 23 
 
348 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " Prince Otteone went alone — " he began. 
 
 " Exactly. And there were no witnesses. That 
 must not happen again." 
 
 There was an obvious answer, but no one made 
 it. Cardinal Bellairs stood up, lifting himself with 
 his stick. 
 
 " It is very good of you," he said quietly. " I 
 understand why you make the offer. But it is im- 
 possible. Monsignor, will you talk with His Emi- 
 nence a little? There are one or two things he 
 wishes to tell you. I have to see the Holy Father, 
 but I will be with you again soon." 
 
 The priest stood up, too. 
 
 " I must come with you to His Holiness," he said. 
 " I will abide by his decision." 
 
 The other shook his head, again smiling almost 
 indulgently. Monsignor turned swiftly to the Ital- 
 ian. 
 
 " Your Eminence," he said, " will you get this 
 favor for me? I must see the Holy Father after 
 Cardinal Bellairs has seen him, since I may not go 
 with him." 
 
 The English Cardinal turned with a little abrupt 
 movement and stood looking at him. There was a 
 silence. 
 
 " Well — come," he said. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 349 
 
 The contrast between these two great Princes of 
 the Church and their Lord and Master struck Mon- 
 signor very strongly, in spite of his excitement, as 
 he followed his chief into the Pope's room, and 
 saw an almost startlingly commonplace man, of mid- 
 dle size, rise up from the table at which he was 
 writing. 
 
 He was a Frenchman, Monsignor knew, and not 
 an exceptional Frenchman. There was nothing 
 sensational or even impressive about his appear- 
 ance, except his white dress and insignia ; and even 
 these, upon him, seemed somehow rather tame and 
 ordinary. His voice, when he spoke presently, was 
 of an ordinary kind of pitch, and his speaking rather 
 rapid; his eyes were a commonplace gray, his nose 
 a little fleshy, and his mouth completely undistin- 
 guished. He was, in short, completely unlike the 
 Pope of fiction and imagination ; there was nothing 
 of the Pontiff about him in his manner. He might 
 have been a clean-shaven business man of average 
 ability, who had chosen to dress himself up in a 
 white cassock and to sit in an enormous room fur- 
 nished in crimson damask and gold, with chande- 
 liers, at a rather inconvenient writing-desk. Even at 
 this dramatic moment Monsignor found himself 
 wondering how in the world this man had risen to 
 
350 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 the highest office on earth. (He had been the son 
 of a postmaster in Tours, the priest remembered.) 
 
 The Pope murmured an unintelligible greeting as 
 the two, after kissing his ring, sat down beside the 
 writing-table. 
 
 " So you have come to take your leave, your 
 Eminence ? " he began. " We should all be very 
 grateful for your willingness to go. God will re- 
 ward you." 
 
 " Plainly it must be a Cardinal this time. Holy 
 Father," said the Englishman, smiling. " We have 
 still four days. And one of my nationality has 
 affinity with the Germans, and yet is not one of 
 them, as I remarked to your Holiness last night. 
 Besides, I am getting an old man." 
 
 There was nothing whatever of the gallant poseur 
 in his manner, whatever were the words. Mon- 
 signor perceived that somehow or another these per- 
 sons stood in an attitude towards death that was be- 
 yond his comprehension altogether. They spoke of 
 it lightly and genially. 
 
 " Eh, well," said the Pope, " it is decided so. 
 You go to-night ? " 
 
 " Yes, Holy Father, it is absolutely necessary for 
 me to arrange my affairs first. I have chartered a 
 private volor. One of my own servants has volun- 
 teered to drive it. But there is one more matter 
 before I receive your Holiness' instructions. This 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 351 
 
 priest here, my secretary, Monsignor Masterman, 
 wishes to come with me. I ask your Holiness to 
 forbid that. I wish him to be Vicar-Capitular of 
 my diocese, if possible, in the event of my death." 
 
 The Pope glanced across at the priest. 
 
 " Why do you wish to go, Monsignor ? Do you 
 understand to what you are going? " 
 
 " Holy Father, I understand everything. I wish 
 to go because it is not right that the Cardinal should 
 go alone. Let there be a witness this time. The 
 Rector of the English College here can receive all 
 necessary instructions from His Eminence and my- 
 self." 
 
 "And you, Eminence?" 
 
 " I do not wish him to go because there is no 
 need why two should go, Holiness. One can carry 
 the message as well as two." 
 
 There was silence for a moment. The Pope be- 
 gan to play with a pen that lay before him. Then 
 Monsignor burst out again. 
 
 " Holy Father, I beg of you to let me go. I am 
 afraid of death ; that is one reason why I should go. 
 I am crippled mentally; my memory left me a few 
 months ago; it may leave me again, and this time 
 helpless and useless. And it is possible that I may 
 be of some service. Two are better than one." 
 
 For a moment the Pope said nothing. He had 
 glanced up curiously as the priest had said that he 
 
352 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 was " afraid of death." Then he had looked down 
 again, his Hps twitching sHghtly. 
 
 " Eh, well," he said. '' You shall go if you .wish 
 it." 
 
 There was only a very small group of people col- 
 lected to see the second envoy leave for Berlin. The 
 hour and place of starting had been kept secret, on 
 purpose to avoid a crowd ; and beyond three or four 
 from the English College, with half a dozen private 
 friends of the Cardinal, a few servants, and perhaps 
 a dozen passers-by who had collected below in curi- 
 osity at seeing a racing-volor attached to one of the 
 disused flying stages on the hill behind the Vatican 
 ' — no one else, in the crowds that swarmed now in 
 the streets and squares of Rome, was even certain 
 that an envoy was going, still less of his identity. 
 
 Monsignor found himself, ten minutes before the 
 start, standing alone on the alighting-stage, while 
 the Cardinal still talked below. 
 
 As he stood there, now looking out over the city, 
 where beneath the still luminous sky the lights were 
 already beginning to kindle, and where in one or 
 two of the larger squares he could make out the 
 great crowds moving to and fro — now staring at 
 the long and polished sides of the racing boat that 
 swayed light as a flower with the buoyancy of the 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 353 
 
 inrushing gas — as he saw all these things with his 
 outward eyes, he was trying to understand some- 
 thing of the new impulses and thoughts that surged 
 through him. He could have given little or no ac- 
 count of the reasons why he was here; of his hopes 
 or fears or expectations. He was as one who 
 watches on a sheet shadow figures whirl past con- 
 fusedly, catching a glimpse here of a face or body, 
 now of a fragmentary movement, that appeared to 
 have some meaning — yet grasping nothing of the 
 intention or plan of the whole. Or, even better, he 
 was as one caught in a mill-race, tossed along and 
 battered, yet feeling nothing acutely, curious indeed 
 as to what the end would be, and why it had had 
 a beginning, yet fundamentally unconcerned. The 
 thing was so: there was no more to be said. He 
 knew that it was necessary that he should be here, 
 about to start for almost certain death, as that his 
 soul should be inhabiting his body. 
 
 But even all these recent happenings had not as 
 yet illuminated him in the slightest as to the real 
 character of the world that he found so bewildering. 
 He felt, vaguely, that he ought to have by now all 
 the pieces of the puzzle, but he was still as far as 
 ever from being able to fit them into a coherent 
 whole. He just perceived this — and no more — 
 that the extraordinary tranquillity of these Catholics 
 in the presence of death was a real contribution to 
 
354 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 the problem — as much as the dull earthliness of 
 the Socialist colony in America. It was not merely 
 Dom Adrian in particular who had been willing to 
 die without perturbation or protest; his judges and 
 accusers seemed just as ready when their turn came. 
 And he — he who had cried out at Christian brutal- 
 ity, who had judged the world's system by his own 
 and found it wanting — he feared death ; although, 
 so far his fear had not deterred him from facing it. 
 
 He took his place in the narrow cabin in the same 
 mood, following the Cardinal in after the last good- 
 byes had been said. It was a tiny place, fitted with 
 a single padded seat on either side covered with 
 linen and provided with pillows; a narrow table 
 ran up the center; and strong narrow windows 
 looked directly from the sides of the boat. A stern 
 platform, railed in and provided with sliding glass 
 shutters, gave room to take a few steps of exercise; 
 but the front of the boat was entirely occupied with 
 the driver's arrangements. It was a comparatively 
 new type of boat, he learned from some one with 
 whom he had talked just now, used solely for rac- 
 ing purposes; and its speed was such that they 
 would find themselves in Berlin before morning. 
 
 The stern door was swung to by one who leaned 
 from the stage. Still through the glass the Cardi- 
 nal smiled out at his friends and waved his hand. 
 Then a bell struck, a vibration ran through the boat. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 355 
 
 the stage outside lined with faces suddenly swayed 
 and then fell into space. 
 
 The Cardinal laid his hand on the priest's knee. 
 
 '' Now let us have a talk," he said. 
 
 (IV) 
 
 The air that breathed down from the Alps was 
 beginning to cloud the windows of the cabin before 
 they had finished talking. 
 
 The man who had lost his memory, under the 
 tremendous stress of an emotion of which he was 
 hardly directly conscious at all — the emotion gen- 
 erated by the knowledge that every whistling mile 
 that fled past brought him nearer an almost cer- 
 tain death — had experienced a kind of sudden col- 
 lapse of his defenses such as he had never contem- 
 plated. 
 
 He had told everything straight out to this quiet, 
 fatherly man — his terrors, his shrinking from the 
 unfamiliar atmosphere of thought to which he had 
 awakened, It seemed, a few months before, his sense 
 that Christianity had lost its spirit, and, above all, 
 the strange absence of any definite religious emo- 
 tion In himself. He found this difficult to put Into 
 words ; he had hardly realized It even to himself. 
 
 The Cardinal put one question. 
 
 " And yet you are facing death on the under- 
 standing that It Is all true?" 
 
356 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 " Very well, then. That is faith. You need say 
 no more. You have been to confession?" 
 
 " This afternoon." 
 
 The old man was silent for a moment. 
 
 " As to the unreality, the feeling that the Church 
 is heartless, I think that is natural. You had a 
 violent mental shock in your illness. That means 
 that your emotions are very sensitive, almost to the 
 point of morbidness. Well, the heart of the Church 
 is very deep, and you have not found it yet. That 
 does not greatly matter. You must keep your zvill 
 fixed. That is all that God asks. ... I think 
 it is true that the Church is hard, in a certain sense ; 
 or shall we call it a Divine strength? It is largely 
 a matter of words. She has had that strength al- 
 ways. Once it nerved her to suffer; now it nerves 
 her to rule. But I think you would find that she 
 could suffer again." 
 
 " Your Eminence ! " cried the priest lamentably, 
 " I am beginning to see that. . . . Yourself. 
 . . . Prince Otteone. . . ." 
 
 The Cardinal lifted his hand. 
 
 " Of myself we need not speak. I am an old 
 man, and I do not expect to suffer. Prince Otteone 
 was another matter. He was a young mian, full of 
 life; and he knew to what he was going. Well, 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 357 
 
 does not his case impress you? He went quite 
 cheerfully, you know." 
 
 The priest was silent. 
 
 '' What are you thinking of, my son? " 
 
 The priest shivered a little. 
 
