Chapter XII

“THE MASTER CHRISTIAN”--IF CHRIST CAME TO ROME!

There had been a considerable pause in the writings of Miss Corelli, for reasons which have already been discussed, when, in August, 1900, “The Master Christian” appeared.

Miss Corelli commenced “The Master Christian” at Brighton on All Saints’ Day, 1897, in the hope that she would get through it before the terrible illness she had been suffering from for seven years reached an acute stage. The novelist, however, was almost dying on Christmas Eve of the same year, and on December 29th the surgeons took her in hand. She was dangerously ill during January, February, and March, 1898. In April and May Miss Corelli was just beginning to recover when the shock occasioned by her stepbrother’s death on June 2d produced a relapse, and she very nearly died from grief and weakness combined. She was ill all the rest of the year, and, a long period of convalescence following, she did not resume “The Master Christian” till the spring of 1899.

“The Master Christian” is Marie Corelli’s longest work, containing, as it does, over six hundred and thirty-four closely printed pages. While occupied upon it, the novelist had also to fulfil a long-standing engagement with Messrs. Hutchinson & Co. “Boy” and “The Master Christian” were, therefore, claiming her attention practically at the same time.

The writing of the two books under the circumstances was a stupendous undertaking. The effort required was so great that she often had to lay down her pen and lean back in her chair almost fainting from nervous exhaustion caused by the severity of the work and its effect upon her in her still weak condition.

It is a painfully interesting proceeding to read “The Master Christian” and then a large number of the reviews of the book which appeared. The conclusion is forced upon one that many of the critics had not taken the trouble to perform the obvious duty of reading a book that was to be “slated,” but had merely glanced at a page here, and quoted a passage, without the context, there. Either this was what happened or there was misconception of the book through ignorance or deliberate misrepresentation. It is really astounding to realize the manner in which Miss Corelli has been “criticised,” and one notable incident of many within our experience will serve to indicate what is a too frequent sin.

It was at the dinner of a well-known literary club, and ladies had been invited. One lady sat beside a gentleman who, years ago, was editor of a great daily newspaper, whose name is familiar to all as a notable and experienced journalist and critic, and who has arrived at an age when discretion, if not fairness, should be practiced. The lady was a friend of Marie Corelli’s, and upon the works of the novelist, who was also at the dinner, the conversation turned. The critic expressed the utmost contempt for her books, and used language so bitterly sarcastic and so grossly unfair that the lady gently asked: “Have you really ever read any of her works?” The question was natural. The answer was astonishing: it was the bald admission, “No.” Surely comment is unnecessary.

A somewhat similar incident may be quoted in connection with “Boy.” Sir Francis (then Mr.) Burnand, as the “Baron de Bookworms,” in _Punch_, said that he considered “Boy” “a work of genius.” Several critics took his article up, and declared that he had never done anything better in the way of _satire_. Miss Corelli thereupon wrote to Burnand and asked him if he had really _meant_ his apparently generous praise.

He wrote back:

“I said it; I wrote it; I meant it, every word of it. ‘Press
cuttings’ be blowed!

“Yours, F. C. BURNAND.”

One writer in the _Sunday Sun_ observed that as Burnand had fallen so low as to praise a work of Marie Corelli’s, he had “no other remedy but to take a bag of stones and break Mr. Punch’s windows!” He added that “he had not read ‘Boy’ and _didn’t intend to_.” Again, comment would be superfluous. The facts speak for themselves and show our contention to be correct, _i.e._, that condemnatory criticisms of Marie Corelli’s books are written at times by those who do not even read them.

One of the critics who does read what he comments upon in the way of books, but who, though a deep thinker, is sometimes trivial, superficial, and even frivolous in his treatment of a subject, is Mr. W. T. Stead. He is as amazing to others as others very often are to him. He must, we think, have been smiling pretty broadly when he wrote: “If any one wants to know what ‘The Master Christian’ is like, _without reading its six hundred and thirty pages_, he will not have much difficulty if he takes Sheldon’s ‘In His Steps,’ Zola’s ‘Rome,’ and any of Marie Corelli’s previous novels in equal proportion.” A strange suggestion, that! “In His Steps,” Zola’s “Rome,” and an equal proportion of, say, _either_ “Vendetta” or “The Sorrows of Satan!” Reading the book itself seems to be so much more simple--and just.

Again, Mr. Stead referred to “The Master Christian” and to Mrs. Humphrey Ward’s “Robert Elsmere,” and speaking of their great success, he wrote: “The phenomenal sale of such works is perhaps much more worthy of consideration than anything that is to be found within the covers of the books themselves.” Now the matter for consideration raised in “The Master Christian” is whether Christians, and more especially the Pope of Rome and the priests of the Romish Church, obey the commands and attempt to fulfil the behests of Jesus Christ. We should have thought Mr. Stead would have regarded that question, at any rate, as more important than the mere numerical sale of a book. Mr. Stead also said that as a book the chief fault of “The Master Christian” was its lack of sympathy. Yet the whole teaching of the work is a Divine charity. “If any man hear my words and believe not, I judge him not; for I came not to judge the world, but to save the world.” The chief figure in the book is Manuel, Christ once more in the world in the form of a child, and if his utterances show a “lack of sympathy,”--with lies and superstitious idolatry,--yet he speaks largely from the words of Christ and the Apostles. Well may it be doubted, with the author, whether, if Christ came once more to earth, He would be welcome.

It is said again that “The Master Christian” is a bitter attack upon the Roman Catholic Faith. It is nothing of the kind. After Manuel, the child-Christ, the chief character is that of Cardinal Bonpré, who is devoted to the Church of Rome but who also believes in Christ, and the two things, unhappily, are not always akin. If the man-made portion of the Roman Catholic dogma has hidden the teachings of Christ on which that Church was founded, that is the fault and the misfortune of the Church of Rome, and not of Marie Corelli, who is bold enough to speak the truth about the matter. That faith in God which is her standby is what she would wish to see in the ministry of the Roman Catholic Church, instead of, as she fears, a mere degenerate, priest-built, superstitious reliance upon symbolic shams.

