THE LIBHT,^ OUT OF C TH E EAST S.R. CROCKETT THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES >7^Mx? Vtrv /? X~/^ THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST S R. CROCKETT THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST BY S. R. CROCKETT AUTHOR OF "the STICKIT MINISTER," "the raiders," etc., etc. NEW ^^tair YORK GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1920. BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA CONTENTS ' CHAPTER PAGE I His Coming 9 II His Mother 16 HI The Word with Power Dwelling Among Us 26 IV Without a Parable Spake He Not Unto Them 35 V The Empty Chair of Peter 49 VI Sodom, Gomorrah — and Little Zoar . . 59 VII "Not Peace but a Sword" 65 VIII The Raw Stuff of Miracle .... 71 IX The Road of the Sea 79 X Murderess and Saint 86 XI The Woman and Her Man 100 XII The Bier and the Woman Weeping . . 112 XIII Meshes of Golden Hair 119 XIV The Strong Man Leo 125 XV The Red Funnel Liner 132 XVI The Landing at Marseilles 141 XVII The Gospel for France 149 XVIII What Went Ye Out for to See? . . . 161 XIX Avatar 169 V vi CONTENTS CBAPTEB FAQH XX An Act of War 175 XXI Under the Cross op Satot 186 XXII The Pursuit 197 XXIII The Conclave 203 XXIV The Roman Plebs 213 XXV The Great Disappearing 219 XXVI The New Palestine 223 XXVII The Servants of "The Servant" ... 229 XXVIII The Last Martyr of the Servant , . 238 XXIX The Cloud Received Him 247 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST CHAPTER I: HIS COMING I, Lucas Cargill, once of Cargillfield in Scot- land, the unworthy scion of a good house, sometime not wholly unknown as a London journalist and man of letters, but now only a servant of the Ser- vant, write these things. I saw him first (a long while ago as it seems) standing on the mountain Trastevera, just where Abruzzi breaks down towards the green plain of Apulia. Not that at the moment, there was any green thing to be seen. For it was the time of late September, after the vintage, and all Apulia was sunbaked and cracked like the mud in a dry reser- voir bottom. What I did there is no one's business. Indeed, when I come to think of it, it was hardly my own. I had no business. God's fiery index-finger had drawn itself across my life, effacing the past, sear- ing and blistering the future. To this followed a long blank, dim, wistful, filled with alternate numb- ness and pain as of a gangrened limb, and the 9 10 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST strange bewildered anger which follows a great mis- fortune falling suddenly. The mists were spinning themselves out of the lower valley as from a rope-walk, when I first saw him come up with them out of the Unseen. What impression did he make on me at that first mo- ment? Many ask me that question. I can hardly tell now. It is so long ago. All is so different. Now I know — I live. Then I was dead almost^ — physically — terribly, pitiably dead. Not that I pitied myself. God be thanked, I was at least saved from that! Nor did I ask any other, not even God, to pity me. There was the residue of something in my heart — something high, strong, and sufficient for these things. Even amid the swelter of destinies a human soul may keep that, and regard the future not afraid. At first I thought him merely one of the dreams that had been mocking me about that time — a little clearer than usual, perhaps, better defined. But after a moment I saw it was indeed a man. He was of no great height, clad in a robe of some fine white stuff, all in one piece from his neck to his feet. I took him for a priest of some Order I had never encountered. Very gentle as to his eyes — so I thought — his face like soft ivory, with few lines and a look of youth upon it. Yet no mantling blood as of a young man, no ardours of life, no square strengths of sex about the lips, no proud out- look in the eyes — nothing of all that. Yet at first I did not see the eyes. They were HIS COMING 11 turned from me. He was gazing up towards the mountain summit behind me to the right. But I marked instead his dress, and vaguely I said to myself that I had seen something like it somewhere in a picture. But I could not recall the exactness of it, and the thing troubled me, as such trifles will. For one thing, if he were a priest, there was no rivulet of little ball-shaped buttons cascading down the front as on a soutane. All was plain-woven, in one piece like a stocking. I think it must have been put on over his head. The skirts were wringing wet with the valley mist. But above many capes of white shed the drops from his shoulders to the ground. In his hand he held a shepherd's staff with a curved head on which he leaned a little wearily. Save for a white skull-cap his head was bare, his hair still mostly black. Youthful hair it was, silver- ing only in streaks. He held his head high and the cap prevented me from seeing whether it was ton- sured or not. About him the driving valley clouds blew thinner, fuming away into lawny nothingness on the higher slopes. Presently he turned and saw me. He did not seem in any way surprised. I remember his eyes now. They were bent full on me. They were not the powerful eyes you might expect in a great man — gentle rather, and drawing. But I suppose my nerves were upet with prolonged insomnia, for beneath the soft gaze which I seemed to underlie, the soul within me trembled like a tuning fork. They were grey-blue eyes, very piercing but noways 12 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST sharp. I tried to turn away and could not. Then all at once, very absurdly, I felt a rush of glad im- pulsive confidence — I had not the least idea in what. Perhaps because I knew somehow that this stranger had confidence in me, and God knows I needed that. Now I know better. Had I been a murderer or a bandit, he would have looked just the same — and with cause. Don Chiro himself would not have with- stood the childlike assurance of this man's regard. The murderers of the Decisi would have let him pass unscathed. Besides which, there was nothing about him to steal, save the ivory crucifix which swung at his neck, reaching as low on its iron chain as the middle of his breast. "My brother," he said, holding his hand towards me with a strange gesture which wa^ clearly not that of hand-shaking, "I am hungry — I would eat!" The words were nothing. One shepherd would have said them to another. But the voice, low, thrilling, with a ring-ring in it, as of a bell that quivers long after it has been struck — ah, that voice said very much to me. From that moment I was no longer friendless, outcast, at war with God and men. "Brother," he had said, "his brother!" Then, waking hastily from my dream, I turned to the little shelter of stones piled like a beehive, after the fashion of the country, where I had passed the night. There I had left a wine-skin, filled with black Sicilian wine, full and resinous, tasting of the leather. I had also several large Spanish onions, HIS COMING 13 which I had boiled the night before in goat's milk. With these and black country bread, with the large flakes of maize meal gleaming like gold in it, I set out a repast. The man took no farther heed of me till I touched him on the arm. It seemed somehow natural that he should ask and that I should give. Altogether I was strangely happy — out of all reason, indeed. When I touched his arm he turned, starting like a man whose mind is afar. "I thank you!" he said, "tell me your name, brother, that I may remember." I told him and again his eyes looked me through. But gently and with a. certain gracious and draw- ing compassion. I would have asked him many things in return, as to who and what he was. But I dared not. He held up his hands and said a benediction over the poor meal spread on the stone. Then sitting down and drawing his robe half-way to his knee, he began to eat. I noted that he wore rough sandals with the half-tanned skin inside, which were fas- tened to his legs with thongs crossed and recrossed as high as I could see. "Lucas Cargill," he said, looking up suddenly, "I have been waiting for you, Lucas. We will go far together. This is but the beginning of many things." Then his eyes wandered from me. He forgot to eat, and it seemed quite natural that I should remind him. We might have been born of one mother, been 14 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST suckled at the same breast. There was such love between us. Strange — and that very morning, but an hour ago, I had thought that I had done with all the race of men and women — aye, and had had a certain pleasure in so thinking. He took