 " Tell me," said the Cardinal again. 
 
 " It is the Holy Father," burst out the other im- 
 pulsively. " He was terrible : so unconcerned, so 
 careless as to who lived or died. . . ." 
 
 He looked up in an agony, and saw a look almost 
 of amusement in the old man's eyes fixed on him. 
 
 '\ Yes, do not be afraid," murmured the old man. 
 " You think he was unconcerned ? Well, ought he 
 not to be? Is not that what we should expect of 
 the Vicar of Christ?" 
 
 '' Christ wept." 
 
 " Yes, yes, and his Vicar, too, has wept. I have 
 seen it. But Christ went to death without tears." 
 
 " But . . . but this man is not going," cried 
 the priest. "He is sending others. If he went 
 himself — " 
 
 He stopped suddenly; not at a sound, but at a 
 kind of mental vibration from the other. Up here 
 in these heights, under the pressure of these 
 thoughts, every nerve and fiber seemed stretched to 
 an amazing pitch of sensitiveness. It seemed to 
 him as if he had never before lived at such a pitch. 
 
358 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 But the other said nothing. Once his lips opened 
 but they closed again. The priest said nothing. 
 He waited. 
 
 '' I think no one would expect the Holy Father 
 to go himself under such circumstances," said the 
 Cardinal gently and blandly. " Do you not think 
 that it might be harder for him to remain ? " 
 
 Monsignor felt a wave of disappointment. He 
 had expected a revelation of some kind, or a vivid 
 sentence that would make all plain. 
 
 The old man leaned forward again smiling. 
 
 '' Do not be impatient and critical," he said. " It 
 is enough that you and I are going. That should 
 occupy us. Come, let us look through these papers 
 again." 
 
 It was an hour later that they swept down into 
 the French plains. The glass cleared again as they 
 reached the warmer levels, and Monsignor became 
 conscious of an overpowering weariness. He 
 yawned uncontrollably once or twice. His com- 
 panion laughed. 
 
 " Lie down a little, Monsignor. You have had a 
 hard day of it. I must have some sleep, too. We 
 must be as fresh as we can for our interview." 
 
 Monsignor said nothing. He stepped across to 
 the other couch, and slipped off his shoes, took off 
 his cincture, and lay down without a word. Almost 
 before he had finished wondering at the marvelous 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 359 
 
 steadiness of this flying arrow of a ship, he had sunk 
 down into complete unconsciousness. 
 
 (V) 
 
 He awoke with a start, coming up, as is common 
 after the deep sleep of exhaustion, into a state in 
 which, although the senses are awake, the intellect 
 is still in a kind of paralysis of slumber. He threw 
 his feet off the couch and sat up, staring about him. 
 
 The first thing which he noticed was that the 
 cabin was full of a pale morning light, cold and 
 cheerless, although the shaded lights still burned in 
 the roof. Then he saw that the Cardinal was sit- 
 ting at the farther end of the opposite couch, look- 
 ing intently out ; that one of the glass shutters was 
 slid back, and that a cold, foggy air was visibly 
 pouring in past the old man's head. Then he saw 
 the head of the driver through the glass panes in 
 the door; his hand rested on the grip of some ap- 
 paratus connected with the steering, he believed. 
 
 But beyond this there was nothing to be seen 
 through the windows opposite, of which the cur- 
 tains had been drawn back; he saw nothing but 
 white driving mist. He tore back the curtains be- 
 hind him, and there also was the mist. It was plain 
 then that they were not at rest at any stage; and 
 yet the slight humming vibration, of which he had 
 been conscious before he fell asleep, and even dur- 
 
36o THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 ing one or two moments of semi-wake fulness during 
 the night, this had ceased. The car hung here, Hke 
 a floating balloon, motionless, purposeless — far up 
 out of sight of land, and an absolute silence hung 
 round it. 
 
 He moved a little as these things began to arrange 
 themselves in his mind, and at the movement the 
 Cardinal turned round. He looked old and worn in 
 this chilly light, and his unshaven chin sparkled like 
 frost. But he spoke in his ordinary voice, without 
 any sign of discomposure. 
 
 " So you are awake, Monsignor ? I thought I 
 would let you have your sleep out." 
 
 " What has happened ? Where are we ? *' 
 
 " We arrived half an hour ago. They signaled 
 to us to remain where we were until they came up." 
 
 " We have arrived ! " 
 
 *' Certainly. We passed the first Berlin signaling 
 light nearly three-quarters of an hour ago. We 
 slowed down after that, of course." 
 
 The priest turned his head suddenly and made a 
 movement with it downwards. The Cardinal leaned 
 forward again and peered through the open shutter. 
 
 *' I think they are coming up at last," he said, 
 drawing his head back. " Hush ! Listen, Mon- 
 signor." 
 
 The priest listened with all his might. At first 
 he heard nothing except the faint whistle of the 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 361 
 
 wind somewhere in the roof. Then he heard three 
 or four metallic noises, as if from the depths of a 
 bottomless pit, faint and minute; and then, quite 
 distinctly, three strokes of a bell. 
 
 The Cardinal nodded. 
 
 " They are starting," he said. " They have kept 
 us long enough." 
 
 He slipped along the seat to where his scarlet 
 cincture and cap lay, and began to put these on. 
 
 Monsignor sprang across and lifted down the 
 great Roman cloak from its peg. 
 
 " You had better get ready yourself," said the 
 Cardinal. " They will be here in a moment." 
 
 As the priest slipped on his second shoe, a sound 
 suddenly stopped him dead for an instant. It was 
 the sound of voices talking somewhere beneath in 
 the fog. Then he finished, and stood up, just as 
 there slid cautiously upwards, like a whale coming 
 up to breathe, past the window by which the Cardi- 
 nal was now standing cloaked and hatted, first a 
 shining roof, then a row of little ventilators, and 
 finally a line of windows against which a dozen 
 faces were pressed. He saw them begin to stir as 
 the scarlet of the Cardinal met their eyes. 
 
 " We can sit down again," said the old man, smil- 
 ing. " The rest is a matter for the engineers." 
 
 It seemed strange afterwards to the priest how 
 little real or active terror he felt. He was con- 
 
362 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 scious of a certain sickly sensation, and of a sourish 
 taste on his Hps, as he Hcked them from time to 
 time; but scarcely more than this, except perhaps 
 of a sudden shivering spasm that shook him once 
 or twice as the fog-laden breeze poured in upon 
 him. 
 
 He sat there watching through the windows in 
 a kind of impassivity, as much as he could see of 
 the method by which the racing-boat was attached 
 by long, rigid rods to the steady floating raft that 
 had risen from beneath. (He was even interested 
 to observe that these rigid rods were of telescopic 
 design, and were elongated from their own in- 
 teriors. One of them pushed forward once to within 
 a foot of the windows; then the tapering end 
 seemed to fall apart into two hooked ends, singu- 
 larly like a lean finger and thumb with roughened 
 surfaces. This, in its turn, rose out of sight, and 
 he heard it slide along the roof overhead, till it 
 caught some projection, and there clenched.) 
 
 So the process went on, slowly and deliberately. 
 The driver still remained at his post, answering 
 once or twice questions put to him from some in- 
 visible person outside. The Cardinal still sat, mo- 
 tionless and silent, on the opposite seat. Then, 
 after perhaps ten minutes' delay, a sensation of de- 
 scending became perceptible. 
 
 His fear, such as it was, took a new form, as 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 363 
 
 presently through the thinning fog he became aware 
 that the earth was approaching. The first clear 
 indication of this was the sound of a clock strik- 
 ing. He counted the strokes carefully, and im- 
 mediately forgot what it was that he had counted. 
 Then, as he watched with straining eyes for build- 
 ings or towers to make their appearance, the move- 
 ment stopped; there was a faint jarring sensation, 
 then the sound of tramping feet, then a heavy 
 shock. He had forgotten that stages were used. 
 
 The Cardinal stood up. 
 
 " Come, Monsignor," he said, and gave his hand 
 to him. 
 
 So the two stood a moment longer. Then the 
 footsteps sounded on the boat ; a shadow fell across 
 the glass of the stern-door. The door opened, let- 
 ting in a rush of foggy air, and two men in uni- 
 form came swiftly inside. 
 
 "Your name and your business, gentlemen," 
 said the foremost shortly, in excellent English. 
 
 " I am come on behalf of the Holy Father," said 
 the Cardinal steadily. "My name is Cardinal 
 Bellairs. This is my secretary, Monsignor Master- 
 man. He is not an envoy." 
 
 " Exactly," said the man. " That is all in order. 
 You were seen by our guard-boats. Will you step 
 this way ? " 
 
 A bridge had been thrown across from the raft 
 
 24 
 
364 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 to the racing-boat, and the latter was now attached 
 to an immense stage whose sides ran down into the 
 fog. The stage-platform was crowded with men, 
 some in official uniform, some in blouses; but a 
 way was kept clear for the visitors, and they passed 
 across without any actual show of hostility or re- 
 sentment. Monsignor noticed but one detail — 
 that no salutation of any kind was given; and as 
 they took their seats in the lift, with the two offi- 
 cials close beside them, he heard guttural conversa- 
 tion break out, and, he thought, one loud laugh. 
 The doors were latched, and the lift dropped. 
 
 The speed was so great that it would have been 
 impossible to see anything of the town into which 
 they descended, even had the fog been absent. As 
 it was, Monsignor saw nothing except the sudden 
 darkening of the air round them. Then as the 
 speed slackened he saw the side of some great build- 
 ing not twenty yards away. Then the lift stopped 
 and the doors were opened. 
 
 A group of men stood there, with something of 
 an expectant air in their stolid faces. All these 
 were in uniform of some description; one stood 
 a little in advance of the rest and held a paper in 
 his hand. 
 
 "Cardinal Bellairs?" he said, also in English. 
 ''And Monsignor Masterman?" 
 
 The Cardinal bowed. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 365 
 
 "We had information from Rome last night. I 
 understand you have a communication from the 
 Powers?" 
 
 " From the Holy Father, whom the European 
 Powers have appointed to represent them." 
 
 " It is the same thing," said the man brusquely. 
 " The Council is waiting to receive you. Kindly 
 follow me." 
 
 The official who had brought them down stepped 
 forward. 
 
 " I understand, sir, that this gentleman " (he in- 
 dicated the priest) " is not an envoy." 
 
 " Is that so ? " asked the other. 
 
 " It is." 
 
 " Very good. I only have authority to introduce 
 the envoy. Monsignor Masterman will be good 
 enough to follow the other gentleman. Your Emi- 
 nence, will you com.e with me ? " 
 
 (VI) 
 
 On looking back afterwards on the whole ex- 
 perience, that which stood out as most shocking in 
 it all, to the priest's mind, was the abominable 
 speed with which the tragedy was accomplished. 
 It was merciful, perhaps, that it was so, for even 
 the half -hour or so which elapsed before the priest 
 had any more news dragged itself to an intolerable 
 length. 
 
266 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 He walked up and down the little furnished room 
 — some kind of parlor, he understood, attached 
 to a government building seized by the revolution- 
 aries, guarded, he knew, by a couple of men in the 
 passage, whose voices he occasionally heard — in a 
 sort of dull agony, far more torturing than positive 
 objective fear. 
 