Marie Corelli’s personal views may be taken to be those to which one of her characters, Aubrey Leigh, gives expression: “I never denied the beauty, romance, or mysticism of the Roman Catholic Faith. If it were purified from the accumulated superstition of ages, and freed from intolerance and bigotry, it would perhaps be the grandest form of Christianity in the world. But the rats are in the house, and the rooms want cleaning.” She attacks neither the Roman Catholic Faith nor even the Church. She makes a terrible onslaught upon the rats.

“The Master Christian” is both a novel and a sermon. The story of the book is intensely interesting, in “plot” clever and original. It is one of the refreshing features of Miss Corelli’s books that the plots always are original. She does not go to the British Museum or to the productions of Continental novelists to find her themes. Wherever, in “The Master Christian,” the mission of the book can best be emphasized, even though what critics call the “art of the story”--as to which we should like something in the nature of a clear definition--gives way to it, she pursues the mission. After all, we have an idea that if literature possesses merit, it is rather because it is followed as a means of influencing men’s minds than as an attempt to write a story, the lines of which fall together as harmoniously as do the notes of a perfect string band. Such a book if produced

would, we fancy, be so harmonious that it would have no influence to raise men and women to think.

With “The Master Christian” the reader has to think all the time. It is a sermon of great power, and the text of it is supplied, as it should be, by the fair preacher. It will be remembered that in the year 1900 the late Dr. St. George Mivart, a priest of the Church of Rome, was inhibited by His Eminence Cardinal Vaughan, on account of certain scientific works which were displeasing to the Church. Shortly afterwards Dr. Mivart died and the Romish Church even denied him religious rites of burial. In an “In Memoriam” note appended to her “Open letter to Cardinal Vaughan” on this subject, Marie Corelli wrote: “In the name of the all-loving and merciful Christ, whose teachings we, as Christians, profess to follow, it is necessary to enter a strong protest against this barbarous act in a civilized age, and to set it down beside the blind stupidity which arraigned glorious Galileo, and the fiendish cruelty which supported Torquemada. For the words of the Divine Master are a command to Churches as well as to individuals: ‘If ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive you your trespasses!’”

We wonder if that saying of Christ’s was remembered when the ban of excommunication was pronounced by the Greek Church against Count Leo Tolstoy! We wonder if that saying of Christ’s is remembered at Rome when any ban of excommunication is passed, when religious rites of burial are denied to any man! And if the reply be that the words do not apply because the Pope and his priests commit no trespasses, we can only wonder what Christ would say if He came to Rome; and, further, we believe that He would say much that the child-Christ Manuel utters in “The Master Christian.”

The text of the book is that charity and forgiveness--the carrying out of Christ’s commands in the spirit of the Saviour--should guide mankind to-day, that they apply to-day as they did in the days of Christ’s sojourn on earth, and that the conditions of the world to-day are such as render it possible for Christians to walk in His steps. In the “open letter” to Cardinal Vaughan, already referred to, we find in some of the passages a true insight into the spirit of and the aims with which “The Master Christian” was written.

“My Lord Cardinal,” she says, “there are certain of us in the world
who, overwhelmed by the desperate difficulties of life and the
confusion arising from numerous doctrines, forms, and ceremonies
instituted by divers Churches and Sects, are fain to fall back from
the general hurly-burly, and turn for help and refuge to the
original Founder of the Christian Faith. He, with that grand
simplicity which expresses Divinity, expounded ‘the Way, the Truth,
and the Life,’ in words of such plain and uninvolved meaning, that
the poorest and least educated of us all cannot but understand Him.
Gracious, tender, and always patient and pardoning, was every
utterance of the God amongst us; and among all His wise and
consoling sayings, none are, perhaps, more widely tolerant than
this: ‘If any man hear My words and believe not, I judge him not;
for I came not to judge the world, but to save the world.’ My Lord
Cardinal, there are many at this time of day who have so gained in
a reasonable conception of faith, that when they hear the words of
Christ delivered to them simply as first uttered, they are willing
to believe, but hearing the edicts of the Church contrasted with
those words, they ‘believe not.’ The teachings of Christ--Christ
only--are so true that they cannot be denied; so beautiful that
they command our reverence; and the Creed of Christ, if honestly
followed, would make a fair and happy world for us all.”

And again,

“We are somewhat bewildered when we discover, by reference to the
Gospel, that the Church commands us frequently to do precisely what
the founder of our Faith commanded us _not_ to do. And what, we may
ask, is the Will of this great Father which is in Heaven? Is it to
swear to what our own conscience and reason declare to be false? Is
it to look in the face of Science, the great Heaven-sent Teacher
of our time, and say, ‘You who have taught me, mere pigmy man, to
press the lightning into my service, to take the weight and
measurement of stars, to send my trifling messages of weal or woe
on the eternal currents of electric force--You, who daily unfold
for me the mysteries of God’s glorious creation--You who teach me
that the soul of man, immortal and progressive, is capable of
infinite enlightenment and increasing power--You, who expound the
majesty, the beneficence, the care, the love, the supporting
influence of the Creator, and bring me to my knees in devout
adoration--am I to say to You who teach me all this that You are a
Lie? Am I rather to believe that a statue made by hands, and set in
a grotto at Lourdes or elsewhere, is a worthier object for my
prayer and my praise? Am I doing God’s will by believing that my
base coin, paid for sundry masses in churches, will sway the
Creator of the Universe to give peace to the departed spirits of my
dead?’”

Marie Corelli, by the words of Manuel, as we think it is recognized, gives a truer interpretation of the Divine Will. Even the title page contains a quotation from St. Luke that is a protest against many of the practices of the Romish and other Churches: “Why call ye Me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?”

* * * * *

The story of “The Master Christian” opens in Rouen, where a Roman Catholic prelate, Cardinal Felix Bonpré, is seen in the Cathedral of Notre Dame. This Cardinal is a pious and true man who has for many years contented himself with the administration of his diocese and the performance of good work. His Rouen visit is a portion of a tour of several months taken for purposes of health, and with the object of judging for himself how the great world, of which he has seen little, is faring, “whether on the downward road to destruction and death, or up to the high ascents of progress and life.” The farther he travels the more depressed he becomes by the results of his observations. Within Rouen Cathedral Cardinal Bonpré hears singularly soothing music, though whence it comes he is unable to perceive. He is impressed with a peculiar sense of some divine declaration of God’s absolute omniscience, and a question seems to be whispered in his ears:

“When the Son of Man cometh, think ye He shall find faith on earth?”