my reminder meekly, as if he had been well accustomed to such kindly recalling hands. He ate with appetite if not with relish, but drank sparingly. He asked for water, which I poured abundantly from my earthen pitcher, which I kept wrapt in wet rags for coolness. Curiously he held his palms together, hollowing them out in the centre to make a cup. I saw how fine and white his hands were, the hands of a scholar. His eyes wandered again. And then, as if speak- ing to himself the thrilling timbre of that unfor- gettable voice fell on my ear. He was looking about him with a tranced expression. "Bread, water, wine, friendship — the earth gifts — God's best creatures — what need I more?" He tossed up his hands with a light graceful movement, almost like the instinctive movement of a wild animal. He seemed to take in the universe. "The good wide air, the mountain side, this shelter of stones, this kind brother's provender — the sea yonder, God's curtain hung up to hide what is await- ing beyond it! Alone — " (he seemed to continue a previous meditation) "I have not the right to be alone. I must work the work I came to do! And this stranger — ^he shall be told — yes, he shall hear. HIS COMING 15 But to-morrow — not to-day. I am weary — greatly weary!" He turned to me where I stood watching his face. "Lucas," he said, gently, ''I have eaten of your meat. For that I give you God's blessing. Now I would sleep. Go without and watch. There are those seeking me that would gladly slay me." He drew the folded rugs under his head and stretched himself on the straw. I was going out silently, but as I went I suppose he caught a wistful inquiry on my face. "I will tell you," he said, "men call me the Pope — the White Pope!" "What Pope?" I faltered, hardly daring to con- fess my suspicions even to myself. "There is but one Pope," he answered, still gently but with something of reproof. "I am he whom they made Pope in Rome. They crowned me yes- terday — or was it the day before — or last week? I forget. I am weary. Leave me!" And so I knew that I had to do with a madman, there on the lonely side of the Trasteveran moim- tain, where even the goatherds seldom come, save once or twice in the hottest season when the flocks range highest. The notion of flight crossed my mind. I counted the miles to the nearest town, to the next railway station. But somehow I could not flee. The man held me — mad or sane, he held me. CHAPTER II: HIS MOTHER And indeed it was well that I did not go away. The morning became high noon. The sun chang- ing to a white-hot furnace the slippery limestone of the rocks, presently drove me a little way down hill into the shade of a group of stone pines — scant shelter enough, but better than the prickly pear and tamarisk of the upper slopes, in a nook of which my little semi-African "gourbi" had been estab- lished. Now and then I took a broad-leaved flag out of the little puddle which was all that remained of the spring in the grove, and holding it above my head I stole up to see if the poor madman still slept. He breathed quietly, his head pillowed on his hand, and his white robe straight about him. The shoulder-capes had been removed and hung on one of the small stone projections where the goatherds had disposed their back-satchels and wine-skins. A madman — yes, surely! But there was nothing to fear. That boy — he was little more for all his grey head, — could harm no one. The lips a little parted, and the weary smile upon them, went to my heart. I returned again down the hill and waited. The insects hummed above, but from their stinging I 16 . HIS MOTHER 17 had been long immune. They lulled me, however, and the heavy afternoon did the rest. I dozed. I must have slept some hours when I awoke with a start. In the palm grove there was that strange sense of an unseen human presence. Some one had been leaning over me — watching me. I felt sure of that. Nor was it the Man in White. For with him. I felt no sense of danger, even though I knew him mad. I looked up the slope, now quivering with heat, in the direction of the stone beehive. In a moment I was on my feet. A figure — a woman, stood at the low door. She was stooping, and seemed about to enter. Bareheaded I tore up the slope before I had even time to think. I laid my hand on the woman's arm and turned her roughly about. For his words came to me, that there were those seeking him who wished to slay him. It might be this woman. However I had no time even to ask a question. For the woman hastily laid her finger on her lip, and nodded in the direction of the sleeper within. He had not moved. I could see the straight fold of the white robe cutting the cross-gartering of his sandals. The stranger moved before me easily and lightly. She was an aged woman, her face deep-lined with care, her eyes crow-footed about and of a watery blue. She looked mild and weary. She carried no weapon that I could see. The indigo shadows of the pine glade opened out 18 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST to let us in. Then I stopped and asked the woman in Itahan what she did there. Never was surprise more complete. She answered me in English, with only a little insignificant foreign accent, "I am his mother!" "Ah!" The wonder was so great that I could do no more than utter a sharp ejaculation. "Do not betray me," she said, catching me sud- denly by the cuff of my worn tweed suit, and looking up in my face, "he has forbidden me!" "Forbidden you what?" "To follow him!" she murmured, never taking her eyes off the entrance of the little white beehive shelter. "Come deeper into the wood. Here he will be able to see us!" "Has he escaped?" I said, awkwardly enough where all was awkward. She nodded shortly, and looked down the hill, now clear and dazzling in the broad sun of after- noon. "When did he escape from his — guardians?" I asked. I meant to say "keepers" but something in the mother's face stayed me. "Ten days ago," she said slowly, watching the black oblong of the entrance above. "After they were gone — he rose and went out. No one saw him. But then I always knew he would. So I was ready to follow! He could not escape from me." "Has he been long — thus — in this condition?" i The words came out stammeringly — awkwardly. HIS MOTHER 19 It is not easy to speak to a mother of the delusions of her child. She gave me a strange long look like a contemptuous question. "You think he is mad," she said, with a little nervous laugh, "he is not mad — my son?" "But he said " "Well," said the woman, planting her feet squarely, and folding her arms high across her breast with a gesture almost masculine, "what did he say?" "That he was the Pope— the Pope of Rome!" I spared her all I could, and the pity, I feel sure, showed on my face. A proud triumphant look appeared on the woman's, as if flushing up in answei' to mine. "Well," she said, ''and so he is!" So on that Trasteveran hillside, with the sun going down, I had two lunatics on my hand — mother and son. "I will tell you," she said when she returned. (She had been up to the door of the "gourbi" to see if the sleeper had moved. He was sleeping as peace- fully as ever). "I will tell you. It is a long story, but you deserve it." She sat down on a tree stump, and, lifting a chip of pine-wood from her feet, played nervously with it, tearing off little fragments and biting them. "I am not mad," she said, smiling at me. "He is not mad. It is all true. He has been novice, priest, Master of the Order of St. Sepulchre, cardinal, and now Pope. All is true. He is the new Pope. They 20 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST chose him ten days ago, after many votings. I was in Rome and watched the smoke go up. But they chose him at last. Because, they said, the Powers would not agree. It was a matter of their politics — Austria and France, I think. I do not understand. But in the end they chose my son, though the youngest of the cardinals, to be Pope. Why? I do not know. Because he has a great renown for holi- ness and can do wonders with his preaching. Aye, even with his very presence. For he has stood in the presence of the Sultan — the Turk of Constan- tinople, and the pagan could not look my son in the eyes. He saved the lives of many — of whole nations. Even those who were of the Greek heretics besought him to speak for them. And he did. For he cared for nothing but to do right, to make all people good and merciful as he was himself. They call him the 'Light out of the East.' " I too began to see a light, but yet I could not believe. It seemed a thing so impossible. But still ' — the woman certainly