 He tried to comfort himself by retelling to him- 
 self the story of the last few days ; reminding him- 
 self how, after the first outburst, when the police 
 had been shot down by those new weapons of which 
 he understood nothing, and the palace had been 
 taken, and the city reduced to a state of defense- 
 less terror — the revolutionaries had sternly re- 
 pressed the second attempted massacre in a man- 
 ner not unworthy of real civilization. 
 
 A great deal of the whole story was unintelligi- 
 ble to him. He just knew the outlines. First, it 
 was obvious that the revolution had been planned 
 in all its details months before. There had been, 
 soon after the Emperor's conversion, a great ac- 
 cess of other converts, accompanied by a dispersal 
 to other countries, notably America, of innumerable 
 people of the lower classes who were known as So- 
 cialists. All this was looked upon by the authori- 
 ties as natural, and as actually reassuring. There 
 had been a few protests against the new proposals 
 with regard to legislation ; but not enough to rouse 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 367 
 
 any suspicion that violence would be attempted. 
 Finally, when the organized emigration was be- 
 ginning, and even the most pessimistic politicians 
 were beginning to regard the situation as saved, 
 without the slightest warning the blow had been 
 struck, obviously by the directions of an interna- 
 tional council whose very existence had not been sus- 
 pected. 
 
 As to the details of the revolution itself he was 
 even more vague, for the understanding of it de- 
 pended on an acquaintance with the internal ar- 
 rangements of Berlin, by which a kind of interior 
 citadel, not outwardly fortified in any way, yet 
 held in its compass all those immense " pov/er-sta- 
 tions " by which, in the present day, every town 
 was defended. (He did not know exactly what 
 these " power-stations " were, beyond the fact that 
 they were the lineal successors of the old gun- 
 forts, and controlled an immense number of mines 
 both within the city and without it, as well as some 
 kind of " electric ray," which was the modern sub- 
 stitute for cannon.) Well, it was this "citadel," 
 including the Emperor's palace, that had been sud- 
 denly seized by the revolutionaries, obviously by 
 the aid of treachery. And the thing was done. It 
 was impossible for the other Powers, or even for the 
 German air-navy itself, to wipe the whole place out 
 of existence, since it was known that the Emperor 
 
368 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 himself was in the hands of the rebels. (It was 
 a bald story, as he had heard it; yet he reflected 
 that great coups usually were extremely and unex- 
 pectedly simple.) 
 
 Finally, there were the terms demanded — terms 
 which the Powers were unanimous in rejecting, 
 since they included the formal disestablishment of 
 the Church throughout Europe and the complete 
 liberty of the Press, with guarantees that these 
 should continue. The alternative to the acceptance 
 of these terms was the execution of the Emperor 
 and formal war declared upon Europe — a war 
 which, of course, could have but one ending, but 
 which, until that end came, would mean, under the 
 new conditions of warfare, an almost unimaginable 
 destruction of life and property, especially since 
 (as was known) the Socialists repudiated all the 
 international laws of warfare. The defiance was, 
 of course, a ridiculous and a desperate one, but it 
 was the defiance of a savage child w^ho held all 
 modern resources in his hands and knew how to 
 use them. There was also possible, as some said, a 
 rising all over the civilized world, should the move- 
 ment meet with success. 
 
 So much, in brief, was what Monsignor Master- 
 man knew. So much, indeed, w^as now public 
 property all the world over, and it was not reassur- 
 ing. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 369 
 
 Certainly he feared death for himself; yet, as he 
 passed up and down, he could honestly and sin- 
 cerely tell himself that this was not foremost in his 
 mind. Rather it was a sense of bewildered shock 
 and horror that such things could have broken in 
 upon that orderly, disciplined world with which he 
 had become familiar. It was this horror that hung 
 over him — its impression deepened by the bleak 
 April morning, the nervous strain under which he 
 suffered, the brusque discourtesy of the men who 
 had received him, and the knowledge that scarcely 
 thirty-six hours before an envoy who had come 
 alone and peaceably had been done to death in this 
 silent city. And the horror also centered for him 
 now, as in a symbol, in the old Cardinal whom he 
 was learning to love. 
 
 He framed, as men do when the imagination is 
 stimulated to the highest pitch, a dozen possible 
 events — each seen by him mentally, clear, in a pic- 
 ture. He constructed for himself the Cardinal's 
 return wath news of a compromise, with an an- 
 nouncement at least of delay. (He knew a few of 
 the proposals that were to be made by sanction of 
 the Pope.) Or he saw him coming back, anxious 
 and perturbed, with nothing decided. Or he im- 
 agined himself being sent for in haste. . . . 
 And there were other pictures, more terrible; and 
 against these he strove with all his will, telling him- 
 
3/0 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 self that it was inconceivable that such things should 
 be. Yet not one of his imaginings was as terrible 
 as the event itself. . . . 
 
 It came swift and sudden, without the faintest 
 sign of premonition. 
 
 As he turned in his endless pacings, down at the 
 farther end of the room, his ears for the instant 
 filled with the clatter of some cart outside the open, 
 barred windows, a figure came swiftly into the 
 room, without the sound of a footstep to warn 
 him. Behind he could make out two faces wait- 
 ing. . . . 
 
 It was the Cardinal who stood there, upright and 
 serene as ever, with a look in his eyes that silenced 
 the priest. He lifted his hand on which shone his 
 great amethyst, and at the motion, scarcely know- 
 ing what he did, the priest was on his knees. 
 
 " Benedictio Dei omnipotentis, Patris et Filii et 
 SpiriUis Sancti, descendat iiper te, et maneat sem- 
 per/' 
 
 That was all ; not a word more. 
 
 And as the priest sprang up with a choking cry, 
 the slender figure was gone, and the door shut. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 (I) 
 
 A LL day long there had hung a strange silence 
 ^ ^ over the city, unlike in its quality that or- 
 dinary comparative quiet of modern towns to which 
 the man wdio had lost his memory had become by 
 now accustomed. He knew well by now the gen- 
 tle, almost soothing, hum of busy streets, as the 
 traffic and the footsteps went over the noiseless 
 pavements, and the air murmured with the clear 
 subdued notes of the bells and the melodious horns 
 of the swifter vehicles; all this had something of 
 a reassuring quality, reminding the listener that he 
 lived in a world of men, active and occupied indeed, 
 but also civilized and self-controlled. 
 
 But the silence of this inner quarter of Berlin 
 was completely different. Its profoundness was 
 sinister and suggestive. Now and again came a 
 rapid hooting note, growing louder and more in- 
 sistent, as some car, bound on revolutionary work, 
 tore up some street out of sight at forty miles an 
 hour and away again into silence. Several times 
 he heard voices in sharp talk pass beneath his win- 
 
372 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 dow. Occasionally somewhere overhead in the 
 great buildings sounded the whir of a lift, a foot- 
 step, the throwing up of a window. And to each 
 sound he listened eagerly and intently, ignorant as 
 to whether it might not mark the news of some 
 fresh catastrophe, the tidings of some decision that 
 would precipitate his world about him. 
 
 As to the progress of events he knew nothing at 
 all. 
 
 Since that horrible instant when the door had 
 closed in his face and the Cardinal had gone again 
 as mysteriously as he had come — now three days 
 ago — he had heard no hint that could tell him how 
 things developed. He had not even dared to ask 
 the taciturn servant in uniform who brought him 
 food as to the fate of the old man. For he knew 
 Vv^ith a certainty as clear as if he had seen the dread- 
 ful thing done, that his friend and master was dead 
 — dead, as the Revolutionary Committee had said 
 he would be, if he came with any message other 
 than that of submission. As to the manner of his 
 death he dared not even conjecture. It would be 
 swift, at least. . . . 
 
 Ten thousand thoughts, recurring and recurring, 
 like pictures thrown on a wall, ran past his attention 
 as the hours went by. He saw the gathering of 
 armaments — the horizon tinged by the gathering 
 war-vessels of the air — the advance, the sudden 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 373 
 
 storm of battle, the gigantic destruction from these 
 vast engines of power of which he had learned 
 nothing but their ghastly potentialities. Or he saw 
 the advance of this desperate garrison, dispersing 
 this way and that for their war upon the world — 
 silent vessels, moving in the clouds, to Rome, to 
 London, to Paris and Versailles, each capable of ob- 
 literating a city. Or he saw, again, the submission 
 of the world to the caprice of these desperate chil- 
 dren who feared nothing — not even death itself — 
 who crouched like an ape in a powder-magazine, 
 lighted match in hand, careless as to whether or no 
 themselves died so long as the world died with 
 them. 
 
 He formulated nothing; concluded nothing; he 
 rejected every conjecture which temporarily con- 
 structed itself in his almost passive mind. He did 
 not even yet fully understand that the question he 
 had asked of himself months before — the question 
 that had tortured him so keenly — as to whether 
 these Christians who ruled had not forgotten how 
 to suffer — had been answered with dreadful dis- 
 tinctness. He just perceived that the young Ro- 
 man prince had been gallant; that the old man had 
 been more gallant still, since those to whom he came 
 had already proved that they would keep their word. 
 And now the third day was drawing to an end, and 
 by midnight suspense would be over. 
 
374 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 The fog still hung over the city ; but towards sun- 
 set it lifted a little, and he raised his heavy head 
 from his breast as he lay, half sitting, half lying, 
 on the tumbled sofa and blankets on which he had 
 slept, to see the red sunlight on the wall above him. 
 It was a curious room to a man who had grown ac- 
 customed to modern ways; there was a faded car- 
 pet on the floor, paper on the walls, and the old- 
 fashioned electric globes hung, each on its wire, 
 from the whitewashed ceiling. He saw that it 
 must be a survival, or perhaps a deliberate archa- 
 ism. . . . 
 
 The sunlight crept slowly up the wall. . . . 
 
 Then the door was unlocked from the outside, 
 and he turned his head, to see James Hardy come 
 smiling tow^ards him. 
 
 (II) 
 
 " Good evening, Monsignor. I am ashamed that 
 I have not paid you a visit before. But we have 
 been very busy these days.'' 
 
 He sat down without offering to shake hands. 
 
 The priest saw, with one of those sudden inex- 
 plicable intuitions more certain than any acquired 
 knowledge, two things : first, that his having been 
 left alone for three days had been by deliberation 
 and not carelessness and second, that this visit to 
 him only a few hours before the time of truce ex- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 375 
 
 pired was equally deliberate. His brain was too 
 confused for him to draw any definite conclusion 
 from these facts; but he made at least one pro- 
 visional decision, as swift as lightning, that he must 
 hold his tongue. 
 
 " You have had an anxious time, I am afraid," 
 went on the other. " But so have we all. You 
 must bear no malice, Monsignor." 
 
 The priest said nothing. He looked between his 
 half -closed eyelids at the heavy, clean-shaven, clever 
 face of the man who sat opposite him, the strong, 
 capable, and rather humorous mouth, his close-cut 
 hair turning a little gray by the ears, watching for 
 any sign of discomposure. But there was none at 
 all. 
 