With his growing experience of the confusion and trouble of the world, the Cardinal is forced to the conclusion that there is an increasing lack of faith in God and a Hereafter; and of the reason for it he thinks: “We have failed to follow the Master’s teaching in its true perfection. We have planted in ourselves a seed of corruption, and we have permitted--nay, some of us have encouraged--its poisonous growth till it now threatens to contaminate the whole field of labor.”

Cast down by these reflections, the good Cardinal proceeds to the Hotel Poitiers, a modest hostelry preferred by him to the Palace of the Archbishop of Rouen, another “Prince of the Church,” a term which Cardinal Bonpré--like Miss Corelli--finds particularly detestable, especially when used in connection with a Christian Church wherein she thinks distinctive ranks are a mistake and even Anti-Christian.

At the inn a striking picture is drawn by the novelist of the evil effect upon the children of France brought about by the removal of religious instruction from the schools. The two charmingly precocious children of Jean and Madame Patoux are quite old in agnostic views and doubts. There also Bonpré has his first serious religious argument with the Archbishop of Rouen, whom he astonishes by declaring that the Church herself is responsible for the increase of ungodliness.

“If our Divine faith were lived Divinely there would be no room for
heresy or atheism. The Church itself supplies the loophole for
apostasy.... In the leading points of creed I am very steadfastly
convinced;--namely, that Christ was Divine, and that the following
of His Gospel is the saving of the immortal soul. But if you ask
me whether I think that we (the Church of Rome) do truly follow
that Gospel, I must own that I have doubts upon the matter.”

We are informed here, also, through Cardinal Bonpré, of what Marie Corelli means by Paulism. Ministers of religion, he declares, should literally obey all Christ’s commands:

“The Church is a system,--but whether it is as much founded on the
teaching of our Lord, who was Divine, as on the teaching of St.
Paul, who was not divine, is a question to me of much
perplexity.... I do not decry St. Paul. He was a gifted and clever
man, but he was a Man--he was not God-in-Man. Christ’s doctrine
leaves no place for differing sects; St. Paul’s method of applying
that doctrine serves as authority for the establishment of any and
every quarrelsome sect ever known.... I do not think we fit the
Church system to the needs of modern civilization ... we only offer
vague hopes and dubious promises to those who thirst for the living
waters of salvation and immortality.”

Cardinal Bonpré that night has a vision of the end of the world, and in his agony at the spectacle he cries: “Have patience yet, Thou outraged and blasphemed Creator! Break once again Thy silence as of old, and speak to us! Pity us once again, ere Thou slay us utterly! Come to us even as Thou camest in Judea, and surely we will receive Thee and obey Thee, and reject Thy love no more.” And a divine voice replies: “Thy prayer is heard, and once again the silence shall be broken. Nevertheless, remember that the light shineth in Darkness, and the Darkness comprehendeth it not.” At this juncture a plaintive cry falls on his ears, and he goes out into the night to discover the cause. He proceeds to the Cathedral, and there, in the deeply hollowed portal, discovers the slight shrinking figure of a child--

“A boy’s desolate little figure,--with uplifted hands clasped
appealingly and laid against the shut cathedral door, and face
hidden and pressed hard upon those hands, as though in mute and
inconsolable despair....

‘My poor child, what troubles you? Why are you here all alone, and
weeping at this late hour? Have you no home?--no parents?’

“Slowly the boy turned round, still resting his small delicate
hands against the oaken door of the Cathedral, and with the tears
yet wet upon his cheeks, smiled. What a sad face he had!--worn and
weary, yet beautiful!--what eyes, heavy with the dews of sorrow,
yet tender even in pain! Startled by the mingled purity and grief
on so young a countenance, the Cardinal retreated for a moment in
amaze,--then, approaching more closely, he repeated his former
question with increased interest and tenderness--

‘Why are you weeping here alone?’

‘Because I am left alone to weep!’ said the boy, answering in a
soft voice of vibrating and musical melancholy. ‘For me, the world
is empty!... I should have rested here within,--but it is closed
against me!’

‘The doors are always locked at night, my child,’ returned the
Cardinal, ‘but I can give you shelter. Will you come with me?’

‘Will I come with you? Nay, but I see you are a Cardinal of the
Church, and it is I should ask ‘will you receive me?’ You do not
know who I am--nor where I came from, and I, alas! may not tell
you! I am alone; all--all alone,--for no one knows me in the
world;--I am quite poor and friendless, and have nothing wherewith
to pay you for your kindly shelter--I can only bless you!’”

Thus the second coming of Christ, according to Marie Corelli.

Manuel is then taken entirely under the protection of Cardinal Bonpré, and the two become inseparable. At all times the lad talks with wonderful eloquence and power--as Marie Corelli thinks Christ would talk if He were a child amongst us, and as He did talk when astonishing the learned doctors of law in Jerusalem. Before he and the Cardinal leave the Hotel Poitiers a miracle is performed. In Rouen there is a lad, Fabien Doucet, who has a bent spine and a useless leg. The unbelieving Patoux youngsters bring little Fabien to the Cardinal, and ask him to cure the lad. Beside the Cardinal stands Manuel. The incident is introduced by Marie Corelli in order to emphasize her own belief in the power of prayer--prayer that is sincere, the expression of faith that is true. The story of the miracle is very beautiful, especially for the spirit in which the good Cardinal performs the duty that the children ask of him. He addresses Fabien:

“My poor child, I want you to understand quite clearly how sorry I
am for you, and how willingly I would do anything in the world to
make you a strong, well, and happy boy. But you must not fancy that
I can cure you. I told your little friends yesterday that I was not
a saint, such as you read about in story-books,--and that I could
not work miracles, because I am not worthy to be so filled with the
Divine Spirit as to heal with a touch like the better servants of
our Blessed Lord. Nevertheless I firmly believe that if God saw
that it was good for you to be strong and well, He would find ways
to make you so. Sometimes sickness and sorrow are sent to us for
our advantage,--sometimes even death comes to us for our larger
benefit, though we may not understand how it is so till afterwards.
But in heaven everything will be made clear; and even our griefs
will be turned into joys,--do you understand?”