talked in a quiet matter-of- fact tone which was very convincing, and in yonder rough stone-shelter lay asleep a man like to none I had ever set eyes on before. "And are you indeed his mother?" It was perhaps cruel to ask the question. But somehow I could not reconcile this common hard- featured woman, breathing of the people, with the clear-lined pale face, the dignified carriage, the power and restraint of word, and the wondrous eyes I had seen up yonder. HIS MOTHER 21 At my words the woman seemed confused for the first time. The clean level olive of her cheek, tanned with the eastern sun, the wind off the sea, took on something (I know not what) of subtle difference. But she looked me boldly in the face notwith- standing. "Sir," she said, "I am not his own mother, but he knows no other. None could have been more his mother than I." She settled herself with her back to a tree-trunk, so that she could see on the slope the black square of the "gourbi" entrance, and began: "We went to Jerusalem thirty years ago — or is it thirty-five. My husband was a Russian by birth, an engineer. He met me at Malta, where my fp.ther was a petty officer in the dockyard. Fifteen I was then and foolish. Michael Orloff deserted his ship — I my father's house. Neither had been too com- fortable. He took me to Jerusalem with the little money he had. He knew the builder of the new Greek and Armenian convents there — he was sure of work. For he was clever. And after that, they made him architect of all the sacred places. That is, the Greeks did. As for me I had been brought up Catholic, a Roman. It was the faith of my mother. So I went to the Latins for their services and for confession. Till finally we stood well with both parties. And my husband busied himself in strengthening and even rebuilding — quietly, indeed secretly, for fear of the Turks — the Church of the 22 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST Holy Sepulchre, which, before his time, had been no better than a crumbling rabbit-warren. "No, we had no children. And that was the greatest part of my unhappiness. I do not think my husband cared so much. You see, he was busy with other things. But I — I was very lonesome in these days. A bricked court to keep me in mind of Malta (I hated their beaten earth), a range of whitewashed wall with never a window to the street, and the flat house-top under the shelter of the Sepulchre church. And no one to speak to, often from dawn to dark, and then as to speech neither my mother's Italian, nor my father's English — only mewing Greek, or Yiddish like dogs barking. "So I would put on a veil like a Turkish woman, and wander the city. In those days, the Turks held the strong hand over Jerusalem. The yakmash was sacred, and none looked the way I was on. "That was before railways and the blatter of tourists. I even entered the court of the Mosque, as far as women may, that is. The guards let me pass, thinking me some 'house mother' seeking a belated school-boy. There were many pashas in those days. From my habit I might be of the household of one. So more often than not they saluted. "Or I wandered on Mount Zion which also was safe then — the Turks doing evil themselves but per- mitting none other to do it. And one day on the very point of Zion where the cemeteries are, I saw the body of a poor man borne out wrapped in his HIS MOTHER 23 blue woollen garments. He was buried hastily by the bearers before I could come up with them. Then I saw this boy — he that was after my son and is now — yonder, scattering dust upon the shallow grave and singing — yes, smging as the monks do — Latin, Greek, Armenian — I know not. I heard- no words. Only he sang on in his child's voice and scattered dust. Then he went to the grave-head and held out his baby hands in benediction. He was not weeping. "At which something bounded in my heart. I fell a-crying bitterly and the babe came and put his hand in mine. He had nothing upon him but a thin robe to his knees, blue like the dead man's. " 'Some pilgrim's child,' I said to myself. For in Jerusalem there are many such — abandoned by their people, more often than not. " 'Where do you live?' I asked him in all the languages I knew, which were not a few. But he would only smile and throw up his baby hands in blessing. Till I, being conquered, said 'Bless me also, little one!' "For such things are fortunate, and they live long and have good fortune who receive the benediction of the witless. "He was no more than three years of his age, or it might be four — and as I tell you, poorly dressed but clean of his person. And he clasped me about the neck, and suffered me to carry him away, neither weeping nor merry — only very serene. For it was my purpose to work on my husband that he might 24 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST stay with us. For my heart ached for a child — yes, for this child above any other. Because he was beautiful, and I knew well that if God had given me a child he would have been even as this boy. How did I know it — I was a woman. "And as I passed the gardens of the Armenian convent, and the door of the house called the Coena- culum, I saw written above it words which my hus- band had read to me. They were these: " 'And in That Day His Feet Shall Stand Upon Mount Olivet/ "Then I was glad, for the thing was of good omen. And at that the child pushed upon my side with his feet, and clapped his hands, and his face was rosy with the light of the setting sun. Thus I, Mary, wife of Michael Orloff, brought this child home, and by the permission of Michael my husband and the blessing of God, I reared him till he became a holy man and the head of the great Order of the Holy Sepulchrians. "But now I would not intrude upon him. For he would bid me begone. I had promised not to follow him. But after two days I could not abide longer, and so — I am here and you who are of my country must hide me — that is, until he needs me." "And your husband?" I asked her. "Oh he — " she replied carelessly enough, "he lived not long after, leaving me all that he had. It was well. I could not have reared the boy else. God rest the soul of Michael Orloff. He was to me HIS MOTHER 25 a good husband while he lasted. But the boy, the boy — ah, look, he is awake! Even now he came to the door. He is beckoning. I will run to him. No, hide me. Hold me. Go thou quickly, and I will wait. I will wait here where I am. He shall not have to complain of me, his mother. But bide not too long. Come back and tell me what he says, what he wants, how he is — all — all — all! Each word • — each look. Or I shall go myself to see. Go! Go!" CTTAPTER III: THE WORD WITH POWER DWELLING AMONG US But as soon as he set his eyes upon me, he knew. It was the first manifestation of that marvellous instinct of which I have afterwards so many things to tell. "Ah," he said, "you know. Mary Orloff has told you. Where is she?" Instinctively I turned to the purple-splashed shadows of the pine-tree grove. "You are to come up," I cried in English, "he knows." And hastily but without the slightest surprise the woman came, climbing over the scorched brown slopes, still slippery with the heat of the mid-day sun. With long eager strides she came. Yet I could see that she was trembling when she stood before him. The hand that held her skirt shook, and the coarse straw bonnet, bought for a few pence at some town she had passed through, threw a quaint mush- room shadow before her which nodded and trembled also. "Christopher," she began — and then after a pause she repeated the same word, "Christopher!" But seeing him mild, nay, even gently smiling, she took courage and added, "I could not help it. I 26 THE WORD WITH POWER 27 knew — that you would need me, son Christopher. I brought you another robe. It is wet, this you have on. Also many other things from Rome. They are down yonder, at the little village. There are rough men there — the innkeeper " 'T saw them," he said, "they are not ill folk, only foolish — the raw stuff of men. But we will go down there presently. We must not longer charge this Friend (he smiled as he looked towards me) this Friend with our cares. Come, Mary Orloff I" "I am ready, my son!" But I would not have them part thus. The sun was setting, the night striding towards us out of the west. I would not hear of their going. Besides, after looking into those eyes of his, madman or no, mad Monk Christopher or sage White Pope, I did not mean ;,gain to be alone. So I told the woman how that there was safety and health on the hillside. In the valley lurked malaria and worse. My little beehive shelter was not the only one. Behind, and not fifty yards higher up was a little deserted house, built of the stone of the mountain roughly squared and plastered. In shape it was like two packing- cases set close together, one lying on its side, and the other standing on end. Afterwards I found that it had been built by a royal Duke for his forest guards, who, however, had long been frightened away by the brigands of the country. "We will go yonder, to the guards' cabin," I said, "it is easy to make a bed in each room, and light a fire to smoke out the mosquitoes." 