 The man glanced up, caught his eye, and smiled a 
 little. 
 
 " Well, I am afraid you're not altogether pleased 
 with us. But you must bear in mind, Monsignor, 
 that you've driven — " (he corrected his phrase) — 
 " you drove us into a corner. I regret the deaths of 
 the two envoys as much as you yourself. But we 
 were forced to keep our word. Obviously your 
 party did not believe us, or they would have com- 
 municated by other means. Well, we had to prove 
 our sincerity." (He paused.) *' And we shall 
 have to prove it again to-night, it seems." 
 
 Again there was silence. 
 
376 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 " I think you're foolish to take this Hne, Mon- 
 signor," went on the other briskly — " this not 
 speaking to me, I mean. I'm quite willing to tell 
 you all I know, if you care to ask me. I've not 
 come to bully you or to triumph over you. And 
 after all, you know, we might easily have treated 
 you as an envoy, too. To be quite frank, it was I 
 who pleaded for you. . . . Oh! not out of any 
 tenderness ; we have got past that. You Christians 
 have taught us that. But I thought that so long 
 as we kept our word we need not go beyond it. 
 And it's proved that I'm right. . . . Aren't 
 you curious to know why? " 
 
 The priest looked at him again. 
 
 " Well, we are going to send you back after mid- 
 night. You will have to witness the last scene, I 
 am afraid, so that you can give a true account of it 
 — the Emperor's death, I mean.'* 
 
 He paused again, waiting for an answer. Then 
 he stood up, at last, it seemed, pricked into impa- 
 tience. 
 
 " Kindly come with me, Monsignor," he said ab- 
 ruptly. " I have to take you before the Council." 
 
 (Ill) 
 
 It was a large hall, resembling a concert-room, 
 into which the priest came at last, an hour later, un- 
 der the escort of James Hardy and a couple of po- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 377 
 
 lice, and he had plenty of time to observe it, as he 
 stood waiting by the little door through which he 
 stepped on to the back of the platform. 
 
 This platform stood at the upper end of the hall, 
 and was set with a long semicircle of chairs and 
 desks, as if for judges, and these were occupied 
 by perhaps thirty persons, dressed, he saw, in dull 
 colors, all alike. The dresses seemed curiously fa- 
 miliar ; he supposed he must have seen them in pic- 
 tures. Then he remembered a long while ago Fa- 
 ther Jervis' telling him that the Socialists resented 
 the modern developments in matters of costume. 
 
 The President's desk and seat were raised a little 
 above the others, but from behind the priest could 
 see nothing of him but his black gown and his 
 rather long iron-gray hair ; he seemed to be answer- 
 ing in rapid German some question that one of his 
 colleagues had just put to him. 
 
 The rest of the hall was almost empty. A table 
 stood at the foot of the platform, and here were 
 three or four of the usual recording machines; a 
 dozen men sat here, too, some writing, some listen- 
 ing, leaning back in their chairs. In the middle, on 
 the opposite side of the table, stood a structure re- 
 sembling a witness-box, ascended by two steps, 
 railed in on the three other sides. A man with a 
 pointed gray beard was leaving the box as the priest 
 came in. Standing about the hall also were per- 
 
378 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 haps twenty other persons apparently hstening to 
 the President or waiting their turn. There were 
 tall doors at the end of the hall, closed and guarded 
 by police, and in the middle of each of the long 
 sides two other doors, also closed, communicating 
 with other rooms and passages, in one of which the 
 priest had waited just now until the Council could 
 see him. 
 
 Except for the rapid, heavy voice of the Presi- 
 dent the hall was very quiet, and from the very si- 
 lence and motionlessness of those present there ex- 
 haled a certain air of tenseness. It would have been 
 impossible for any intelligent person not to notice it, 
 and for the priest, his nerves strung as they now 
 were to an extreme pitch of sensitiveness and atten- 
 tion, the atmosphere was overwhelmingly signifi- 
 cant. Of what it signified he had no idea, beyond 
 the knowledge he already possessed — that the 
 hours were running out, and that midnight would 
 see a decisive event which, though it must mean 
 ultimately the ruin of every person present, might, 
 for all that, change the line of the world's develop- 
 ment. A protest so desperate as this could not but 
 have a tremendous effect upon human sentiment. 
 He had caught a glimpse an hour before, as he 
 whirled through the streets, far up against the 
 luminous sky westwards, of a string of floating 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 379 
 
 specks, which he knew to be the guard-boats, strung 
 out now, night and day, in a vast circle round the 
 city. At midnight they would surely move. 
 
 Dark had already fallen outside, but the hall was 
 as light as day with the hidden electric burners 
 above the cornices, and he could see not only the 
 faces, but the very expressions that characterized 
 them. One thing at least was common to them all 
 — a silent, fierce excitement. . . . 
 
 It would be about ten minutes before the priest's 
 turn came to face the Council. It seemed that the 
 member to whom the President was speaking was 
 not satisfied, and question and answer, all in rapid, 
 unintelligible German, went on without intermis- 
 sion. Once or twice there was a murmur of ap- 
 plause, and more than once the President beat his 
 hand heavily and emphatically upon the desk before 
 him to enforce his point. The priest guessed that 
 the unanimity was not perhaps as perfect as the 
 world had been given to believe. However, guess- 
 ing was useless. The President leaned back at last, 
 and Hardy stepped forward to his chair and whis- 
 pered. The President nodded, and the next mo- 
 ment, at a sign from Hardy, the two police urged 
 the priest forward by the arms across the platform, 
 down the steps, and so round to the right up into 
 
 25 
 
38o THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 the witness-box. Then the President, who had still 
 been whispering behind his hand, turned abruptly 
 in his chair and faced him. 
 
 Monsignor related afterwards what an extraor- 
 dinary moment that had been. His nerves were al- 
 ready tight-stretched and his expectation was at 
 the highest; but the face of this man who now 
 looked at him (tremendous though he knew such a 
 personality must be, which could conceive and drive 
 through such a revolt as this), the face of him was 
 beyond all imagining. 
 
 In the fashion of the day it was clean-shaven, and 
 the absence of hair, except where that of his head 
 framed the face, increased the impressions of those 
 lines and shadow. It was a priestly face, saw Mon- 
 signor, with all the power and searchingness of one 
 who can deal with living souls; but the face of a 
 fallen priest. In complexion it was sallow, but the 
 sallowness of health, not of weakness; full-shaped, 
 but without being fat; the lips were straight and 
 thin, the nose sharp and jutting and well curved, and 
 the black eyes blazed at him with immense power 
 from beneath heavy brows. His hair was brushed 
 straight back from the forehead, and fell rather 
 long behind. The face resembled a carefully mod- 
 eled mask, through the eyes of which alone the tre- 
 mendous life was visible. 
 
 The priest met those eyes straight for an instant. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 381 
 
 then he lowered his own, knowing that he could 
 not be wholly himself if he looked that man in the 
 face. 
 
 He was surprised to hear words of English ut- 
 tered. He looked up again, and there was Hardy 
 speaking, from beside the President's chair. 
 
 " Monsignor, you would not answer me just now. 
 Now that I am speaking in the Council's name, will 
 you consent to do so? " 
 
 " I will answer what I think right to answer." 
 
 There was a touch of amusement in Hardy's 
 voice as he went on. 
 
 " You need not be afraid, Monsignor. We do 
 not extort answers by the rack. I only wished to 
 know if you would be reasonable." 
 
 The priest said nothing. 
 
 " Very good, then. . . . First we will tell 
 you our intentions. At midnight, as you know, we 
 keep our word, and the Emperor will have to go 
 the w^ay of the others. It is regrettable, but the 
 Christians do not seem to understand even yet that 
 we are in earnest. You will have to be present at 
 that scene, I am sorry to say; but you can comfort 
 yourself by ministering to your co-religionist. He 
 has not had a priest admitted to him since his arrest. 
 
 " Immediately afterwards you will be set at lib- 
 erty, and put on board the air-boat on which you 
 traveled from Rome, with the same driver who 
 
Z^2 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 brought you here, on one single condition. That 
 condition is that you go straight to the Holy Father, 
 tell him all that you have seen, and take with you 
 one or two little objects." 
 
 He paused and beckoned to some one behind. A 
 man came forward with a little box which he laid 
 on the table. Hardy opened it. 
 
 '' This is the box you are to take. Yes ; I see 
 that you recognize them. They are the biretta, the 
 skull-cap, the cross, and the ring of the late Cardi- 
 nal Bellairs. There are also in this box the ring and 
 a medal belonging to the late Prince Otteone. . . . 
 You will take these with you as pledges of what 
 you say. . . . Will you consent to do 
 this?" 
 
 The priest bowed. For the moment he was un- 
 able to speak. 
 
 " You will also tell the Holy Father," went on 
 the other, replacing, as he spoke, the things in the 
 box, " what you have seen of our dispositions. You 
 will say that you saw us entirely resolute and un- 
 afraid. We do not fear anybody, Monsignor — 
 not anything at all ; I think you understand that by 
 now. 
 
 " You will have a letter, of course, to take with 
 you. It will contain our final terms. Because 
 (and I assure you that you are the first of the out- 
 side world to hear this news) — because we have 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 383 
 
 decided to extend our patience for one more week. 
 We shall, during that week, in order to prove the 
 genuineness of our intentions, make a raid upon a 
 certain city and, we hope, destroy it. (Naturally, I 
 shall not inform you where that city stands.) And 
 if, at the end of that week, our former terms are not 
 accepted, we shall carry out our promises to the full. 
 You may also add," he went on more deliberately, 
 " that our party is represented in every capital of 
 Europe, and that these may be expected to act in 
 the same way as that in which we have acted, 
 as soon as the week expires. We have no objec- 
 tion to telling you this: our plans are completely 
 made, and no precautions on your side can hinder 
 them. Is that clear, Monsignor?" 
 
 " Yes," said the priest. 
 
 " You are satisfied that we mean what we say? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Hardy's manner changed a little. Up to now he 
 had been speaking coldly and sharply, except where 
 once or twice a slightly ironical tone had come into 
 his voice. Now he bent forward a little with his 
 hands upon the table, and his tone became a trifle 
 friendly. 
 
 " Now there are just one or two questions that 
 the Council wish me to put to you." 
 
 Monsignor glanced up at the circle of watching 
 faces, and as he looked at the President, he could 
 
384 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 have sworn tliat a look of displeasure came over 
 the man's face. 
 
 "Well, our first question is this (I dare say you 
 will not answer it; but if you will oblige us, we 
 shall be grateful) : Can you tell us whether, when 
 you left Rome, the Holy Father, or the European 
 Powers, showed any signs of yielding? " 
 
 The priest drew a breath. 
 
 " I am absolutely sure," he said quietly, " that 
 they had no idea of yielding, and that they never 
 will." 
 
 " Why did they send envoys then ? " 
 
 " They were willing to make other concessions." 
 
 "What were these concessions?" 
 
 Monsignor hesitated. 
 
 " I am not an envoy; I have no power to say." 
 
 " Do you know what they were? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Why will you not say? Is it not the wish of 
 the Powers to come to terms? " 
 
 " It was their wish." 
 