“Yes,” murmured Fabien gravely, but two large tears welled up in
his plaintive eyes as the faint glimmer of hope he had encouraged
as to the possibility of his being miraculously cured by the touch
of a saintly Cardinal, expired in the lonely darkness of his little
afflicted soul.

“That is well,” continued the Cardinal kindly--“And now, since it
is so difficult for you to kneel, you shall stay where you are in
my arms,--so!--” and he set him on his knee in a position of even
greater comfort than before. “You shall simply shut your eyes, and
clasp your little hands together, as I put them here,”--and as he
spoke he crossed the child’s hands on his silver crucifix--“And I
will ask our Lord to come and make you well,--for of myself I can
do nothing.”

At these words Henri and Babette glanced at each other
questioningly, and then, as if simultaneously moved by some
inexplicable emotion, dropped on their knees,--their mother, too
stout and unwieldy to do this with either noiselessness or
satisfaction to herself, was contented to bend her head as low as
she could get it. Manuel remained standing. Leaning against the
Cardinal’s chair, his eyes fixed on the crippled Fabien, he had the
aspect of a young angel of compassion, whose sole immortal desire
was to lift the burden of sorrow and pain from the lives of
suffering humanity. And after a minute or two passed in silent
meditation, the Cardinal laid his hands tenderly on Fabien’s fair
curly head and prayed aloud.

“Oh merciful Christ! Most pitying and gentle Redeemer!--to Whom in
the days of Thy sacred life on earth, the sick and suffering and
lame and blind were brought, and never sent away unhealed or
uncomforted; consider, we beseech Thee, the sufferings of this Thy
little child, deprived of all the joys which Thou hast made so
sweet for those who are strong and straight in their youth, and who
have no ailment to depress their courage or to quench the ardor of
their aspiring souls. Look compassionately upon him, oh gentle King
and Master of all such children!--and even as Thou wert a child
Thyself, be pleased to heal him of his sad infirmity. For, if Thou
wilt, Thou canst make this bent body straight and these withered
muscles strong,--from death itself Thou canst ordain life, and
nothing is impossible to Thee! But above all things, gracious
Saviour, we do pray Thee so to lift and strengthen this child’s
soul, that if it is destined he should still be called upon to
bear his present pain and trouble, grant to him such perfection in
his inward spirit that he may prove worthy to be counted among Thy
angels in the bright Hereafter. To Thy care, and to Thy comfort,
and to Thy healing, great Master, we commend him, trusting him
entirely to Thy mercy, with perfect resignation to Thy Divine Will.
For the sake and memory of Thy most holy childhood, mercifully help
and bless this child! Amen!”

As Fabien Doucet hobbles away at the conclusion of this prayer, the Cardinal, speaking from his heart, declares that if the giving of his own life could make the lad strong he would willingly sacrifice it. Then Manuel moves from his place near the Cardinal’s chair, approaches the little cripple, and, putting his arms round him, kisses him on the forehead.

“Good-bye, dear little brother!” he said, smiling--“Do not be sad!
Have patience! In all the universe, among all the millions and
millions of worlds, there is never a pure and unselfish prayer that
the great good God does not answer! Be sure of that! Take courage,
dear little brother! You will soon be well!”

Sweet assurance, truly, for the afflicted one. Shortly afterwards the Cardinal and Manuel depart from Rouen. They have not been long gone when there comes the startling announcement from Fabien Doucet’s mother that the boy is cured, and, to prove it, little Fabien, the former cripple, speeds gaily to the home of the Patoux family, strong and well.

Unconscious of the remarkable cure that has awed and amazed the townsfolk of Rouen, the Cardinal, accompanied by Manuel, proceeds to Paris and to the residence of his niece, Angela Sovrani, an artist famous throughout Europe. In Paris many interesting persons are brought together, mainly in Angela Sovrani’s studio. One remarkable character is the Abbé Vergniaud, a brilliant preacher, witty, eloquent, and sarcastic, but an atheist for all that. In his conversations with Angela he endeavors to justify his position, but the girl insists upon the depressing and wretched nature of his soulless creed. Vergniaud frankly admits his unbelief to Cardinal Bonpré. He also makes a confession and a declaration. In his early days, twenty-five years before, he had betrayed and deserted a woman, long since dead. Her son, however, has grown to manhood with the determination to avenge the mother’s wrong, and the Abbé goes in daily fear of assassination at his hands. Yet the Abbé Vergniaud shows that he is far from being a wholly evil man. He declares his determination to retrieve the past so far as he can and to clear his son’s soul from the thirst for vengeance that is consuming it.

On one occasion Vergniaud declares that Paris is hopelessly pagan, that Christ is there made the subject of public caricature, that His reign is over--in Paris at least.

“If these things be true,” Cardinal Bonpré indignantly cries, “then
shame upon you and upon all the clergy of this unhappy city to
stand by and let such disgrace to yourselves, and blasphemy to our
Master, exist without protest.”

The Abbé is inclined to resent the rebuke, but only for a moment. The next, abashed, he admits its justice, and craves pardon. The incident is the turning point in Vergniaud’s life. He shortly afterwards writes to the Cardinal that he is moved to say things that he has never said before, and that it is possible he may astonish and perchance scandalize Paris.

“What inspires me I do not know,--perhaps your well-deserved
reproach of the other day,--perhaps the beautiful smile of the
angel that dwells in Donna Sovrani’s eyes,--perhaps the chance
meeting with your Rouen foundling on the stairs as I was flying
away from your just wrath.”

He concludes by requesting the Cardinal to come two days later to hear him preach at Notre Dame de Lorette.

In his letter to the Cardinal, the Abbé Vergniaud mentions that Manuel has given him a rose, and the mention of this to the child-Christ gives us a charming fancy as to the floral beauties of Heaven.

“Flowers,” said the Cardinal, commenting on the gift, “are like
visible messages from God. Messages written in all the brightest
and loveliest colors! I never gather one without finding out that
it has something to say to me.”