28 THE LIGHT (3UT OF THE EAST "But ray parcel," said the woman, "it is with the innkeeper down yonder at Appiano. I did not like his look!" "No more did I," I agreed. "Well, wait only till I have gathered some romarin and heath. Then I will come with you." "I shall come also," said the Monk in White, simply. Being accustomed to changes, it did not take long for me to shift the small mattress roll from the "gourbi" on the slope to the cabin in the hollow behind the peak. I spread it for the woman in the inner room. And for the Monk (I had not made up my mind even yet) I made a sweet-scented couch of juniper, rosemary, lavender — springy, soft, not to be despised. On our return I meant to make an- other for myself, as I had often done before. The woman helped me with silent zeal, and an eagerness to meet my wishes which touched me pro- foundly. He, on the other hand, whom she called her son, looked away across at the orange splendours of the sunset without moving a muscle. I could see that he gave no more consideration to the bodily needs — food, shelter, clothing — than if he had been immortal. Yet, to my knowledge, he took them when they came his way, enjoying them as other men — or perhaps more exactly, like a simple child, easily pleased and quick to show his pleasure. We went down the mile-and-half to the village of Appiano. It is even as other villages of the south- ern Abruzzi — perhaps even a little dirtier, the in- THE WORD WITH POWER 29 habitants a trifle more villainous-looking, and enjoying, owing to its nearness to the settled coun- try, a yet worse reputation. The landlord I had squared at my first coming by committing to his care all I had, except a few provisions and my sleeping kit. I had assured him that nobody in the world would pay a copper for my ransom, but that if he kept the local villains in check, certain monies would arrive at intervals. But that if aught befell me, he would have to answer to a yet greater rascal than himself, the sjmdic of the town of Villafranca out on the Apulian plain. Being thua advised that it would be better to gain a little at a time than to cut my throat once for all and get nothing, Peter Vecchia and I got on none so ill. I have visited him sometimes in the evenings, when his drinking-shop was the haunt of all the sandalled, straw-legginged gentry for miles, gener- ally with a glittering head-like eye (more seldom with two), teeth showing in an evil grin, and a long stiletto wherewith to redd all quarrels and settle all arguments. Nevertheless the three of us went down to Peter Vecchia's inn. We could hear the noise long before we got there — women dancing on the bowling alley, shouting as if bitten by the Great Spider — the men more silent but probably worse employed. The vil- lage, scenting sweet enough with its evening fires of pine cones and cow-cakes coming pungently up the hill upon the sea-wind, lay just round the corner. 30 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST Peter Vecchia did not wish his fellows to see too much of the ongoings at his brigands' hosteliy. But somehow none of us were the least afraid. The Priest in White went first. In fact he always did so. His mother and I, without intending it, seemed by instinct to fall a step to the rear. In fact from the first he led — we followed. When anything common or mechanical had to be done — the opening of a gate on the road, of a door in a street, the tak- ing of a railway ticket for a journey, he stood aside, and one or the other of us arranged the matter. Then we went on again half a step to the rear as before. He spoke to us over his shoulder. At the door of Peter Vecchia's inn he stood silent listening, but not (as I judge) to the voices within. He appeared rather to be waiting for an answer from Someone Unseen. Then he lifted up one hand. The two first fingers were outstretched, the others flexed. "Peace be to this house," he said, "and to all peaceful men within it!" There came a sudden hush — then a rising hum as of insects waxing angry at being disturbed — then a rush for the door, and we were surrounded. But as the dark-browed men came tumbling out, each with a hand on his knife, white teeth showing a little like those of snarling dogs, they stood ar- rested, each man in his place. New arrivals thrust the first comers a little aside. They elbowed ner- vously, but did each other no harm. Nor us. The Monk Christopher had grown taller, or at THE WORD WITH POWER 31 least so it seemed. There was now a compelling majesty about his action and gesture. The women and lads ceased their clamour down on the hard beaten earth of the bowling alley. They flocked across, growing silent as they came. The Monk's hand was still extended. The glory of the setting sun enveloped him. In his left hand he held the ivory crucifix upon its iron chain. At the first sound of the sonorous Latin blessing, the throng sank on their knees — the women espe- cially pushing and uttering little bat-like cries, de- siring to be nearer. "He is a holy man — he is mad — his blessing brings children — noble children — good luck, much money! Bless me also, O my father ! " And they pressed and buffeted to win in under his hand, like sheep into the narrow entrance of a fold — all, that is, but Peter Vecchia, whom I saw busy within, hasting to fold up a bundle. I noticed particularly his anxiety, his clumsy gestures. Mes- senger and message were not for him. If ever I met a true child of the devil, it was this Peter Vechia of the inn at Appiano. The White Monk had begun in Latin. But after the roll of the first well-known formula, he changed immediately to the familiar Italian folk-speech. He had a slightly foreign accent — the same accent what- ever he spoke. And indeed the matter of language seemed indifferent to him. Somewhat thus he spoke : "May the God who maketh men and swayeth S2 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST hearts, make you, his poor sinful folk, see the Vision, and listen to the Voice. Give back that which ye have taken from other men. Do good to your neigh- bour. Love him a little and ye will love God much. I am he whom men seek to slay. Let not my blood be on your hands, for I am but a man like your- selves. And the God who filled my heart with Him- self will fill yours also. Pray, brethren. Thus it is that God comes — thus and thus only. "In the incense and the lifted wafer have ye found Him? Did He enter your hearts at the tinkle of the bell? I tell you 'No'! But in silence, when ye saw your sin great before you and repented, then God filled your hearts. "In the myriad stars I have not found Him. He is there, but not for us men. We reach no higher than the trees of Adam's garden, and the fruit ye pluck is mostly forbidden. In your hearts alone ye will find God. They are His temples. In your lives ye must show Him, if at all. This is too high for you — long it was too high for me. But it is the only True Word. Do not forget, even if now ye fail to understand. Amen!" A stout red-faced man with a pugilistic face elbowed his way to the front. He was clad in rusty black — I saw the bedropped untidy priestly soutane. Evidently he was angry. "Stand up all of you," he cried to the kneeling folk, "ye are deceived. This is a charlatan — no Christian man — an impostor! I — I will unmask him!" THE WORD WITH POWER 33 He actually trod on the kneeling people, so eager was he to reach the White Monk. But when he turned his turbid frogged eyes on the Preacher of the new doctrine, they fell. That calm regard was invincible. But the priest was no more master of himself. "He tells you there is to be no altar, no com- munion, no confession, no absolution, no priest, no Holy Church — no Holy Father sitting supreme in Rome " And gently waving his slender hand and bowing his head in time to the priest's furious indictment, the Monk in White nodded an exact agreement. "None," he said, softly, yet so clearly that all could hear, "none of these — priests, Holy Church militant on earth. The Son of Mary is to arise like the dayspring