 " Do you mean that it is so no longer? " 
 
 " I cannot imagine it being their wish any longer." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because you murdered the two envoys they 
 sent," said the priest, beginning suddenly to shake 
 all over with uncontrollable nervous excitement. 
 
 " Have you any reason for saying that? " 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 385 
 
 " I know what I would do myself under such cir- 
 cumstances." 
 
 " And that is — " 
 
 The priest straightened himself, and seized the 
 rail before him to steady himself. 
 
 " I would wipe out of existence every soul that 
 was concerned in those murders. I would have no 
 more civilized dealings with savages." 
 
 There was a sudden movement and murmur in 
 the circle on the platform. From the intentness 
 with which they had followed the questions and 
 answers, Monsignor saw that they understood Eng- 
 lish well enough. One man sprang to his feet. But 
 simultaneously the President was on his own, and 
 with a gesture and a sharp word or two restored 
 order. 
 
 " That is very deplorable violence," said Hardy. 
 *' But it is most Christian." 
 
 " I am beginning to think so myself," said the 
 
 priest. 
 
 "Well, well," said the other, tapping the table 
 irritably, " we must get on — " 
 
 A door behind him, communicating with the of- 
 fices behind the hall, opened suddenly as he spoke 
 these words, and he broke off. Monsignor fol- 
 lowed the direction of his eyes, and savv^ a man en- 
 ter who was plainly in a state of extreme excite- 
 ment. He was across the platform in three or four 
 
386 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 quick steps, and laid a paper before the President, 
 pushing by Hardy to do so. Then he stood back 
 abruptly and waited. The President took up the 
 paper deliberately and read it. Then he laid it 
 down again, and a question, too, was asked smartly 
 in the same rapid German, and answered smartly. 
 
 Then he turned, and creasing the paper between 
 his fingers as he spoke, uttered a sentence that 
 brought every man to his feet. 
 
 (IV) 
 
 In the confusion that followed Monsignor stood 
 for a while disregarded. The man who had 
 brought the message, had, after one more sentence 
 snapped at him over the President's shoulder, van- 
 ished once more. For the rest — they were up 
 now, forming into groups, talking excitedly, dis- 
 solving again, and re-forming. Only two remained 
 quiet — Hardy and the President ; the latter still in 
 his chair, staring out moodily, with the Englishman 
 whispering into his ear. Then Hardy, too, stood 
 back and stared about him. One or two men came 
 up, but he waved them aside. Then his eyes fell 
 upon the priest, still waiting: he slipped away from 
 the chair, came down the steps, and beckoned to 
 him. 
 
 Monsignor was in a whirl; but he turned and 
 came obediently out of his place into the corner by 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 387 
 
 the steps. He noticed as he came that even those 
 who guarded the lower doors were talking. 
 
 " There's news," whispered Hardy sharply. 
 " Another envoy is coming. Who is it? " 
 
 The priest shook his he^ i. 
 
 " I have no idea." 
 
 '* He'll be here in ten minutes," said Hardy. 
 " He passed the line of guard-boats five minutes 
 ago. Monsignor — '' 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Just come behind here a moment. I want to 
 have a word with you." 
 
 As they crossed the platform he slipped off again 
 to the President's chair, whispered a word to him, 
 and returned. 
 
 " Come through here," he whispered. 
 
 Together they passed through the door at the 
 back, and so into one of the little rooms through 
 which they had come together half an hour before. 
 There he closed both doors carefully and came up 
 to the priest. 
 
 " Monsignor," he said, and hesitated. 
 
 The priest looked at him curiously. He began 
 to see that a disclosure was coming. 
 
 " Monsignor, I have not been hard on you 
 . . . I came as soon as I could. . . ." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " I ... I don't know what's going to hap- 
 
388 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 pen. The envoy's coming at the last hour. The 
 Council is in a very divided state of mind. You 
 saw that?" 
 
 "Well?'' 
 
 " They're wavering. It's no use denying it. 
 They'd accept almost anything. It's perfectly des- 
 perate. They see that now." 
 
 He was fingering the priest's sleeve by now, and 
 his eyes were full of a pitiable anxiety. 
 
 " What do you wish me to do? " 
 
 " Well, they'll say I was responsible — if the ne- 
 gotiations come to anything, I mean. They'll say I 
 urged them on. They'll sacrifice me — me and the 
 President. They'll say they never would have gone 
 to such lengths — What's that noise?" 
 
 Monsignor jerked his head impatiently. He be- 
 gan to see light. 
 
 " Well," went on the other nervously, ** I want 
 you to speak for me, if necessary — if necessary, 
 you understand? You're a Christian, Monsignor. 
 . . . You'll stand by me." 
 
 The priest waited before answering; as the situa- 
 tion took shape before his eyes, he began to under- 
 stand more and more clearly ; and yet — 
 
 A voice called out sharply beyond the door, and 
 Hardy leapt to the handle, beckoning with his head ; 
 and as the priest obediently followed, he gave him 
 one more look of entreaty and opened the door. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 389 
 
 The President stood there. The great man, more 
 impressive than ever now, as his great height 
 showed itself, ran his eyes slowly over the two. 
 
 '* Come back to the hall," he said, so slowly that 
 even the priest understood it, and turned. 
 
 " The envoy's coming," whispered Hardy breath- 
 lessly, as he paused before following. " You'll re- 
 member, Monsignor." 
 
 It was hardly a minute since they had left, and 
 yet all confusion had vanished. Every man was 
 back in his seat, with that same impassive and yet 
 attentive air that they had worn when Monsignor 
 first saw them. Yet, with his new knowledge, it 
 seemed to him as if he could detect, beneath all that, 
 something of the indecisiveness of which he had 
 just learned. Certainly they were under admirable 
 discipline ; yet he began to see that discipline had its 
 limitations. 
 
 The President was already in the act of sitting 
 down, Hardy was stepping up behind him, and the 
 priest was still hesitating by the door, when down 
 at the lower end of the hall there was a movement 
 among those who guarded it, the great doors opened, 
 and a figure walked straight in, without looking to 
 right or left. 
 
 He came on and up ; and as he came the hush fell 
 deeper. It was impossible even to see his face; he 
 was in a long traveling cloak that fell to his feet; 
 
390 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 a traveling cap covered his head; and about his 
 throat and face was thrown a great white scarf, such 
 as the air-travelers often used. He came on, still 
 without looking to right or left, walking as if he 
 had some kind of right to be there, straight up to 
 the witness-box, ascended the steps, and stood there 
 for an instant motionless. 
 
 Then he unwound his scarf, lifted his cap and 
 dropped it beside him, threw back his cloak with a 
 single movement, and stood there — a white figure 
 from head to foot, white capped. . . . There 
 was a great sigh from the men on the platform; 
 two or three sprang to their feet, and sat down 
 again as suddenly. Only the President did not 
 move. Then there fell an absolute silence. 
 
 :(v) 
 
 " Eh, well," said the Pope in delicate French ; 
 " I am arrived in time then.'* 
 
 He looked round from side to side, smiling and 
 peering — this little commonplace-looking French- 
 man, who had in his hand at this period of the 
 world's history an incalculably greater power than 
 any living being on earth had ever before wielded 
 — Father of Princes and Kings, Arbiter of the 
 East, Father as well as Sovereign Lord of consid- 
 erably more than a thousand million souls. He 
 stood there, utterly alone, with a single servant 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 391 
 
 waiting out there, half a mile away, at the flying- 
 stage, in the presence of the Council who in the 
 name of the malcontents of the human race had de- 
 clared war on the world of which he was now all 
 but absolute master. No European nation could 
 pass a law which he had not the right to veto ; not 
 one monarch claimed to hold his crown except at 
 the hands of this man. And the East — even the 
 pagan East — had learned at last that the Vicar of 
 Christ was the Friend of Peace and Progress. 
 
 And he stood here, smiling and peering at the 
 faces. 
 
 " I come as my own envoy," said the Pope pres- 
 ently, adjusting his collar. '' The King said, ' They 
 will reverence My Son,' so I am come as the Vicar 
 of that Son. You have killed my two messengers, 
 I hear. Why have you done that? " 
 
 There was no answer. From where the priest 
 stood he could hear labored breathing on all sides, 
 but not a man moved or spoke. 
 
 " Eh, well, then, I have come to ofifer you a last 
 opportunity of submitting peacefully. In less than 
 an hour from now the armed truce expires. After 
 that we shall be compelled to use force. We do 
 not wish to use force ; but society must now protect 
 itself. I do not speak to you in the name of Christ ; 
 that name means nothing to you. So I speak in the 
 name of society, which you profess to love. Sub- 
 
392 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 mit, gentlemen, and let me be the bearer of the 
 good news." 
 
 He spoke still in that absolutely quiet and con- 
 versational tone in which he had begun. One hand 
 rested lightly on the rail before him; the other 
 gently fingered the great cross on his breast, nat- 
 urally and easily, as the priest had seen him finger 
 it once before in his own palace. It was unthink- 
 able that such a w^eight in the world's history rested 
 on so slight a foundation. Yet for a few frozen 
 moments no one else moved or spoke. It is prob- 
 able that the scene they witnessed seemed to them 
 unsubstantial and untrue. 
 
 Then, as the priest still stood, fascinated and 
 overwhelmed, he noticed a movement in the great 
 chair before him. Very slowly the President 
 shifted his position, clasping his hands loosely be- 
 fore him and bending forward a little. Then a dia- 
 logue began, of which every word remained in the 
 priest's mind as if written there. It was in French 
 throughout, the smooth delicacy of the Pope's in- 
 tonation contrasting strangely with the heavy Ger- 
 man accent of the other. 
 
 " You come in as an envoy, sir. Do you then 
 accept our terms? " 
 
 " I accept no terms. I offer them." 
 
 "And those?" 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 393 
 
 " Absolute and unconditional submission to my- 
 self." 
 
 " You received our notice as to the treatment of 
 such envoys? " 
 
 (There was a rustle in the hall, but the other paid 
 no attention.) 
 
 " But certainly." 
 
 *' You come armed then — protected in some 
 manner? " 
 
 The Pope smiled. He made a little opening ges- 
 ture with his hands. 
 
 " I come as you see me; no more." 
 
 " Your armies are behind you? " 
 
 " The European air-fleets start from every quar- 
 ter at midnight." 
 
 " With your consent? " 
 
 " But certainly." 
 
 " You understand that this means immeasurable 
 bloodshed?" 
 
 "But certainly." 
 
 "You defend that?" 
 
 " My Master came bringing not peace, but a 
 sword. But I am not here to teach theology." 
 
 " But until midnight — " 
 
 " Until midnight I am in your hands." 
 
