"INTROIBO ad altare Dei." Montanelli stood
before the high altar among his ministers and acolytes
and read the Introit aloud in steady tones.
All the Cathedral was a blaze of light and colour;
from the holiday dresses of the congregation to
the pillars with their flaming draperies and wreaths
of flowers there was no dull spot in it. Over the
open spaces of the doorway fell great scarlet curtains,
through whose folds the hot June sunlight
glowed, as through the petals of red poppies in
a corn-field. The religious orders with their candles
and torches, the companies of the parishes
with their crosses and flags, lighted up the dim
side-chapels; and in the aisles the silken folds of
the processional banners drooped, their gilded
staves and tassels glinting under the arches. The
surplices of the choristers gleamed, rainbow-tinted,
beneath the coloured windows; the sunlight
lay on the chancel floor in chequered stains of
orange and purple and green. Behind the altar
hung a shimmering veil of silver tissue; and against
the veil and the decorations and the altar-lights
the Cardinal's figure stood out in its trailing white
robes like a marble statue that had come to life.
As was customary on processional days, he was
only to preside at the Mass, not to celebrate, so
at the end of the Indulgentiam he turned from the
altar and walked slowly to the episcopal throne,
celebrant and ministers bowing low as he passed.
"I'm afraid His Eminence is not well," one of
the canons whispered to his neighbour; "he seems
so strange."
Montanelli bent his head to receive the jewelled
mitre. The priest who was acting as deacon of
honour put it on, looked at him for an instant,
then leaned forward and whispered softly:
"Your Eminence, are you ill?"
Montanelli turned slightly towards him. There
was no recognition in his eyes.
"Pardon, Your Eminence!" the priest whispered,
as he made a genuflexion and went back to
his place, reproaching himself for having interrupted
the Cardinal's devotions.
The familiar ceremony went on; and Montanelli
sat erect and still, his glittering mitre and gold-brocaded
vestments flashing back the sunlight,
and the heavy folds of his white festival mantle
sweeping down over the red carpet. The light of a
hundred candles sparkled among the sapphires on
his breast, and shone into the deep, still eyes that
had no answering gleam; and when, at the words:
"Benedicite, pater eminentissime," he stooped to
bless the incense, and the sunbeams played among
the diamonds, he might have recalled some splendid
and fearful ice-spirit of the mountains, crowned
with rainbows and robed in drifted snow, scattering,
with extended hands, a shower of blessings or
of curses.
At the elevation of the Host he descended from
his throne and knelt before the altar. There was
a strange, still evenness about all his movements;
and as he rose and went back to his place the major
of dragoons, who was sitting in gala uniform behind
the Governor, whispered to the wounded
captain: "The old Cardinal's breaking, not a
doubt of it. He goes through his work like a
machine."
"So much the better!" the captain whispered
back. "He's been nothing but a mill-stone round
all our necks ever since that confounded amnesty."
"He did give in, though, about the court-martial."
"Yes, at last; but he was a precious time making
up his mind to. Heavens, how close it is!
We shall all get sun-stroke in the procession. It's
a pity we're not Cardinals, to have a canopy held
over our heads all the way---- Sh-sh-sh!
There's my uncle looking at us!"
Colonel Ferrari had turned round to glance
severely at the two younger officers. After the
solemn event of yesterday morning he was in a
devout and serious frame of mind, and inclined to
reproach them with a want of proper feeling about
what he regarded as "a painful necessity of state."
The masters of the ceremonies began to
assemble and place in order those who were to
take part in the procession. Colonel Ferrari rose
from his place and moved up to the chancel-rail,
beckoning to the other officers to accompany him.
When the Mass was finished, and the Host had
been placed behind the crystal shield in the processional
sun, the celebrant and his ministers retired
to the sacristy to change their vestments, and a
little buzz of whispered conversation broke out
through the church. Montanelli remained seated
on his throne, looking straight before him, immovably.
All the sea of human life and motion
seemed to surge around and below him, and to die
away into stillness about his feet. A censer was
brought to him; and he raised his hand with the
action of an automaton, and put the incense into
the vessel, looking neither to the right nor to the left.
The clergy had come back from the sacristy,
and were waiting in the chancel for him to descend;
but he remained utterly motionless. The
deacon of honour, bending forward to take off the
mitre, whispered again, hesitatingly:
"Your Eminence!"
The Cardinal looked round.
"What did you say?"
"Are you quite sure the procession will not be
too much for you? The sun is very hot."
"What does the sun matter?"
Montanelli spoke in a cold, measured voice,
and the priest again fancied that he must have
given offence.
"Forgive me, Your Eminence. I thought you
seemed unwell."