“There is a legend,” said Manuel, “that tells how a poor girl who
has lost every human creature she loved on earth, had a rose-tree
she was fond of, and every day she found upon it just one bloom.
And though she longed to gather the flower for herself she would
not do so, but always placed it before the picture of the Christ.
And God saw her do this, as He sees everything. At last, quite
suddenly, she died, and when she found herself in heaven, there
were such crowds and crowds of angels about her that she was
bewildered, and could not find her way. All at once she saw a
pathway edged with roses before her, and one of the angels said,
‘there are all the roses you gave to our Lord on earth, and He has
made them into a pathway for you which will lead you straight to
those you love!’ And so with great joy she followed the windings of
the path, seeing her roses blossoming all the way, and she found
all those whom she had loved and lost on earth waiting to welcome
her at the end!”

Here is another sweet thought which Marie Corelli gives us in the words of Manuel:

“You know now,” he tells Angela Sovrani, “because your wise men
are beginning to prove it, that you can in very truth send a
message to heaven. Heaven is composed of millions of worlds. ‘In My
Father’s house are many mansions!’ And from all worlds to all
worlds, and from mansion to mansion, the messages flash! And there
are those who receive them, with such directness as can admit of no
error! And your wise men might have known this long ago if they had
believed their Master’s word, ‘Whatsoever is whispered in secret
shall be proclaimed on the housetops.’ But you will all find out
soon that it is true, and that everything you say, and that every
prayer you utter, God hears.”

“My mother is in Heaven,” said Angela wistfully, “I wish I could
send her a message!”

“Your very wish has reached her now!” said Manuel. “How is it
possible that you, in the spirit, could wish to communicate with
one so beloved and she not know it? Love would be no use then, and
there would be a grave flaw in God’s perfect creation.”

“Then you think we never lose those we love? And that they see us
and hear us always?”

“They must do so,” said Manuel, “otherwise there would be cruelty
in creating the grace of love at all. But God Himself is Love.
Those who love truly can never be parted--death has no power over
their souls. If one is on earth and one in heaven, what does it
matter? If they were in separate countries of the world they could
hear news of each other from time to time,--and so they can when
apparent death has divided them.”

“How?” asked Angela with quick interest.

“Your wise men must tell you,” said Manuel, with a grave little
smile, “I know no more than what Christ has said,--and He told us
plainly that not even a sparrow shall fall to the ground without
our Father’s knowledge. ‘Fear not,’ He said, ‘Ye are more than
many sparrows.’ So, as there is nothing which is useless, and
nothing which is wasted, it is very certain that love, which is the
greatest of all things, cannot lose what it loves!”

It is worthy of note that, on account of “The Master Christian,” in spite of the teachings in it such as we have quoted, the author has been labeled an “atheist.”

CHAPTER. XIII

“THE MASTER CHRISTIAN”--(_Continued_)

Of many interesting incidents which mark the Cardinal’s stay in Paris, the most sensational is the sermon of the Abbé Vergniaud and the extraordinary scene at its close.

Marie Corelli gives a wonderfully realistic word-picture of the scene in the famous church on a notable occasion. The Abbé’s sermon, which appears in its entirety, is scathingly sarcastic. In it he bitterly denounces the hypocrisy alike of people and of churches, especially the Roman Catholic Church, which he attacks for the ban it places upon many things, even discussion; he declares that all the intellectual force of the country is arrayed against priestcraft, and that the spirit of an insolent, witty, domineering atheism and materialism rules us all. “But what I specially wish to advise you--taking myself as an example--is, that none of you, whether inclined to virtue or to vice, should remain such arrant fools as to imagine that your sins will not find you out.”

And then the Abbé makes open confession, before the congregation, of his past life.

“I was a priest of the Romish Church as I am now; it would never
have done for a priest to be a social sinner! I therefore took
every precaution to hide my fault;--but out of my lie springs a
living condemnation; from my carefully concealed hypocrisy comes a
blazonry of truth, and from my secret sin comes an open
vengeance....”

The report of a pistol shot sounds through the church as the last words are uttered. A young man has fired at the preacher. It is the son seeking his vengeance at last. Manuel prevents the bullet from reaching Vergniaud, who immediately announces to the astonished congregation that he will not make a charge: “I decline to prosecute my own flesh and blood. I will be answerable for his future conduct,--I am entirely answerable for his past! He is my son!”

It is upon the persecution of Cardinal Bonpré in consequence of the attitude he adopts towards the Abbé Vergniaud after this sensational incident that Marie Corelli builds her chief indictment of the Vatican executive. An agent of the Vatican, then in Paris, is Monsignor Moretti. He calls at the Sovrani Palace. There he has an interview with the Cardinal, the Abbé, and the latter’s son Cyrillon. Moretti upbraids Vergniaud for his conduct, correctly describing him as a faithless son of the church, and meets with the retort, “The attack on the Church I admit. I am not the only preacher in the world who has so attacked it. Christ Himself would attack it if He were to visit this earth again!” The remark is characterized as blasphemy, but, on the Cardinal being appealed to, the good Bonpré states his failure to perceive the alleged blasphemy of “our unhappy and repentant brother.”

“In his address to his congregation to-day he denounced social
hypocrisy, and also pointed out certain failings in the Church
which may possibly need consideration and reform; but against the
Gospel of Christ or against the Founder of our Faith I heard no
word that could be judged ill-fitting. As for the conclusion which
so very nearly ended in disaster and crime, there is nothing to be
said beyond the fact that both the persons concerned are profoundly
sorry for their sins.... Surely we must believe the words of our
Blessed Lord, ‘There is more joy in Heaven over one sinner that
repenteth, than over ninety-and-nine just persons which have no
need of repentance.’”

This forgiveness of sin which Christ preached and which Marie Corelli claims that the Romish Church does not practice, is the basis of the differences of Cardinal Bonpré with Moretti, and afterwards with the Pope. Vergniaud, still unrebuked by Cardinal Bonpré, declares to Moretti that there is a movement in the world which all the powers of Rome are unable to cope with, the movement of an ever-advancing and resistless force called Truth, and that God will shake down Rome rather than that the voice of Truth should be silenced.