 Again the silence fell, deeper than ever. Mon- 
 signor took his eyes off the Pope's face for an in- 
 
394 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 stant to glance round what he could see of the cir- 
 cle. All were staring steadily, some half sunk down 
 in their seats, others stretched forward, clasping 
 the outer edges of the desks with strained hands, all 
 staring at this quiet white figure who faced them. 
 He looked again at that face. If there had been in 
 it, not merely agitation or fear, but even unusual 
 paleness, if there had been in those hands, one of 
 which bore the great Papal ring, not merely trem- 
 bling, but even a sign of constriction or tenseness, 
 it might well have been, thought the priest after- 
 wards, that the scene would have ended very dif- 
 ferently. But the naturalness and ease of the pose 
 were absolute. He stood there, the hands lightly 
 laid one upon the other, his face palish certainly, 
 but not colorless. There was even a slight flush 
 in his cheeks from his quick walk up the long hall. 
 It was a situation in which the weight of a hair 
 would turn the scale. . . . 
 
 Then the President lifted his head slightly, and a 
 tremor ran round the circle. 
 
 " I see no reason for delay," he said heavily. 
 " Our terms are clear. This man came with the 
 full knowledge of them and the consequences of 
 disregarding them — " 
 
 The Pope lifted his hand. 
 
 **One instant, Mr. President — " 
 
 " I see no reason — " 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 395 
 
 '' Gentlemen — " 
 
 A murmur of consent rolled round the thirty per- 
 sons sitting there, so unmistakable that the man 
 who up to now had ruled them all with a hint or 
 gesture dropped his head again. Then the Pope 
 went on. 
 
 " Gentlemen, I have really no more to say than 
 that which I have said. But I beg of you to recon- 
 sider. You propose to kill me as you have killed 
 my messengers. Well, I am at your disposal. I did 
 not expect to live so long when I set out from 
 Rome this morning. But, then, what will you 
 gain? At midnight every civilized nation is in 
 arms. And I will tell you what perhaps you do not 
 know — that the East is supporting Europe. The 
 Eastern fleets are actually on their way at this mo- 
 ment that I speak. You propose to reform So- 
 ciety. I will not argue as to those reforms; I say 
 only that they are too late. I will not argue as to 
 the truth of the Christian religion. I say only that 
 the Christian religion is already ruling this world. 
 You kill me? My successor will reign to-morrow. 
 . . . You kill the Emperor; his son, now in 
 Rome, at that moment begins to reign. Gentlemen, 
 what do you gain? Merely this — that in days to 
 come your names will be foul in all men's mouths. 
 . . . At this moment you have an opportunity 
 to submit ; in a few minutes it will be too late." 
 
396 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 He paused a moment. 
 
 Then, to the priest's eyes, it seemed as if some 
 subtle change passed over his face and figure. Up 
 to now he had spoken, conversationally and quietly, 
 as a man might speak to a company of friends. 
 But, though he had not noticed it at the time, he 
 remembered later how there had been gathering 
 during his little speech a certain secret intensity and 
 force like the kindling of a fire. In this pause it 
 swept on and up, flushing his face with sudden 
 color, lifting his hands as on a rising tide, breaking 
 out suddenly in his eyes like fire, and in his voice in 
 passion. The rest saw it, too ; and in that tense at- 
 mosphere it laid hold of them as with a giant's 
 hand; it struck their tight-strung nerves; it broke 
 down the last barriers on which their own fears had 
 been at work. 
 
 " My children," cried the White Father, no longer 
 a Frenchman now, but a very Son of Man. " My 
 children, do not break my heart ! So long and hard 
 the labor — two thousand years long — two thou- 
 sand years since Christ died ; and you to wreck and 
 break the peace that comes at last; that peace into 
 which through so great tribulations the people of 
 God are entering at last. You say you know no 
 God, and cannot love Him ; but you know man — ■ 
 poor willful man — and would fling him back once 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 397 
 
 more into wrath and passion and lust for blood ? — 
 those lusts from which even now he might pass to 
 peace if it were not for you. You say that Christ 
 is hard — that His Church is cruel, and that man 
 must have liberty ? I, too, say that man must have 
 liberty — he was made for it ; but what liberty 
 would that be which he has not learned to use ? 
 
 " My children ! have pity on men, and on me 
 who strive to be their father. Never yet has Christ 
 reigned on earth till now — Christ who Himself 
 died, as I, His poor servant, am ready to die a 
 thousand times, if men may but themselves learn 
 to die to self and to live to Him. Have pity, then, 
 on the world you love and hope to serve. Serve 
 it indeed as best you can. Let us serve it to- 
 gether ! " 
 
 There was an instant's silence. 
 
 He stood there, his hands clasped in agony upon 
 his cross. Then he flung his hands wide in sudden, 
 silent appeal. 
 
 There was the crash of an overturned desk; the 
 crying out of desperate voices all together, and as 
 from the great tower overhead there beat out the 
 first stroke of midnight, the priest, on his knees now, 
 saw through eyes blind with tears, figures moving 
 and falling and kneeling towards that central form 
 that stood there, a white pillar of Royalty and sor- 
 
398 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 row, calling for the last time all the world unto 
 him. 
 
 But the President sat still at his desk, motion- 
 less. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 (I) 
 
 THE sight on which the watcher's eyes rested, 
 as he sat, hung here in motionlessness above 
 Westminster, a hundred feet higher than the great 
 St. Edward's Tower itself, was one not only un- 
 dreamed of, but even inconceivable to me of earlier 
 days. 
 
 For it seemed as if some vast invisible air-way 
 had been flung straight from the midst of London, 
 down away to the southwest horizon, where it ran 
 into the faint summer haze thirty miles away. So 
 level was the line held by the waiting volors on 
 either side — vast barges, shining like silver, hung 
 with the great state-cloths of modern days — that 
 it appeared as if the eye itself were deceived, as if 
 there were indeed a pavement of crystal, a river of 
 glass, so clear as itself to be unseen, on whose sur- 
 face floated this navy of a dream such as the world 
 itself had never imagined. 
 
 Now and again, like a fly on water, there darted 
 from one side to the other a tiny boat, in the blue 
 and silver of the city guards, or dropped, ducked 
 
 399 
 
400 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 and vanished ; now and again it wheeled, and came 
 whiding up the Hne, vanishing at last in the long 
 perspective. But, for the rest, the monsters waited 
 motionless in the sunlight, their state-cloths, hung 
 as from the old barges, from stem to stern, as mo- 
 tionless as themselves, except when now and again 
 the summer breeze stirred from the southwest, lift- 
 ing the lazy streamers, wafting softly the heavy 
 embroideries, and stirring, even as the wind stirs 
 the wheat, the glittering giants that waited to do 
 their Lord honor. 
 
 Opposite the air-barge where the watcher sat, per- 
 haps a hundred yards away, floated the royal boat, 
 between a pair of warships, one blaze of scarlet, 
 blue, and gold, flapping out the Royal Standard of 
 England, and flashing the glass of the stern-cabin as 
 the great creature rocked gently now and again in 
 the breeze; and upon its deck rose up the canopy 
 where the king and his consort sat together, and 
 the line of scarlet guards visible behind. On the 
 ^varships on either side the crew waited, the ship 
 itself dressed as for a review, every man motionless 
 at his post, with the crash of brass sounding from 
 the lower decks. And so down the line the eye of 
 the watcher went again and again, fascinated by 
 the beauty and the glory, down past where the great 
 ducal barges hung, each in order, past the officers 
 of state, past the Parliament barges, down to where 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 401 
 
 the boats, in numbers beyond all reckoning, faded 
 away into the haze. 
 
 To those who looked across to where the man 
 himself sat the sight must have been no less amaz- 
 ing. For he sat here, in his new dress of Cardinal's 
 scarlet, on the throne of ceremony beneath his can- 
 opy with his attendants about him, on a w4de deck 
 laid down with scarlet, its prow crowned by the sil- 
 ver cross — a silent watching figure, with a splen- 
 dor of romance about him more suggestive even 
 than the material glory that showed his newly won 
 dignity. 
 
 There was not a soul there in those astounding 
 crowds, whether among those who hanging here 
 between heaven and earth, awaited for the cere- 
 monial reception, the coming of him who was Vicar 
 of one and Lord of the other, or even among those 
 incalculable multitudes beneath, who packed the 
 streets, crowded the flat roofs and looked from 
 every window. It was this man they knew, this tiny 
 red figure, sitting solitary and motionless, who, 
 scarcely three months before had stood before the 
 revolutionary Council of Berlin, of his own will 
 and choice — who had gone there and faced what 
 seemed a certain death, for love of the old man 
 whose body now lay beneath the high-altar of the 
 tremendous cathedral beneath, and to whose office 
 and honors he had succeeded, and for the sake of 
 
402 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 the message he had carried. It was this man, alone 
 of the whole Christian world, who after looking 
 into the face of death, not for himself only, but for 
 one who was dearer to him and to that Christian 
 world than life itself, had seen in one moment the 
 last storm roll away from human history forever; 
 who had seen with his own eyes, Christ in this Vicar 
 
 — Princeps gloriasiis come at last — take the power 
 and reign. 
 
 He, too, was conscious of all this, at least sub- 
 consciously, as he sat motionless, a figure carved in 
 ivory, a man who had found peace at last. Here, 
 in the contemplating train, as with his eyes he 
 looked over the vast city of London, enormous and 
 exquisite beyond the dreams of either the reformers 
 or the artists of a centuiy ago, seen as through the 
 crystal of the summer air, as he lifted his eyes now 
 and again to the solemn barges opposite with all 
 that that dignity meant; above all as he looked 
 down that immeasurable line, that roadway of a 
 god, along which presently at least the Vicar of a 
 God should come — all this and a thousand mem- 
 ories more — memories of events such as few ex- 
 perience in a lifetime, crowded into twelve months 
 
 — passed in endless defile, coherent and consistent 
 at last under the pointing finger of Him who had 
 directed and evolved them all. 
 
 First, then, he saw himself, a child in knowledge, 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 403 
 
 beginning life at a point where many leave it off, 
 plunged into a world that was wholly strange and 
 bewildering, a world which though Christian in 
 name, seemed brutal in nature — brutal as the pagan 
 empires were brutal, yet without the excuse of their 
 ignorance and passion. 
 
 Yet his intellect had seemed unable to refute the 
 conclusion of that march of events, that adherence 
 of all ideals in a reasoned whole, that fulfillment of 
 instincts, that play of forces, upon which, as upon 
 a tide, Catholicism had floated to final victory in 
 the history of mankind. Not one element had 
 seemed wanting; and, as if to convince by sensible 
 visions that the brain that shrank from merely ar- 
 gued logic, one by one he had seen for himself as 
 in a picture lesson, and at Versailles the social 
 problem of an individual kingdom had once more 
 submitted to monarchy — that faulty mirror of the 
 Divine government of the world; how at Rome the 
 stability of rival kingdoms, had found itself once 
 more in an arbiter whose kingdom was not of this 
 world ; now finally, at Lourdes, in the widest circle 
 of all, the very science of the world itself had found 
 itself not confronted or opposed, but welcomed and 
 transcended by a school of thinkers whose limita- 
 tions lay only in the Infinite. 
 