Montanelli rose without answering. He paused
a moment on the upper step of the throne, and
asked in the same measured way:
"What is that?"
The long train of his mantle swept down over the
steps and lay spread out on the chancel-floor, and
he was pointing to a fiery stain on the white satin.
"It's only the sunlight shining through a coloured
window, Your Eminence."
"The sunlight? Is it so red?"
He descended the steps, and knelt before the
altar, swinging the censer slowly to and fro. As
he handed it back, the chequered sunlight fell on
his bared head and wide, uplifted eyes, and cast a
crimson glow across the white veil that his ministers
were folding round him.
He took from the deacon the sacred golden sun;
and stood up, as choir and organ burst into a peal
of triumphal melody.
"Pange, lingua, g]oriosi
Corporis mysterium,
Sanguinisque pretiosi
Quem in mundi pretium,
Fructus ventris generosi
Rex effudit gentium."
The bearers came slowly forward, and raised the
silken canopy over his head, while the deacons of
honour stepped to their places at his right and left
and drew back the long folds of the mantle. As
the acolytes stooped to lift his robe from the
chancel-floor, the lay fraternities heading the procession
started to pace down the nave in stately
double file, with lighted candles held to left and right.
He stood above them, by the altar, motionless
under the white canopy, holding the Eucharist
aloft with steady hands, and watched them as they
passed. Two by two, with candles and banners
and torches, with crosses and images and flags,
they swept slowly down the chancel steps, along
the broad nave between the garlanded pillars, and
out under the lifted scarlet curtains into the blazing
sunlight of the street; and the sound of their
chanting died into a rolling murmur, drowned in
the pealing of new and newer voices, as the unending
stream flowed on, and yet new footsteps echoed down the nave.
The companies of the parishes passed, with their
white shrouds and veiled faces; then the brothers
of the Misericordia, black from head to foot,
their eyes faintly gleaming through the holes in
their masks. Next came the monks in solemn
row: the mendicant friars, with their dusky cowls
and bare, brown feet; the white-robed, grave Dominicans.
Then followed the lay officials of the
district; dragoons and carabineers and the local
police-officials; the Governor in gala uniform, with
his brother officers beside him. A deacon followed,
holding up a great cross between two
acolytes with gleaming candles; and as the curtains
were lifted high to let them pass out at the
doorway, Montanelli caught a momentary glimpse,
from where he stood under the canopy, of the sunlit
blaze of carpeted street and flag-hung walls and
white-robed children scattering roses. Ah, the
roses; how red they were!
On and on the procession paced in order; form
succeeding to form and colour to colour. Long
white surplices, grave and seemly, gave place to
gorgeous vestments and embroidered pluvials.
Now passed a tall and slender golden cross, borne
high above the lighted candles; now the cathedral
canons, stately in their dead white mantles. A
chaplain paced down the chancel, with the crozier
between two flaring torches; then the acolytes
moved forward in step, their censers swinging to
the rhythm of the music; the bearers raised the
canopy higher, counting their steps: "One, two;
one, two!" and Montanelli started upon the Way
of the Cross.
Down the chancel steps and all along the nave
he passed; under the gallery where the organ
pealed and thundered; under the lifted curtains
that were so red--so fearfully red; and out into
the glaring street, where the blood-red roses lay
and withered, crushed into the red carpet by the
passing of many feet. A moment's pause at the
door, while the lay officials came forward to replace
the canopy-bearers; then the procession moved on
again, and he with it, his hands clasping the
Eucharistic sun, and the voices of the choristers
swelling and dying around him, with the rhythmical
swaying of censers and the rolling tramp of feet.
"Verbum caro, panem verum,
Verbo carnem efficit;
Sitque sanguis Christi merum----"
Always blood and always blood! The carpet
stretched before him like a red river; the roses lay
like blood splashed on the stones---- Oh, God!
Is all Thine earth grown red, and all Thy heaven?
Ah, what is it to Thee, Thou mighty God----
Thou, whose very lips are smeared with blood!
"Tantum ergo Sacramentum,
Veneremur cernui."
He looked through the crystal shield at the
Eucharist. What was that oozing from the wafer--
dripping down between the points of the golden
sun--down on to his white robe? What had he seen
dripping down--dripping from a lifted hand?
The grass in the courtyard was trampled and
red,--all red,--there was so much blood. It was
trickling down the cheek, and dripping from the
pierced right hand, and gushing in a hot red torrent
from the wounded side. Even a lock of the
hair was dabbled in it,--the hair that lay all wet
and matted on the forehead--ah, that was the
death-sweat; it came from the horrible pain.
The voices of the choristers rose higher, triumphantly:
"Genitori, genitoque,
Laus et jubilatio,
Salus, honor, virtus quoque,
Sit et benedictio."