in your hearts. THE KINGDOM OF GOD IS AT HAND!" "And who are you?" cried the priest, "that take so much upon yourself? Some heretic — Protestant, atheist, blasphemer! — I have heard of such. But they shall not last long in my parish. Seize him, good folk. Fling him from the Black Cliff. It is a good work!" But the White Monk answered only with a smil- ing quiet. "Ye cannot. I am he who was called Cardinal Christopher of the Order of the Sepul- chrians. I am now the Pope, whom ye call the Holy Father!" And though I think none took in his words, and especially to the priest the assertion must have 34 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST seemed a vain thing, yet somehow the uplifted hand, the pose of certain command, the strength and gen- tleness of word and action thrilled every heart. But he looked only at the priest. "Kneel," he commanded, almost royally, "I am your Holy Father according to the Church — though your brother in Christ's gospel. Kneel and pray — • then rise and obey. I command it!" The parish priest of this turbulent brigands' nest battled a moment, his eyes injected, his features tumefied with rage. But suddenly something seemed to pass from one to the other like the glitter between the poles of an electric battery. The purple face blanched, the defiant pose fell in upon itself. The man rather dropped on hia face than kneeled. CHAPTER IV: WITHOUT A PARABLE SPAKE HE NOT UNTO THEM After this the people dispersed reluctantly. Only when their priest himself bade them sternly to be gone would they obey. Then I saw Mary Orlofif coming towards me. There was anxiety in her looks. She wrung her hands. "I cannot trouble him — my son — about so little," she said, "but the innkeeper, an evil man, denies that I ever gave him any parcel — it was a bag of canvas striped in red and grey — oh, such an evil man! All I had of my son's was in it. I must have it. Other- wise he should be shamed before men — and his mother also — I who can do nought else for him. Last night I sat late washing and dressing for him. He puts them on even as I lay them down, knowing not difference between the new and the old, his mind being on other things." I went in with her to the innkeeper. His inn's foul guest-chamber was empty and he was angry and evil, with a red leer in his foxy eyes. He would do a mischief if he could. From that moment I re- solved that Peter Vecchia would bear watching. "This lady," I began, quietly, "deposited a pack- age with you. Give it up to her. For the present I have no need of those I left." 35 36 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST "She left nothing!" said Peter, lying boldly. But when Mary Orloff with a tremble in her voice besought him to tell the truth and give her those things of which she had need, I bade her per- mit me to speak. I had another way with men of Peter's stamp. On my left hand and on the fourth finger, I wore a ring, a silver ring set on gold. It was famous. All Apulia knew it. Chiro's ring it was, chief seal and mandatory of the most terrible association of assassins the world has known. It was only a little skull, a death's head made carefully in silver, the name of the terrible Chiro Anachiarico graven on the smooth boss of the cerebellum. This I exhibited to Peter Vecchia. "You set up for a ruffian," I told him, "and so you are. But in Villafranca I know a man before whom you tremble as an aspen leaf in the sea-wind. Shall I tell you his name?" "I know it," said Peter hastily, his eyes on the ring which I turned about and about. "Well," said I, "that nameless man has taught me that sometimes it is well to fight the devil with his own weapons. He himself trembles before that ring. He would not wear it for all the wealth which Chiro gathered. If you do not bring forth the bag striped red and grey — if in five minutes you do not show the full tale of its contents, I will lay on you the Curse of the Silver Skull!" "The Decisione— the Death of the Twelve!" he WITHOUT A PARABLE 37 murmured low to himself as if mermerised by the dull glitter of the metal. "Go — ," I commanded, "and quickly! There remains but five minutes. Then the Curse!" Peter Vecchia flung into a long passage. At the end stood and ticked, loudly and dully, an immense clock, at least eight feet high in its bulging ventrous case ornamented with tarnished gilding. He opened the door, and lo, the bag which Mary, the wife of Michael Orloff, had described! "Open it and see if all be safe!" I ordered. Then I turned my back that the woman might not be embarrassed. For I knew she was even as Martha of Bethany, cumbered with much servdng, that she dreaded to appear officious about her son — even to me, whom she now looked upon as a friend. It was dark when we reached the stone hut be- hind the little "gourbi." The priest had come also. The White Monk (I could not yet bring myself to call him the White Pope) had laid a hand familiarly on his shoulder and they had gone up together. I know not what the matter of their converse had been. But the priest, whom I saw, was a changed man; Vergas "vyas his name. His lips were pale, and he trembled, as one does who has escaped an awful and violent death. But he recovered sufficiently to find some matches to light my oil "Vesuvius." It came to my mind that I could turn an omelette v;ith the eggs I had bought at the nearest farm that morning. These, fried with 38 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST the crumb of the bread, and washed down with the rest of the wine, would make us a supper. But the priest insisted on going down for a platter of jQsh he had that day wiled out of the stream which slipped down towards Appiano — two fathom deep in the pools, but a mere trickle between them. Nothing would serve him but that. When he returned, with the fish covered and smoking, we supped with relish — at least I did. The priest tasted nothing, but the White Monk partook of a little, and forced his mother also to sit with us at the stone slab which served for a table. She had drawn her stool back into the darkness, whence, from behind her hand, she could watch her son in a kind of bliss of possession. Door to the stone house there was none, and the only windows were pieces of wood shaped to the size of the frame, which could be lifted into their places when the wind or rain beat in. But this warm still night we could see the Pole Star low down to the north, with the Bear crawling round it slowly. During the time we sat there, I watched him pass the tall velvety oblong of the window from nose to tail, as the stars wheeled and we sat listen- ing. And when the last star vanished, lo, the White Monk had become of a certainty the White Pope. And by that name he shall be called till, in the ful- ness of time, a New Name is found for him. Now all men know him, and he needs neither that nor another. This first night of nights, however, it was other- WITHOUT A PARABLE 39 wise. Only one of us believed wholly upon him, and that was the Woman who had been to him as a mother. The priest was more dazed than anything else. He was a dull man, unlearned, and followed (as I judge) with something of the eye-service of a strong dog who, all unexpectedly in the midst of his barking, has felt his master's stick across his back. I mean, of course, that first night. After- wards this Vergas became a good and a brave com- panion and, in the event, fully proved his faith — but all that is yet to come. "This which I have to tell, I will teU," said the White Monk. "Do you listen. The story has not been told before. When I was a lad in the convent school, frequenting all the wise men, both Greeks and Latins, I knew that something like this would come to me. I remember nothing earlier than my cell at the convent, the duty of serving the Mass wdth some old mumbling father, and afterwards the gladness of escape to wander on Mount Zion." "Ah!" sighed the woman in the darkness behind. And I knew she was thinking of that earlier time when she had found the small curl-headed boy wan- dering alone on Mount Zion, among the tombs of the dead and the abominations of the living. It was wonderful the simplicity with which the story was told — the voice which had struck awe into the brigand mountaineers of the Trastevera falling low and gentle on our ears, with a strange halt be- tween the sentences, as if the tale-teller were won- 40 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST dering how much it would be well for us to know. I do not pretend to give his words, but I shall try- to avoid any colouring of my own, as much as is possible. "There on