 Once more then he had returned. Yet he found 
 that the head and the imagination are not all ; that 
 
404 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 man has a heart as well; and that this has its de- 
 mands no less inexorable than those of intellect. 
 And it was this heart of his that had seemed out- 
 raged and silenced. For he had found in Chris- 
 tianity a synthesis of ideas — a coincidence of 
 knowledge — which, while satisfying that head, 
 emerged in a system to which his heart could be no 
 party. Fie had learned that " Christian society 
 must protect itself " ; and he had seemed in this to 
 find a denial of the essential Christian doctrine that 
 success comes only by defeat, and triumph by the 
 Cross. It had seemed to him that Christ had ac- 
 cepted the taunts at last, had come down from that 
 Cross and won the homage only of those who did 
 not understand Him. He had been quieted indeed 
 for a time, under the power of men who, whatever 
 the rest of the world might do, still thought that 
 suffering was the other part. Yet he had been 
 quieted; not convinced. 
 
 Then he had sought a glimpse of the reverse of 
 the picture — of that which now seemed the sole 
 alternative to that faith which he feared — a glimpse 
 only; yet full of significance. For he had seen men 
 to whom the better part of themselves seemed noth- 
 ing; men who walked with downcast eyes, piling 
 mud and stones together, and fancying the heap to 
 be a very City of God. 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 405 
 
 Then, swift as grace itself, had come his an- 
 swer. 
 
 He had seen men who had ahxady all that the 
 world could give, men who, he had thought lusted 
 only for power, go to an unknown and yet a cer- 
 tain death for the sake of a world for which he had 
 thought they cared only to reign — and go with 
 smiles and cheerfulness. And while he still hurried 
 in indecision, still hesitated as to whether this or 
 that was the Kingdom of God — this shrinking 
 dream of a world sufficient to itself, or this bright- 
 ening vision — then the last light had come, and he 
 had seen as the augur by sheer self-abnigation, by 
 contempt of his own life, by the all but divine power 
 of an ordinary man walking in grace. There had 
 been no rhetoric in that triumph, no promises, no 
 intoxication of phrases, no overwhelming person- 
 ality such as that which had faced him. There had 
 been nothing but a little quiet personage with a 
 father's heart, who by his very fidelity to his hu- 
 man type, by the absolute simplicity of his presence 
 had first climbed to the highest point that man could 
 reach, and then by that same fidelity and simplicity, 
 had cast himself down, and in the very hour that 
 followed the unconditional surrender which his ene- 
 mies had made, had granted them a measure of lib- 
 erty such as they had never dreamed of. In the 
 
4o6 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 name of the Powers, whose super-lord and repre- 
 sentative he was, he had aboHshed the death-pen- 
 alty for opinions subversive of society or faith, sub- 
 stituting in its place deportation to the new Amer- 
 ican colonies; he had flung open certain positions 
 in Catholic states hitherto tenable only on a profes- 
 sion of the Christian religion to all men alike; and 
 he had guaranteed to the new colonies in America 
 a freedom from external control and a place among 
 civilized power such as they had never expected or 
 asked. 
 
 This then was the new type of man who had at 
 last conquered the world. It was not superman 
 that had been waited for so long, not a demigod 
 armed with powers of light; not man raising him- 
 self above his stature, building towers on earthly 
 foundations that should reach to heaven; not just 
 man, utterly true to himself and his instincts, walk- 
 ing humbly before his God; looking for a city that 
 has no foundations, coming down to him out of 
 heaven. It was supernature, not superman; grace 
 and truth transfiguring nature; not nature wrench- 
 ing itself vainly towards the stature of grace. It 
 was man who can suffer, who can reign; since he 
 only who knows his weakness, dares to be strong. 
 . . . Vicisti Galilaee! 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 407 
 
 (n) 
 
 Slowly then he had come to see that, as had 
 been told him long before, the kingdoms of this 
 world were already passing into the hands of a 
 higher dominion — and this was the significance of 
 this microcosm of those kingdoms that now lay be- 
 fore his bodily eyes. 
 
 There, opposite to him, in the blaze of sunlight, 
 stood the throne that for a thousand years had faced 
 the throne of the Fisherman, now as a Suzerain, 
 now as a rebel — stable and fixed at last in its al- 
 legiance. Here beneath him lay London, the finest 
 city in the world, where, if ever anywhere, had been 
 tried the experiment of a religion resting on the 
 strength of a national isolation instead of a univer- 
 sal supernationalism ; it had been tried, and found 
 wanting. Beneath him lay his own cathedral, al- 
 ready blazing within like a treasure-cave, ready for 
 its consummation, without, tranquil and strong; be- 
 hind him the ancient Abbey once again in the hands 
 of the children; far away to the right, seeming 
 strangely near in this lucid atmosphere, hung, like 
 a bubble, the great dome below which, as he knew, 
 stood the first basilican altar in London, newly con- 
 secrated as a sign of its papal dignities and priv- 
 ileges. And beyond that again London; and yet 
 a^ain London, a wonderful white city, gleaming at 
 
4o8 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 a thousand points with cross and spire and dome 
 and pinnacle, patched with green in square and 
 park and open space — London come back again 
 at last to her ancient faith and her old prosperity. 
 
 But this was not all. 
 
 For he knew and his imagination circled out 
 wider and wider that he might take it in — he knew 
 that Europe itself at last dwelt again with one mind 
 in her house. There beyond the channel — across 
 which ten minutes ago, as the thunder of guns had 
 told him, the Arbiter of the World had come at last 
 with his train of kings behind him — there lay the 
 huge continent, the great plains of France, the for- 
 ests of Germany, the giant tumbled debris of Switz- 
 erland, the warm and radiant coasts, the ancient 
 world-stage of Italy, passionate Spain which never 
 yet had wholly lost her love. There all lay, at one 
 at last, each her own, with her own liberties and 
 customs and traditions, yet each in the service of 
 her neighbor, since each and all alike lay beneath 
 the Peace of God. 
 
 Still wider fled his thought. . . . He saw to 
 the southwards and far away westwards across the 
 seas, how now this country, now that, flew its flag 
 and administered its laws, yet how those flags all 
 together saluted the Crossed Keys ; how those laws, 
 however diverse, bowed all together before the Law 
 of Liberty; and how there, farther yet, already the 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 409 
 
 gates of the East had rolled back, and how there 
 peered out across half the world the patient seek- 
 inof forces of those old children of earth, awakened 
 at last to destinies greater than their own — awak- 
 ened, not as men had once feared, by the thunder 
 of Christian guns, but by the call of the Shepherd 
 to sheep that were not of His Fold. . . . 
 
 So there the vision lay before him — this man 
 who had lost his memory and had found a greater 
 gift instead. 
 
 An old priest in the white fur of a canon came 
 gently up the deck from behind. . . . 
 
 " Your Eminence . . ." he said, " they have 
 signaled up the line. ... I thought, perhaps — " 
 
 The new Cardinal started as one from a dream. 
 
 "What is it. Father Jervis? . . ." 
 
 The old man looked at him closely; then he laid 
 his hand on his arm. 
 
 " Your Eminence, the King is waiting. Do you 
 not remember? Your Eminence was to give the 
 signal." 
 
 Beneath, like huge voices speaking a single word 
 all at once, roared the old guns from the Tower and 
 Greenwich and the palaces. 
 
 The Cardinal shook his head. 
 
 " I ... I forget," he said ; '' I was think- 
 ing. . . . What am I to do ? " 
 
 The old priest looked at him again earnestly, 
 
4IO THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 without speaking. Then he leaned forward closer 
 still. 
 
 " Will your Eminence authorize me to give the 
 signals? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, Father . . . anything. What 
 am I to do? Have I to say anything? " 
 
 His eyes had a look of dawning terror in them 
 as he glanced from side to side. The priest once 
 again laid his hand on the lace-covered wTist and 
 held it there steadily. 
 
 " Nothing at all, your Eminence. You have sim- 
 ply to sit still. I will arrange everything." 
 
 Still standing there, he turned slightly and made 
 a sharp gesture behind the throne with his left 
 hand. A bell sounded instantly. There was a mo- 
 ment's silence. Then once again a bell; and a 
 chorus answered it. 
 
 Very slowly the Cardinal lifted his head, and 
 saw before him the Royal barge sway ever so 
 slightly, conscious himself that through his own 
 vessel a vibration was beginning to run as the huge 
 engines beneath moved into action. Again roared 
 the guns far down the river, and, as the bellow 
 ceased, from a thousand steeples broke out the 
 clamor of brazen tongues. . . . 
 
 He sat still; he knew at least that this he must 
 do. . . . Surely this obscurity of brain would 
 pass again in a moment. He was going to meet 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 411 
 
 the Holy Father, was he not? . . . down 
 there, down that road of hght and air, along which 
 now his great barge floated side by side with the 
 King's. That was it. He remembered again now 
 as his memory flickered in glimpses. This was the 
 great Progress round the world of the new Arbiter 
 of the World, the Vicar of the Prince of Peace, 
 come into his kingdom at last. 
 
 He kept his eyes steadily before him, scarcely 
 seeing the flash of the river as it swept beneath him 
 and aw^ay, or on all sides the dipping flags, the 
 monstrous gilded prows, the bravery of color, down 
 this broad road on which he went, scarcely con- 
 scious that, as he passed, the great barges wheeled 
 behind him to follow to the meeting ; scarcely hear- 
 ing the tremendous music that, sweeping up from 
 the crowded streets below, wafted up to him the 
 adoration of a free people who had learned at last 
 that the Law of Liberty was the Law of Love. 
 
 Ah ! there at last they came. . . . 
 
 Far down, rising" every instant higher above the 
 
 summer haze, outlined against a heaven of intensest 
 
 blue, approached a cloud that sparkled as it came, 
 
 that broke into a thousand points of color — a long, 
 
 flat cloud, seen at first as a streamer stretched 
 
 across the sky, curving down behind, as it seemed, 
 
 into the haze from which it came. On and up it 
 21 
 
412 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 came, growing every instant, widening and deep- 
 ening, ever more and more clear in color and form 
 and depth. 
 
 It could be seen now of what elements it was 
 made — a throng of tiny specks, moving like stately 
 birds, which, even as the eye watched, seemed to 
 spread their vrings upon the breeze that followed; 
 to expand their bulk, and to grow, as the distance 
 lessened, into the separate colors of each. . . . 
 
 Then once again bellowed the guns, heard now 
 like the voice of articulate thunder five miles be- 
 hind, rolling up the river as if to speed this fleet 
 upon its way ; and still he kept his eyes upon those 
 who came so swiftly. 
 
 There in front moved the great guard-ships, mon- 
 sters of polished steel, decked at prow and stern 
 with the huge banners that stood out straight be- 
 hind in the swiftness of their coming, but which, 
 even as he looked, flapped and bellied to this side 
 and that as the speed decreased. Then, wheeling 
 outwards, disclosing as they wheeled the insignia 
 that each bore, the eagles of Germany, the lilies of 
 France and the rest, the guard of thirty giants fell 
 once more into line, half a mile apart, as those that 
 followed came on, and waited, beating the air with 
 the shimmer of their netted wings. 
 
 Then ship after ship came up, each wheeling in 
 its turn and waiting, building now up with the 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 413 
 
 speed of thought a vast semi-circle, expanding ever 
 more and more swiftly, as the watcher looked — 
 himself halted now, with the royal barge on his 
 right and his train of boats behind. There each 
 in its turn passed the air-navies of the Great Pow- 
 ers, come to bring their Lord with honor on his 
 progress through the world — vast armaments of in- 
 conceivable war, enrolled at last in the service of 
 the Prince of Peace. 
 