Oh, that is more than any patience can endure!
God, Who sittest on the brazen heavens enthroned,
and smilest with bloody lips, looking
down upon agony and death, is it not enough? Is
it not enough, without this mockery of praise and
blessing? Body of Christ, Thou that wast broken
for the salvation of men; blood of Christ, Thou
that wast shed for the remission of sins; is it not
enough?
"Ah, call Him louder; perchance He sleepeth!
Dost Thou sleep indeed, dear love; and wilt
Thou never wake again? Is the grave so jealous
of its victory; and will the black pit under the tree
not loose Thee even for a little, heart's delight?
Then the Thing behind the crystal shield made
answer, and the blood dripped down as It spoke:
"Hast thou chosen, and wilt repent of thy
choice? Is thy desire not fulfilled? Look upon
these men that walk in the light and are clad in
silk and in gold: for their sake was I laid in the
black pit. Look upon the children scattering
roses, and hearken to their singing if it be sweet:
for their sake is my mouth filled with dust, and the
roses are red from the well-springs of my heart.
See where the people kneel to drink the blood that
drips from thy garment-hem: for their sake was
it shed, to quench their ravening thirst. For it is
written: 'Greater love hath no man than this, if
a man lay down his life for his friends.'"
"Oh, Arthur, Arthur; there is greater love than
this! If a man lay down the life of his best beloved,
is not that greater?"
And It answered again:
"Who is thy best beloved? In sooth, not I."
And when he would have spoken the words
froze on his tongue, for the singing of the choristers
passed over them, as the north wind over icy
pools, and hushed them into silence:
"Dedit fragilibus corporis ferculum,
Dedit et tristibus sanguinis poculum,
Dicens: Accipite, quod trado vasculum
Omnes ex eo bibite."
Drink of it, Christians; drink of it, all of you!
Is it not yours? For you the red stream stains
the grass; for you the living flesh is seared and
torn. Eat of it, cannibals; eat of it, all of you!
This is your feast and your orgy; this is the day of
your joy! Haste you and come to the festival;
join the procession and march with us; women
and children, young men and old men--come to
the sharing of flesh! Come to the pouring of
blood-wine and drink of it while it is red; take
and eat of the Body----
Ah, God; the fortress! Sullen and brown, with
crumbling battlements and towers dark among the
barren hills, it scowled on the procession sweeping
past in the dusty road below. The iron teeth
of the portcullis were drawn down over the mouth
of the gate; and as a beast crouched on the mountain-side,
the fortress guarded its prey. Yet, be
the teeth clenched never so fast, they shall be
broken and riven asunder; and the grave in the
courtyard within shall yield up her dead. For the
Christian hosts are marching, marching in mighty
procession to their sacramental feast of blood, as
marches an army of famished rats to the gleaning;
and their cry is: "Give! Give!" and they say
not: "It is enough."
"Wilt thou not be satisfied? For these men
was I sacrificed; thou hast destroyed me that they
might live; and behold, they march everyone on
his ways, and they shall not break their ranks.
"This is the army of Christians, the followers of
thy God; a great people and a strong. A fire
devoureth before them, and behind them a flame
burneth; the land is as the garden of Eden before
them, and behind them a desolate wilderness; yea,
and nothing shall escape them."
"Oh, yet come back, come back to me, beloved;
for I repent me of my choice! Come back, and we
will creep away together, to some dark and silent
grave where the devouring army shall not find us;
and we will lay us down there, locked in one another's
arms, and sleep, and sleep, and sleep. And
the hungry Christians shall pass by in the merciless
daylight above our heads; and when they howl
for blood to drink and for flesh to eat, their cry
shall be faint in our ears; and they shall pass on
their ways and leave us to our rest."
And It answered yet again:
"Where shall I hide me? Is it not written:
'They shall run to and fro in the city; they shall
run upon the wall; they shall climb up upon the
houses; they shall enter in at the windows like a
thief?' If I build me a tomb on the mountain-top,
shall they not break it open? If I dig me a
grave in the river-bed, shall they not tear it up?
Verily, they are keen as blood-hounds to seek out
their prey; and for them are my wounds red, that
they may drink. Canst thou not hear them, what
they sing?"
And they sang, as they went in between the
scarlet curtains of the Cathedral door; for the
procession was over, and all the roses were strewn:
"Ave, verum Corpus, natum
De Maria Virgine:
Vere passum, immolatum
In cruce pro homine!
Cujus latus perforatum
Undam fluxit cum sanguinae;
Esto nobis praegustatum
Mortis in examinae."
And when they had left off singing, he entered
at the doorway, and passed between the silent rows
of monks and priests, where they knelt, each man
in his place, with the lighted candles uplifted.