The Abbé’s declarations, as the Vatican emissary points out, mean his expulsion from the Church. Before the interview closes there comes the declaration by Cyrillon Vergniaud, the son of the Abbé, that he is “Gys Grandit,” a powerful writer of essays that are the creed of a “Christian Democratic” party--that advocate of Truth to which the Abbé had referred. The announcement is startling to all three clerics, the more so as the young man proceeds to utter his views, a stern denunciation of the Church’s practices, with such rebukes as: “Does not the glittering of the world’s wealth piled into the Vatican,--useless wealth lying idle in the midst of hideous beggary and starvation,--proclaim with no uncertain voice, ‘_I know not the Man_’?” with the added declaration that there is no true representative of Christ in this world--either within or without the Romish Church--though even sceptics, while denying Christ’s Divinity, are forced to own that His life and His actions were more Divine than those of any other creature in human shape that has ever walked the earth!

In the further argumentative passes between Moretti and Gys Grandit, the former holds that the Church of Rome is a system of moral government, and that it is proper to thrust out of salvation heretics who are excommunicate, and that if our Lord’s commands were to be obeyed to the letter it would be necessary to find another world to live in. These propositions the Christian Democrat absolutely denies, and urges, on the other hand, that it may be possible that we may be forced to obey Christ’s commands _to the letter_ or perish for refusing to do so. For permitting such remarks to go unreproved, Moretti, as the interview closes, intimates that, in reporting the matter to the Pope, the attitude of Cardinal Bonpré will be explained. Further offense is given by the appearance of Manuel upon the scene, and by some remarks the lad makes upon the subject under discussion.

Clouds are gathering heavily over the horizon of the saintly Bonpré, who, accompanied by Manuel, proceeds to Rome after this most unpropitious preliminary to an audience at the Vatican. He is further troubled, immediately after his arrival at the palace of his brother-in-law, Prince Sovrani, by being informed of the “miracle” of Rouen--the recovery of Fabien Doucet, of which he now hears for the first time, though all Rome has been talking loudly of it. Bonpré is decidedly in bad repute at the Vatican, and it is determined that he shall be made to suffer for his defense of Vergniaud. He adds to his offenses by denying all knowledge of the Rouen lad’s cure.

Manuel and Bonpré visit St. Peter’s, which does not please them, and at last they are received by the Pope. Here all Marie Corelli’s criticism of the Romish Church is concentrated in the appeal which is made by the child-Christ to His Holiness. He asks him why he stops at the Vatican all alone.

“You must be very unhappy!... To be here all alone, and a whole
world outside waiting to be comforted! To have vast wealth lying
about you unused, with millions and millions of poor, starving,
struggling dying creatures, near at hand, cursing the God whom they
have never been taught to know or to bless!...

“Come out with me!” continued Manuel, his accents vibrating with a
strange compelling sweetness, “come out and see the poor lying at
the great gates of St. Peter’s--the lame, the halt, the blind--come
and heal them by a touch, a prayer! You can, you must, you shall
heal them!--if you will! Pour money into the thin hands of the
starving!--come with me into the miserable places of the
world--come and give comfort! Come freely into the courts of kings,
and see how the brows ache under the crowns!--how the hearts break
beneath the folds of velvet and ermine! Why stand in the way of
happiness, or deny even emperors peace when they crave it? Your
mission is to comfort, not to condemn! You need no throne! You want
no kingdom!--no settled place--no temporal power! Enough for you
to work and live as the poorest of all Christ’s ministers,--without
pomp, without ostentation or public ceremonial, but simply clothed
in pure holiness! So shall God love you more! So shall you pass
unscathed through the thick of battle, and command Brotherhood in
place of Murder! Go out and welcome Progress!--take Science by the
hand!--encourage Intellect!--for all these things are of God, and
are God’s gifts divine! Live as Christ lived, teaching the people
personally and openly;--loving them, pitying them, sharing their
joys and sorrows, blessing their little children! Deny yourself to
no man;--and make of this cold temple in which you now dwell
self-imprisoned, a home and refuge for the friendless and the poor!
Come out with me!

“Come out with me and minister with your own hands to the aged and
the dying!” pursued Manuel, “and so shall you grow young! Command
that the great pictures, the tapestries, the jewels, the world’s
trash of St. Peter’s, be sold to the rich, who can afford to place
them in free and open galleries where all the poorest may possess
them! But do not You retain them! You do not need them--your
treasure must be sympathy for all the world! Not one section of the
world,--not one form of creed,--but for all!--if you are truly the
Dispenser of Christ’s Message to the earth! Come--unprotected, save
by the Cross! Come with no weapon of defense--‘heal the sick,
cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils! Freely ye have
received, freely give! Provide neither gold nor silver nor brass in
your purse,’--come, and by your patience--your gentleness--your
pardon--your love to all men, show that ‘the Kingdom of Heaven is
at hand!’ Walk fearless in the thick of battles, and your very
presence shall engender peace! For the Holy Spirit shall surround
and encompass you; the fiercest warriors shall bend before you, as
they never would if you assumed a world’s throne or a world’s
sovereignty! Come, uncrowned, defenseless;--but strong in the
Spirit of God! Think of all the evil which has served as the
foundation for this palace in which you dwell! Can you not hear in
the silence of the night, the shrieks of the tortured and dying of
the Inquisition? Do you never think of the dark days, ten and
twelve hundred years after Christ, when no virtue seemed left upon
the earth?--when the way to this very throne was paved by poison
and cold steel?--when those who then reigned here, and occupied
Your place, led such infamous lives that the very dogs might have
been ashamed to follow in their footsteps!--when they professed to
be able to sell the Power of the Holy Ghost for so much gold and
silver? Remember the words, ‘Whoso shall blaspheme against the Holy
Ghost it shall not be forgiven him, either in this world or in the
world to come.’ Look back upon the Past--and look out upon the
Present! Try to understand the suffering of the forsaken
people!--the pain--the bewilderment--the groping for life in
death!--and come out with me! Come and preach Christ as He lived
and died, and _was_, and _is_!