 Then when the movement was complete, and there 
 lay there across the burning blue of the sky, five 
 hundred feet in air, this vast curve of glittering 
 splendor, ten miles from horn to horn, on came the 
 great fleet that they had escorted. 
 
 There, then, the watcher saw two by two, first 
 the barges of the Papal Orders, the Order of the 
 Holy Sepulcher with its five- fold cross, and the 
 Golden Spur, leading — huge mediaeval galleons, 
 carved at prow and stem, each bearing its insignia ; 
 then came couple after couple bearing the Papal 
 Court, followed closely by great barges, each with 
 its canopy and throne, and the coat of the Cardinal 
 whom each bore flying overhead. 
 
 And then a glorious sight. 
 
 For, moving alone in a solid phalanx, each vessel 
 separated only by the space necessary for close 
 maneuvering, came the royal barges of Europe, 
 flanked on either side by a line of guard-boats — 
 
414 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 France, Austria, and Germany, then Belgium and 
 Holland, then the Scandinavian kingdoms, then a 
 crowd of lesser States from the Balkan, Greece, 
 and the Black Sea; then the black-eagled barge of 
 Russia, and finally the great galleons of Spain and 
 Italy: and on each sat a royal figure beneath a 
 canopy of state. And last of all moved a huge 
 vessel, in scarlet and white, with a banner of white 
 and gold and cross-keys at the prow; scarcely seen 
 at first through the crowding craft, with a squadron 
 of guard-ships coming after. 
 
 There, then, the man who had lost his memory 
 sat motionless, and watched it all — this astound- 
 ing display of inner grace transformed into glory 
 at last, that Royalty which, since first the Fisherman 
 took his seat in Holy Rome, had little by little, 
 through reverse and success, forced its way out- 
 wards on the world — the leaven hid in the meal 
 till all was leavened. . . . And it seemed to 
 him as he looked, as if through the splendor of the 
 mid-day sun, the glitter of that sea of air-craft — 
 through the pealing of the bells beneath and the 
 shock of the guns and the shrill crying that filled 
 the air — there moved other Presences, too, in yet 
 a third medium than those of air and earth; as if 
 diffused throughout this material plane was a world 
 of more than matter and mind, more than of sense 
 and perception — a world where all was reconciled 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 415 
 
 and made at one — this clash of flesh and spirit — 
 and that at last each answered to each, and spirit 
 inspired flesh, and flesh expressed spirit. It seemed 
 to him, for one blinding instant, as if at last he 
 saw how distance was contained in a single point, 
 color in whiteness, and sound in silence, as at the 
 very word of Him who now at last had taken His 
 power and reigned, Whose Kingdom at last had 
 come indeed, to whom in very truth All Power was 
 given in heaven and earth. . . . 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 'T^HE white-skirted, clean-looking doctor came 
 '*' briskly and noiselessly into the little room 
 that opened off Ward No. IV in the Westminster 
 Hospital as the clock pointed to nine o'clock in the 
 morning, and the nursing-sister stood up to receive 
 him. 
 
 " Good morning, sister," he said. " Any 
 change?" 
 
 " He seemed a little disturbed about an hour ago 
 by the bells," she said. " But he hasn't spoken at 
 all." 
 
 Together they stood and looked down on the un- 
 conscious man. He lay there motionless with 
 closed eyes, his unshaven cheek resting on his hand, 
 his face fallen into folds and hollows, colorless and 
 sallow. The red coverlet drawn up over his shoul- 
 der helped to emphasize his deadly pallor. 
 
 " It's a curious case," said the doctor. " I've 
 never seen coma in such a case last so long." 
 
 He still stared at him a moment or two ; then he 
 laid the back of his hand gently against the dying 
 man's cheek, then again he consulted through his 
 
 416 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 417 
 
 glasses the chart that hung over the head of the 
 bed. 
 
 " Win he recover consciousness before the end, 
 doctor? " 
 
 " It's very likely ; it's impossible to say. Send 
 for me if there's any change." 
 
 "I mayn't send for a priest, doctor?" she said 
 hesitatingly. '' You know — " 
 
 He shook his head sharply. 
 
 " No, no. He distinctly refused, you remem- 
 ber. It's impossible, sister. . ^ . I'm very 
 sorry." 
 
 When he had gone, she sat down again, and drew 
 out her beads furtively upon her lap. 
 
 It was a horrible position for her. She, a Cath- 
 olic, knew now pretty well the history of this man 
 — that he himself was a priest who had lost the 
 faith, who had associated himself with an historian 
 who was writing a history of the Popes from what 
 he called an impartial standpoint, who had, so the 
 doctor said, distinctly and resentfully refused the 
 suggestion that another priest should be sent to 
 help him to make his peace before he died. And, 
 for her, as a convinced Catholic, the position had a 
 terror that is simply inconceivable to those of a less 
 positive faith. 
 
 She could do nothing more. . . . She said 
 her beads. 
 
4i8 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 There was a curious mixture of silence and sound 
 here on this Easter Sunday in this bare, airy Httle 
 ward, with the door closed, and the windows open 
 only at the top. The room had a remote kind of 
 atmosphere about it, obtained perhaps partly by 
 the solidity of the walls, partly by the fact that it 
 looked out on to a comparatively unfrequented 
 lane, partly by the suggestiveness of a professional 
 sick-room. The world was all about it; yet it 
 seemed rather to this nurse, sitting alone at her 
 prayers and duties, as if she had a window into 
 the common world of life rather than that she 
 actually was a part of it. Even the sounds that 
 entered here had this remote tone about them; the 
 footsteps and talking of strayed holiday-makers, 
 occasional fragmentary peals of bells, the striking 
 of the clock in high Victoria Tower — all these 
 noises came into the room delicately and sugges- 
 tively rather than as interruptions, yet distinct and 
 noticeable because of the absence of the usual rush 
 of traffic across the great square outside. 
 
 The nurse dozed a little over her beads. (She had 
 been on duty since the evening before, and would 
 not be relieved for another hour yet. ) And it seemed 
 to her, as so often in that half-sleep, half-wake- 
 fulness when the drowsy brain knows all necessary 
 things and awakes alert again in an instant at any 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 419 
 
 unusual movement or sound, as if these sounds be- 
 gan to take on them tones of other causes than 
 those of themselves. 
 
 It seemed, for example, as if the steady murmur 
 were the shouting of phantom crowds at an immeas- 
 urable distance, punctuated now again by the noise 
 of distant guns, as, somewhere round a corner a 
 vehicle passed over a crossing of cobble-stones ; as 
 if the bells of the churches rang with a deliberate 
 purpose, to welcome or rejoice over some event 
 . some entry of a king, she fancied, in a 
 far-off city. Once even, so deep grew her drowsi- 
 ness, she fancied herself looking down on some 
 such city, herself up in the sunlight and air, float- 
 ing on the cloudy vessel of her own sleep. . . . 
 
 '^ Pray for us sinners," she murmured, " now and 
 in the hour of our death." 
 
 Then she awoke in earnest, and saw the eyes of 
 the patient fixed intelligently upon her. 
 
 " Fetch a priest," he said. 
 
 " Father," said the dying man an hour later, " is 
 that all? Have you finished ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear father — thank God ! " . . . 
 
 " Well ; sit down a minute or two. I want to 
 talk to you." 
 
 The young priest, sent for nearly an hour ago in 
 haste from the Cathedral, finished putting up again 
 
420 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 into his little leather case the tiny stocks of holy 
 oil with which he had just anointed the dying man. 
 He had heard his confession ... he had re- 
 turned again to fetch the Viaticum and the oils; 
 and now all was done ; and the old priest was recon- 
 ciled and at peace. The young man was still a little 
 tremulous; it was his first reconciliation of a dying 
 apostate, and it seemed to him a marvelous thing that 
 a man could come back after so long, and so simply 
 — and an apostate priest at that! He had heard 
 this man's name before, and heard his story. 
 
 But he was intensely anxious to know what it 
 was that had wrought the miracle. The sister had 
 told him that until this moment the patient had 
 steadily refused even the suggestion to send for a 
 priest. And then when he had come, there had been 
 no preliminaries. He had simply slipped on his 
 stole as the sister went to the door, sat down by 
 the bedside, heard the confession and undertaken 
 one or two little acts of restitution on his penitent's 
 behalf. 
 
 He sat down again now and waited. 
 
 The man in the bed lay with closed eyes, and an 
 extraordinary peace rested over him. It was al- 
 most impossible to believe, so white were the re- 
 flections of these clean walls, so white the linen, 
 that there was not a certain interior luminosity that 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 421 
 
 shone over his features. His chin and lips and 
 jaws were covered with a week's stubble, his eye- 
 lids were sunk in the sockets, and the temples looked 
 shrunken and hollow; yet there was a clearness of 
 skin, not yet dusky with the shadow of death, that 
 appeared almost supernatural to this young man 
 who looked at him. 
 
 " The sign of the Prophet Jonas," said the dying 
 priest suddenly. . . . '' Resurrection." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " That is what I have seen," he said. . . . 
 '' No ; I know it was a dream. . . . But it is 
 possible; the Church has the power within her. It 
 may happen some day; or it may not. But there 
 is no reason why it should not? " 
 
 The other leant over him. 
 
 " My dear father — " he began. 
 
 The old priest smiled. 
 
 " It is a long time since I heard that," he said. 
 . . . '' What's your name, father ? " 
 
 " Jervis . . . Father Jervis. I come from 
 the Cathedral." 
 
 The eyes opened and looked at him curiously. 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " Father Jervis," said the young priest again. 
 
 "Any relations?" 
 
 " Some nephews — children. That's all of my 
 
422 THE DAWN OF ALL 
 
 "Ah, well! Perhaps—" (He broke off). 
 '' Did they tell me your name, before I became un- 
 conscious? " 
 
 " It's very likely. I'm the visiting chaplain 
 here." 
 
 ''Ah, well! Who knows — ? But that doesn't 
 matter. . . . Father, how long have I to 
 live?" 
 
 The young priest leaned forward and laid his 
 hand on the other's arm. 
 
 " A few hours only, father," he said gently. 
 . . . ''You are not afraid?" 
 
 '' Afraid r' 
 
 His eyes closed, and he smiled naturally and 
 easily. 
 
 " Well ; listen. Lean closer. . . . No 
 
 . . call the sister in. I want her to hear, 
 too." 
 
 "Sister—" 
 
 She came forward, her eyes heavy with sleep, but 
 they w^re bright, too, with an immense joy. 
 
 "Can you wait up a little longer, sister?" said 
 Father Jervis. " He wants us both to hear what 
 he has to say." 
 
 " Why, of course." 
 
 She sat down on the other side of the bed. 
 
 Still the sounds from outside went on — the foot- 
 steps and the voices and the bells. They were be- 
 
THE DAWN OF ALL 423 
 
 ginning to ring for the Easter morning service 
 in the Abbey ; and still, within this room, was this 
 air of silence and remoteness. 
 
 " Now, listen carefully," said the dying man. 
 
 THE END 
 
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