Mount Zion I wandered (he went on) when I was wearied with learning. I spoke with the pilgrims — at first to learn their tongues. — All the nations of the world came to Jerusalem in those days, not as now by the railway and with red books in their hands. But to worship. Yet what? They knew not what. "The spot where the Cross was set up — there in mine own convent, in the church over which in time authority was given me, where His body had been laid — thither they went by hundreds. They grovelled on the floor of the Rotunda, kissing, as they thought, the centre of the earth. They would not rise even if the Turk guards walked over them. And then I put on a pair of orange shoes and a turban, and walked within the Mosque of Omar, I saw them praying with equal fervency to Allah and calling upon Mahomet his prophet. They showed me the place where David and the prophets had worshipped. In our holy Christian places we did the same. Pilgrims came to both. The touch of the stone on their lips at the lifting of the cloth was all in all to them. The spouting of the fire on the day of Pentecost — the golden lamps and starred floor of the sepulchre. I saw that such things were what the ignorant worshipped — both Moslem and Christian. But I could not. WITHOUT A PARABLE 41 "So instead I stood without and worshipped the host of heaven. For then I was a young man and had no knowledge. Besides that was better than to fall down before the stocks and stones of sacred sites, or to worship the letter of a printed book. Yet even then I saw that Jerusalem, and Palestine, and my own great Church of the Sepulchre were but the empty shells of the truth. " 'God is above,' I said, 'and with Him Christ. The Christ once walked here, where now I walk. But He is not here^ — he is risen.' "And I stamped my foot in contempt on the pave- ment of inlaid marble looking upward into the hol- low vault of night, or into the burning day — to find Him! " 'There,' said I, 'there surely are God and His Christ!' "But I knew not, having misread and misunder- stood. God gave me light, yet not for long. "Then after that came wars, and troubles, and pestilences, and some said it was the beginning of the last things, and some the openmg of the vials. But these were even as the first opening of the Shut Book to me. I went and helped, at first in feeble- ness, and then in power. Till men made a name of me so that I was shamed, knowmg myself for the feeblest and the least worthy of them who had fol- lowed in the footsteps of that Son of Mary, who was called the Physician. Then, too, I knew for the first time that I was on the selvages of Holy Ground. Not the Sepulchre, not Calvary, nor yet 42 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST Olivet! Not Mount Zion nor Gethsemane. No, nor Jerusalem, nor even the Land of Palestine. But where the poor are, where the needy cluster, where the sick suffer and the dying agonise, where the death carts rumble about the streets — that was my sacred Ground. That was Holy Land. His feet have trodden there, not in tradition only, but in verity. "God was teaching me — but slowly. I regarded the hosts of heaven, the sun and the moon that He had made. I considered the lily of the field. But He was not in them, nor in the exquisite exactness of the knowledge which reaches out to new dis- coveries, meddling vainly with the raw material of the universe — radium and double stars and the cul- ture of life in curious jellies. These were no more than the dust which God shakes from His skirts,, soiled with so much creating. Nor should we be an inch nearer Him, if we knew not a part — but ALL. "Then for a while I ceased wholly from cere- monies — the Mass, the confession, even the daily round of praise and prayer. I would have retired into the wilderness, but — so strange are men — mine own Order would not permit me. The very Mos- lems with whom I talked made a body-guard for me. The Greeks fell on their faces and begged me to abide. I was their only barrier against the Turkish wrath. "Then it came to pass that I turned away the terror of an invader, and made peace. Last of all, the cardinals in Rome, hearing that a certain man WITHOUT A PARABLE 43 in the East illustrated their Order before the men of the world, pressed the Holy Father to choose me as one of themselves. Then it was given me to stand before emperors and kings. I spoke, and whether they heeded or not, honour accrued to the Church. So when His Holiness died, they called me to the Council of the Cardinals. And because the rulers of this world were arrayed against one another in the very bosom of the Conclave, they chose me — even though I told them to their faces what I should do — if I were Pope by their making. "But the more I protested, the more set were they. And some thought that I should abide alone in the Vatican with my own thoughts and dreams — which would be an excellent thing. These were the secretaries, the diplomats, and men of worldly coun- cil. And they voted for me. And others sighed for a more ancient rite, which coming from the East, I might bring to them. And others saw only a man with a repute for uprightness, who would cleanse this corner and that in the Church's wide House. "So at the end they all chose me — and with ac- claim. And they put robes on me, and carried me in a golden chair to the seat of Peter, and set the triple crown on my head. Then they bade me choose a name, and I choose mine own Christopher — because it was mine own, and also because of what I meant to do — to carry abroad the Christ. They pressed me to take rank with Pius or Clement, Innocent or Leo. But I would not. So being wearied, they ended by proclaiming Pope Christopher. 44 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST "And I would have spoken fully then of my in- tent, but they were aged men — all, that is, save I myself and a young black-browed secretary. So I waited till the next day, and then, calling them together, I told them my will. "I had thought to move them greatly. But as I say, they were aged men, long-time princes of the Church, dulled with much pomp, and that honour of the robe which eats in and in like a cankerous disease. So when I spoke of living as Jesus, the son of Joseph, lived — of working as He wrought, of going forth sandal-free to teach men, even as He walked and spoke — they went to sleep. The words I spoke were too familiar. They had heard them sa long, that there was no meaning in them any more. So they sat and nodded and dozed. They were old men and had come far. And the food had told on this one, and the confinement of the Conclave on that. But all the while the secretary smiled under his black brows — smiled and smiled. And I knew wherefore. He thought that a week of the honour, of the responsibility, of the labour would make me even as those who had gone before. "So perhaps they might, but I did not wait to see. That night I took staff in hand, and in the dusk when the gates were shut, I passed out by a little door in the angle of the garden of which I had the key, and so through the city till I found me alone on the Campagna. "That night I lay in an empty tomb, the entrance to a catacomb. And there I had a vision. I saw WITHOUT A PARABLE 45 all the vanities which men have added to the faith of the Nazarene. The Power Temporal first — which had (praise to His wisdom!) been already stripped from my shoulders. And with it I saw the tinsel of ornament, the cathedrals, the robes, the music, the chorus of singers, the gold and silver and jewels on robes and walls, the more subtle delights of the tickled senses, eye-pleasing ceremonies, incense, pro- cessions, carried crucifixes. In the Book of the Four, who are called Evangelists, I found nothing of all that. Therefore all must go." And in the darkness behind the woman moaned. For next to her son's love, these things had made religion to her. This is common to women. "Then I considered the great men who led the Church — princes and prelates in crimson, and violet — their palaces, their carriages, their tables, and the gold and silver lading them. "I saw also in my dream certain men with worn garments bringing back poor barley loaves, coarse and hard, to a Man who sat in talk with a woman upon a well-curb. So it seemed that these things also must go. There must be an end — in so far as I, Christopher, whom they had made Pope, was con- cerned. For the others who remained behind, they managed well a great concern, as men who sit on council-boards and direct commercial enterprises. Let them — they have their reward. To the diplo- matists, I would leave the supple, subtle