“Come out with me ... for there are wonderful things in the world
to-day!--wonderful, beautiful, and terrible! Take your share in
them, and find God in every glory! For with all the wisdom and the
splendor,--with all the flashing light of Heaven poured out upon
the darkness of the Sorrowful Star, its people are weary,--they are
lost in the confusion and clamor of their own desires--they would
fain serve God, but know not where to find Him, because a thousand,
ay a million churches stand in the way! Churches, which are like a
forest of dark trees, blocking out the radiance of the Sun! God,
who manifests His power and tenderness in the making of the
simplest leaf, the smallest bird, is lost to the understanding and
affection of humanity in the multitude of Creeds! Come out with
me,--simple and pure, gentle and strong! Tell all the lost and the
wandering that there never was, and never will be but one God
supreme and perfect, whose name is Love, whose work is Love!--and
whose Messenger, Christ, pronounced the New Commandment Love,
instead of Hate! Come out with me while it is yet day, for the
night cometh when no man can work! Come and lift up the world by
your very coming! Stretch out your hands in benediction over kings
and beggars alike!--there are other roses to give than Golden ones
to Queens! There are poor women who share half they earn with those
still poorer--there are obscure lives which in their very
obscurity, are forming the angel-nature, and weaving the angel’s
crown,--look for these in the world--give _them_ your Golden Roses!
Leave rulers and governments alone, for you should be above and
beyond all rulers and governments! You should be the Herald of
peace, the Pardoner of sin, the Rescuer of the fallen, and the
Refuge of the distressed! Come out with me, and be all this to the
world, so that when the Master comes He may truly find you working
in His vineyard!

“Come out with me ... or if you will not come,--then beware!...
beware of the evil days which are at hand! The people are wandering
to and fro, crossing all lands, struggling one against the other,
hoarding up useless gold, and fighting for supremacy!--but ‘the day
of the Lord shall come like a thief in the night, and blessed is he
who shall be found watching!’ Watch! The hour is growing dark and
full of menace!--the nations are as frightened children, losing
faith, losing hope, losing strength! Put away,--put away from you
the toys of time!--quench in your soul the thirst for gold, for of
this shall come nothing but corruption! Why trifle with the Spirit
of holy things? Why let your servants use the Name of the Most High
to cover hypocrisy? Why crave for the power of temporal things,
which passes away in the dust of destroyed kingdoms? For the Power
of the Spirit is greater than all! And so it shall be proved! The
Spirit shall work in ways where it has never been found before!--it
shall depart from the Churches which are unworthy of its Divine
inspiration!--it shall invest the paths of science!--it shall open
the doors of the locked stars! It shall display the worlds
invisible;--the secrets of men’s hearts, and of closed
graves!--there will be terror and loss and confusion and shame to
mankind,--and this world shall keep nothing of all its treasures
but the Cross of Christ! Rome, like Babylon, shall fall!--and the
Powers of the Church shall be judged as the Powers of Darkness
rather than of Light, because they have rejected the Word of their
Master, and ‘teach for doctrine the commandments of men’! Disaster
shall follow swift upon disaster, and the cup of trembling shall be
drained again to its last dregs, as in the olden days,
unless,--unless perchance--You will come out with Me!”

This address has such an effect on the Pope that at its conclusion he falls senseless. Bonpré and Manuel, the former now without a friend left at the Vatican, take their departure, and shortly afterwards it is deemed expedient for them to leave Rome for shelter in England, the idea being intimated that the authorities of the Church were determined to make a prisoner of the Cardinal, and inflict upon him some undefined evil.

So far as the book is concerned apart from its central theme, the interest is held by the light touches of the loves of some charming people, and also of a very frivolous roué, the Marquis Fontenelle. This very “up-to-date” French nobleman is ultimately, to the relief of every one and the regret of few, killed in a duel with his own brother, the great actor Miraudin. To make this melodramatic incident as striking as possible the author kills both the brothers. The Marquis is a character who says and does what would seem to be impossible things. Notwithstanding his immoral propensities he has a certain pleasing fascination that almost inclines one to regard his faults with tolerance. His faults are many, but let it be said to his credit at least that he recognizes them. His views of men and women and love are extraordinarily callous and cynical, yet it is an absolute fact that the prototype of the Marquis Fontenelle exists, and holds and openly expresses the views to which in this book he is made to give utterance. And, evil as he is, he also is conquered at the last by the true character of a sweet, pure, womanly woman. It is such who conquer all evil.

The Comtesse Sylvie Hermenstein, an altogether delightful lady, marries Aubrey Leigh and leaves the Church of Rome. The story of her doing so, of the struggles of the Romish priesthood to retain her and her wealth, and of the methods by which they endeavored to attain that end, is in itself a stirring narrative.

Marie Corelli is altogether pleasing, not only to those who approve the mission of her book, but to many of her most severe critics, in her account of the life which Leigh in younger days had led in a Cornish fishing village, working as one of themselves amongst the rugged, true-hearted, brave men who with all their roughness of character are perhaps stauncher in a simple faith in God than many of those who ostentatiously worship in fine churches. She pens, too, many delightful, humorous, and pathetic pictures of the French peasantry.

Quite another story is the love, or, rather, two loves, of Angela Sovrani. When we first make her acquaintance--a woman, yet one of the finest artists in the world--she is betrothed to Florian Varillo, a man with a character of almost impossible evil. We wish we could regard the character as _absolutely_ impossible. Varillo is also an artist, handsome, unprincipled, egotistical to the worst degree, believing himself great and holding the view--once generally held, but now to a large extent exploded--that woman’s work cannot be equal to masculine effort. Angela has for years been engaged upon a picture which she hopes will be a masterpiece. No person--not even father or lover--has been permitted to gaze upon the canvas. A date for the uncovering and inspection of the picture is fixed. Alone in her studio the evening before, Florian begs admittance in order that he may inspect the picture that night, owing to a journey which he must take early on the morrow. Angela consents. “Come and see.” The concealing curtain is removed and Florian recoils with an involuntary cry, and then remains motionless and silent, stricken dumb and stupid by the magnificent creation which confronts him.

“The central glory of the whole picture was a figure of Christ.... Kingly and commanding.” Near by are seen the faces of many pre-eminent in the history of the time. The Pope is shown fastening fetters of iron round a beautiful youth called Science. The leader of the Jesuits is counting gold. The forms of men representing every description of Church-doctrine are beheld trampling underneath them other human creatures.