shifts of policy, to the wise the wisdom, to the learned the learning. Joseph's son and 'that rock' Peter, his 46 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST disciple, knew nothing of such things. The staff, the coat apiece, the rye-bread sent by God, would be the portion of at least one who had sat in Peter's chair!" And at this poor Priest Vergas groaned. For as his countenance betrayed, he loved much the flesh- pots of the churchman's Egypt. Yet, as I say, after- wards he followed faithfully enough this strange pillar of mingled cloud and fire through the wilder- ness. "Also (the White Pope continued) I saw some- thing more — a thing which cut me deeper. I was what the men of the world call 'learned' — I had read many books. Eagerly I had searched the new spirit. I found from this man and that, wise in the subtleties of the ancient languages, that the Holy Books were written so and so — this one and that other adding his stone. For a while I had thought, being ignorant, that as Head of the Church, I might take this as my truth, proclaim it, adopt it, sanctify it. After all it might be so. Truth was truth and could not be shamed. "Now (still in my vision) I saw that God was no more present in this microscope work on musty parchments than He had been in the giant telescopes which push their furrows amid the infinity of stars. "Human patchwork or God's own shorthand — it was no great matter which the Bible might be. Prophet and singer, apostle and evangelist — the message of each, God-given, lay on the surface. It might be hidden from the wise and prudent, but it WITHOUT A PARABLE 47 was revealed unto babes. The wayfaring man, though a fool, could not err therein. "Four pamphlets I saw containing all things — scattered heedless on the world — the record of one Man's life — yet a Man who left no record of him- self, who when he wrote, wrote on the sand or on the hearts of men — all the rest, history, prophecy, epistle, only headpiece and tailpiece to that. This I saw clearly. "No," he repeated, softly after a pause, "learning had failed. God was not there!" [And this, being to my own address, struck me cold. For having been born in the time of the sages, I had learned their doctrine, sitting as it were, at the feet of Gamaliel. But now even Gamaliel was a vain thing.] Then we three, Vergas the Priest, I and the woman, all leaned forward and asked the same ques- tion. "What, then, remains?" It came like an appeal from each of us. We could see the face of the White Pope dimly turned towards the black oblong of the open window. The sheet lightning was pulsing vaguely away over the sea to the south. The glimmer caught his eyes. He went on in the same quiet, almost exagger- atedly still voice. "And in my dream in the catacomb where the dead lay I saw God — God as men have seen Him but once. He was a man, poor, driven, wandering, homeless — yet nothing fearing, in whom even His 48 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST enemies could find no fault. Poor men were all about Him — poor men only. He spoke unacceptable words. The rich avoided Him, though some few came secretly by night. The learned condemned Him unheard. The well-to-do laughed in their door- ways to see the tattered company go by. Then they turned to their shops and laughed, button-holing of each other in the market-places to tell again the tale. "But He was the God. Either that or there is no God. Thus I saw that what Man has been, Man can be again. He was the Head, the Founder. Men in ignorance made me His Vice-regent on earth. For once — for once they did right. I, Christopher, the foundling babe of Mount Zion, without father, with- out mother, whom they had made 'Servant of the Servant of God,' would endeavour to serve faith- fully. The footsteps of Joseph's Son I should tread till I died. His words I would speak — cost what it might. Now, which of you will follow?" "I," said his mother, "but — in spite of all — you shall be my son." And her hand sought out his in the darkness. "I," cried the Vicar Vergas, harshly, and as if angry with himself. And though I was silent, because of known un- worthiness — even I, Lucas Cargill, meant to follow, though it might be afar off. And as we four sat silent, the world beneath us, the solemn lightnings of God pulsed steadily over the sea. CHAPTER V: THE EMPTY CHAIR OF PETER Next morning we got our first taste of the reality that was waiting us. A man clambered hastily up from Appiano, one of these rough fellows, half charcoal-burner, half bandit, who had stood listen- ing to the White Pope the night before. He asked me for the village priest. I myself was padding about in shirt and trousers, scraping together sticks for the morning fire. (For I am all Arab in this — that it seems equally natural to me to be up and about at any one hour of the twenty-four as at any other.) "Father Vergas," he began hastily, as the Priest came yawning out, buttoning his soutane, "there are soldiers down at Lucera, very many of them. They are coming toward the Tresteveran. And Peter Vecchia went down the mountain this morn- ing early ! " "What do you mean, Joseph?" said the priest, "speak plain, man. What matter to me the comings and goings of Peter Vecchia? And if the soldiers are at Lucera, think you that I am a brigand with his neck in a halter — like some folk I could men- tion?" 49 50 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST The mail stood with his hat twisting in his fingers. He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "No, my Father," he answered, "for you it is no matter. But — for him!" He pointed to the little hut which had been built for the Duke of Abruzzi's forest guard. "They cannot touch him — !" I cried, intervening hastily, "they dare not!" For as you see by this time, I had no more doubts. And though I could not see the future, nor guess all that should come of it, yet what the White Pope told us yestreen was the truth for me. Of that there could be no doubt at all, so far as I was concerned. The brigand looked at me, half contemptuously. "When the police come to Appiano, and bring with them a general with soldiers, there will be trouble on the Trasteveran," he said. "Bid the holy man rise and go. I also will come with you to see you safe." Thus was our force enlarged by one, Mario Zini — and no mean man either, known on the Trasteveran and through all Basilicata. He had under him many other men also who feared neither soldier nor police. It was like David gathering to him into the hold of Engedi. As I went up the hill to warn the White Pope and his mother, Mario Zini added another word. "I saw the brigadier of police at Villafranca this morning — " he cried, "he and I have dealings — other than official. Be it understood — he is wedded to my wife's cousin-german, and will succeed me in THE EMPTY CHAIR OF PETER 51 my best blood-feud. But just now he is of the poUce. And he bade me say that this time they could not disobey or misunderstand their orders. The word had come from Rome! It is a matter altogether serious." But how the command came to Villafranca to seize the White Pope, and what was the nature of the pressure put on local police so far removed from the capital, I must alter the due order of time a little to explain. My knowledge of the state of the case as it had been in Rome came about thus. I was in London, months after, and met one Vane Marshall in Fleet Street. He was of my own age. I had known him as a boy at Fettes, where we were in the same house. He had been vice-consul at Rome during the time of the disappearance of the Pope, and could give me what he called "inside track" information. I took him to the Retrenchment Club, of which I had continued to pay the subscription, and there we talked. What he said comes in best here. But it must be kept in mind all through that we in the broken country south of Foggia knew nothing at the time these things happened of what was going on at Rome. Vane Marshall was an Oxford classical don, but he had gone out ranching in the "Nor'-West" in the good days, though all he had brought back was an extremely extended vocabulary. He did not know, of course, that I was interested specially — not more. 52 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST that is, than all the world — in the happenings at Rome. Obviously, however, he had told the story often before. Several of his best points were clearly w^ell-worn cliches. At any rate what he had to say was to this purport. "I had been watching the betting on these old Conclave fellows with some care. I had a bit on Cardinal Salviati myself. He was the Venice man, you see, and there was a kind of superstition that one Venetian bishop would follow another. Besides Austria had a finger in the pie as usual, on account of Trieste, you know. No 'Italia irridenta' in their beverage — no, nor any 'Subtle Diplomacy-and-Lead- the-Nations-by-the-Nose' business, as in Leo's time. So of course that did for Cardinal Ex-ex-secretary Terni, the Roman first favourite. The French fel- lows were voting for him because they hated the Austrians — in a seventy-year-old, brotherly way of course. "But they were evidently splitting badly. Day after day up went the smoke and not a bit forrader! I heard all about it after, from a friend of Temi's. It was that side which forced the game. When they saw that they could not beat the Austrians, and that the old Vienna-'doyen' was all ready with his 'veto' if Terni were named (same as the time before), the Terni men began to look about them. It was cold- drawn politics, I tell you. I've been to a State nom- ination meeting in the woolliest West — for Governor in a presidential year. I'll wager there was enough smart work put in there — to beat any effete East, THE EMPTY CHAIR OF PETER 53 and an English general election all to sticks. But it ended in things being conducted on reciprocity prin- ciples. Both parties shelved a possible president apiece — suddenly — and a quiet Peoples' Party Green Backer walked right in — w-nanimous, without knocking. "Well, so it happened now. When the Temi men saw they couldn't possibly arrive, they looked about for a man to beat the Austrian nominee. Do you understand? To elect they needed the big Orders — the monk fellows and the Jesuits, you know. So they picked out a mild-looking Holy Man, very learned and apostolic — rfamines, pestilences, and persecutions a specialite — you know the kind of chap. They called him The Light out of the East' where he came from and really he had Francis- Xavier-ed around pretty much all over the place, from Turkey to Japan, and held all and whole of the- Purple-East-in-fee, as it were. But modest — why, though a Cardinal at thirty-three he was called just plain Brother Christopher! And if I had only known my business I could have got the biggest odds that ever were offered in Rome against a candi- date. But, the truth is, till the Temi fellows saw that the Austrians had the drop on them, nobody even knew the name of Cardinal Christopher, Per- petual Master of the Order of the Holy Sepulchreans —and Pocket Providence to that half of the world about which nobody hears, and nobody cares except a few retired colonels and our ex-Emperor George Curzon. 54 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST "They say Terni picked him out himself. Sly dog, Terni! Those Austrians had beaten him once before badly. But this time he had them. It was a sure thing. Brother Christopher would be Inno- cent the Hundred-and-First, and Terni would be his Secretary! No flies on that proposition, hey? "Who but Pope Hundred-and-One would have his private room — all the Cardinal Virtues to play with —a blank-cartridge Encyclical to issue every alter- nate week, and Mr. Secretary Terni in the outer office, seeing the people and doing all the business. That was Temi's plan — and what he doesn't know isn't knowledge. It certainly looked first-class on the face of it. "So they put Brother Christopher up for the triple tiara — this oriental St. Francis — the darkest of dark horses. And he made them a windy kind of speech (so they said) all about equality and doing away with pomps and vanities, if he were chosen. And Terni was more than ever sure that it was all right, but he didn't push the matter too hard. He rather let it come from the side of the Societies. And come it did. Old Martino of the Jesuits became so excited that he got back the power of his paralysed hand, and cried out 'Behold, a miracle — a true miracle! Now I shall be able to serve the Mass with both hands!' A thing which he had not done for twenty- five years, having a dispensation of old Leo the Thirteenth, as everybody knows, to do it with one. But that, happening as it did and when it did, regu- larly snuffed out the Austrians. The English- THE EMPTY CHAIR OF PETER 55 speaking Red Hats, who had been lying off, voting for this one and that so as not to increase the lead of either of the big politicals, now nudged each other, and went solid for Brother Christopher. So did Terni's men — and so, of course, did the Orders. It was a regular nomination stampede. "They elected him so quick that the blue smoke of the last ballot-burning had hardly melted from the chimney top, before they were out on the bal- cony proclaiming Pope Christopher the First. There had been a wrangle about that, but as they wanted the thing finished and done with, they let him please himself about the name. The cardinals all wanted badly to get home. So they did not even insist on 'Christophorus' which some old papal Johnny had called himself once before, and would have had a more regular look. "Everybody just heaved a whopping sigh. All troubles were over, and as Pope Christopher was a young man, his hair hardly grey, they felt that matters were arranged on a peace footing for thirty, forty, or even fifty years. They were out of it, at all events. Terni would have the leading-strings, of course. And it was slowly and sadly that the Aus- trians began to pack up, I wager. For they had failed to carry their man, and the Emperor would most likely order them to the 'deepest-dungeon- beneath-my-castle-moat' ! — Or at least invite them to resign all their benefices and state connections. Hard luck, for they had fought like — well, like Turks. It was a regular surprise finish. Nobody 56 THE LIGHT OUT OF THE EAST lifted much, though, in the Embassies, except one or two wild-catting attaches who had bet on the 'field* — against both the favourites, Temi and the Venice man. And they carried their tails so high over their backs that they were barred coming into the club. You simply couldn't speak to them. H. B. M.'s own Plenipotentiary to Petersburg couldn't have carried more side than these fellows did — for twenty-four hours — yes, just for twenty-four hours after the coronation and enthronement. "Then a kind of hollow anxiety began to pervade Rome. A kind of hush in the air and a look like turned milk on men's faces. Ever been in Rome when they begin to whisper 'Cholera'? Yes! Well, it was like that. All the ofiicials going about swear- ing by their gods that it was all right — healthiest town in the world— but, all the same, everybody looking up timetables for trains, and when nobody was about, sliding over to the bank and Cook's of- fices. "Was there anything the matter? "Well, yes, a trifle — why, they couldn't find the Pope! "It was an enemy who had done it — the work of the Austrians, the Jews, the Greeks— anything but what had really happened. Brother Christopher had done exactly what he said. You understand? No one had thought of that. He had committed the sin of sins. He had taken off his tiara, laid down his official staff— and shaken off the dust of Rome from his feet. THE EMPTY CHAIR OF PETER 57 "But Temi, the ex-secretary, was quick. He had always kept up some sort of an understanding with the Quirinal government — on the sly, you know. He communicated now, and with prompt effect. The staff at the telegraph offices was kept up all night. Nerto, the premier, did not want a mad Pope adrift among a population always hanging like the Prophet's coffin between famine and revolt — tra- ditional revolutionaries, you know. So, all the re- sources of the civil government were at Temi's disposal — for a price. "That was the way they tracked him so quick. You see a lost Pope is like a first-class battleship which drags her anchors in a crowded harbour. It's better to get out of the way, if you can. For you see he was the Pope. Nothing could alter that. They had made him Pope themselves by bell, book, and candle. There was no getting out of it. "And then the world — what would it not do, with a real Pope for a leader? Why, take France alone — all religious people there were sullenly angry about separation, the chivying of the teaching brothers and nursing sisters — who could tell what might not happen? All Armageddon on us in a month, as like as not! "Temi did not want this — no more did brisk Nerto, the Italian premier. They wanted Pope Christopher the First safe back in the Vatican — which, you know, is not Italian territory. " 'What good would that do if he didn't want to stop?' My dear fellow, you are innocent! Are there