“And over all this blackness and chaos the supernal figure of the
glorious Christ was aerially poised,--one Hand was extended, and to
this a Woman clung--a woman with a beautiful face made piteous in
its beauty by long grief and patient endurance. In her other arm
she held a sleeping child--and mother and child were linked
together by a garland of flowers partially broken and faded. Her
entreating attitude,--the sleeping child’s helplessness--her worn
face,--the perishing roses of earth’s hope and joy,--all expressed
their meaning simply yet tragically; and as the Divine Hand
supported and drew her up out of the universal chaos below, the
hope of a new world, a better world, a wiser world, a holier world,
seemed to be distantly conveyed. But the eyes of the Christ were
full of reproach, and were bent on the Representative of St. Peter
binding the laurel-crowned youth, and dragging him into
darkness,--and the words written across the golden mount of the
picture, in clear black letters, seemed to be actually spoken aloud
from the vivid color and movement of the painting. ‘Many in that
day will call upon Me and say, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied
in Thy name, and in Thy name cast out devils, and done many
wonderful works?’

“‘Then will I say to them, I never knew you! Depart from Me all ye
that work iniquity!’”

And what of Angela and Florian? Painter and sweetheart regard the work. Varillo’s first remark is, “Did you do it all yourself?” That is the first verbal stab. Others follow, killing the joy of Angela. And the verbal stabs are but the prelude to one with steel; for Varillo, maddened by jealousy, determines to kill Angela and then to persuade the world that _he_ has painted the picture. Angela, happily, is not killed. Varillo, who escapes, enters into a conspiracy to declare and maintain that the great picture is his. He is got out of the world and out of the book by perishing in a fire at a monastery to which he had been taken. Such treachery it is almost impossible to conceive. Yet those who condemn the incident should remember some of Marie Corelli’s own personal experiences, with which the world has now to some extent become acquainted. Angela subsequently marries Gys Grandit.

Throughout the book there are a good many discourses by Aubrey Leigh and Gys Grandit on the subject of Christian Democracy. What seems to be the main desire of this party is “a purified Church--a House of Praise to God, without any superstition or Dogma.” We must confess, however, that we recognize the truth of the remark made by Gherardi--one of the Roman prelates--“You must have Dogma. You must formulate something out of a chaos of opinion”; and neither through Manuel, Aubrey Leigh, nor Gys Grandit does Marie Corelli tell us how she would build up this simple universal church of which she speaks so much. We may, however, expect in a further book to have Miss Corelli’s constructive conceptions on the subject. The basis of it all is, at any rate, that the main feature of all worship should be praise of the Almighty and His Divine Son; and, as a true believer and an artist, she would have the churches not only essentially houses of Praise, but buildings worthy of the high purpose for which they are erected. In “The Master Christian” she gives us her stepfather’s poem as indicating Aubrey Leigh’s ideal on the subject:

If thou’rt a Christian in deed and thought,
Loving thy neighbor as Jesus taught,--
Living all days in the sight of Heaven,
And not _one_ only out of seven,--
Sharing thy wealth with the suffering poor,
Helping all sorrow that Hope can cure,--
Making religion a truth in the heart,
And not a cloak to be wore in the mart,
Or in high cathedrals and chapels and fanes,
Where priests are traders and count the gains,--
All God’s angels will say, “Well done!”
Whenever thy mortal race is run.
White and forgiven,
Thou’lt enter heaven,
And pass, unchallenged, the Golden Gate,
Where welcoming spirits watch and wait
To hail thy coming with sweet accord
To the Holy City of God the Lord!

If Peace is thy prompter, and Love is thy guide,
And white-robed Charity walks by thy side,--
If thou tellest the truth without oath to bind,
Doing thy duty to all mankind,--
Raising the lowly, cheering the sad,
Finding some goodness e’en in the bad,
And owning with sadness if badness there be,
There might have been badness in thine and in thee,
If Conscience the warder that keeps thee whole
Had uttered no voice to thy slumbering soul,--
All God’s angels will say, “Well done!”
Whenever thy mortal race is run.
White and forgiven,
Thou’lt enter heaven,
And pass, unchallenged, the Golden Gate,
Where welcoming spirits watch and wait
To hail thy coming with sweet accord
To the Holy City of God the Lord!

If thou art humble and wilt not scorn,
However wretched, a brother forlorn,--
If thy purse is open to misery’s call,
And the God thou lovest is God of all,
Whatever their color, clime or creed,
Blood of thy blood, in their sorest need,--
If every cause that is good and true,
And needs assistance to dare and do,
Thou helpest on through good and ill,
With trust in heaven, and God’s good-will,--
All God’s angels will say, “Well done!”
Whenever thy mortal race is run.
White and forgiven,
Thou’lt enter heaven,
And pass, unchallenged, the Golden Gate,
Where welcoming spirits watch and wait
To hail thy coming with sweet accord
To the Holy City of God the Lord!

In the closing of the story we find Cardinal Bonpré threatened by the Pope with severe punishment unless he parts with Manuel, and the Cardinal’s dignified and argumentative reply. The two part, but it is not at the bidding of the Pope. There is a beautiful description of the last night on earth of the Cardinal and of a vision beheld by him--a Dream of Angels, “Of thousands of dazzling faces, that shone like stars or were fair as flowers!”

* * * * *

So the Cardinal passes away to his eternal rest:

“And when the morning sun shone through the windows ... its wintry
beams encircled the peaceful form of the dead Cardinal with a pale
halo of gold,--and when they came and found him there, and turned
his face to the light--it was as the face of a glorified saint,
whom God had greatly loved!”

* * * * *

And of the “Cardinal’s foundling”--what of Him? Many wondered and
sought to trace Him, but no one ever heard where he had gone....
Some say He has never disappeared,--but that in some form or
manifestation of wisdom, He is ever with us, watching to see
whether His work is well or ill done,--whether His flocks are fed,
or led astray to be devoured by wolves--whether His straight and
simple commands are fulfilled or disobeyed. And the days grow dark
and threatening--and life is more and more beset with difficulty
and disaster--and the world is moving more and more swiftly on to
its predestined end--and the Churches are as stagnant pools, from
whence Death is far more often born than Life. And may we not ask
ourselves often in these days the question,--

“When the Son of Man cometh, think ye He shall find faith on
earth?”

That is the question that Marie Corelli asks the world through “The Master Christian.”