And he saw their hungry eyes fixed on the sacred
Body that he bore; and he knew why they bowed
their heads as he passed. For the dark stream
ran down the folds of his white vestments; and on
the stones of the Cathedral floor his footsteps left
a deep, red stain.
So he passed up the nave to the chancel rails;
and there the bearers paused, and he went out
from under the canopy and up to the altar steps.
To left and right the white-robed acolytes knelt
with their censers and the chaplains with their
torches; and their eyes shone greedily in the flaring
light as they watched the Body of the Victim.
And as he stood before the altar, holding aloft
with blood-stained hands the torn and mangled
body of his murdered love, the voices of the guests
bidden to the Eucharistic feast rang out in another
peal of song:
"Oh salutaris Hostia,
Quae coeli pandis ostium;
Bella praemunt hostilia,
Da robur, fer, auxilium!"
Ah, and now they come to take the Body----
Go then, dear heart, to thy bitter doom, and open
the gates of heaven for these ravening wolves that
will not be denied. The gates that are opened for
me are the gates of the nethermost hell.
And as the deacon of honour placed the sacred
vessel on the altar, Montanelli sank down where
he had stood, and knelt upon the step; and from
the white altar above him the blood flowed down
and dripped upon his head. And the voices of the
singers rang on, pealing under the arches and
echoing along the vaulted roof:
"Uni trinoque Domino
Sit sempiterna gloria:
Qui vitam sine termino
Nobis donet in patria."
"Sine termino--sine termino!" Oh, happy
Jesus, Who could sink beneath His cross! Oh,
happy Jesus, Who could say: "It is finished!"
This doom is never ended; it is eternal as the stars
in their courses. This is the worm that dieth not
and the fire that is not quenched. "Sine termino,
sine termino!"
Wearily, patiently, he went through his part in
the remaining ceremonies, fulfilling mechanically,
from old habit, the rites that had no longer any
meaning for him. Then, after the benediction, he
knelt down again before the altar and covered his
face; and the voice of the priest reading aloud the
list of indulgences swelled and sank like a far-off
murmur from a world to which he belonged no more.
The voice broke off, and he stood up and
stretched out his hand for silence. Some of the
congregation were moving towards the doors; and
they turned back with a hurried rustle and murmur,
as a whisper went through the Cathedral:
"His Eminence is going to speak."
His ministers, startled and wondering, drew
closer to him and one of them whispered hastily:
"Your Eminence, do you intend to speak to the
people now?"
Montanelli silently waved him aside. The
priests drew back, whispering together; the thing
was unusual, even irregular; but it was within the
Cardinal's prerogative if he chose to do it. No
doubt, he had some statement of exceptional importance
to make; some new reform from Rome to announce or a
special communication from the Holy Father.
Montanelli looked down from the altar-steps
upon the sea of upturned faces. Full of eager
expectancy they looked up at him as he stood
above them, spectral and still and white.
"Sh-sh! Silence!" the leaders of the procession
called softly; and the murmuring of the congregation
died into stillness, as a gust of wind dies
among whispering tree-tops. All the crowd gazed
up, in breathless silence, at the white figure on the
altar-steps. Slowly and steadily he began to speak:
"It is written in the Gospel according to St.
John: 'God so loved the world, that He gave His
only begotten Son that the world through Him
might be saved.'
"This is the festival of the Body and Blood of
the Victim who was slain for your salvation; the
Lamb of God, which taketh away the sins of the
world; the Son of God, Who died for your transgressions.
And you are assembled here in solemn
festival array, to eat of the sacrifice that was given
for you, and to render thanks for this great mercy.
And I know that this morning, when you came to
share in the banquet, to eat of the Body of the
Victim, your hearts were filled with joy, as you
remembered the Passion of God the Son, Who
died, that you might be saved.
"But tell me, which among you has thought of
that other Passion--of the Passion of God the
Father, Who gave His Son to be crucified?
Which of you has remembered the agony of God
the Father, when He bent from His throne in the
heavens above, and looked down upon Calvary?
"I have watched you to-day, my people, as you
walked in your ranks in solemn procession; and I
have seen that your hearts are glad within you for
the remission of your sins, and that you rejoice in
your salvation. Yet I pray you that you consider
at what price that salvation was bought.
Surely it is very precious, and the price of it is
above rubies; it is the price of blood."
A faint, long shudder passed through the listening
crowd. In the chancel the priests bent forward
and whispered to one another; but the preacher went
on speaking, and they held their peace.
"Therefore it is that I speak with you this day:
I AM THAT I AM. For I looked upon your weakness
and your sorrow, and upon the little children
about your feet; and my heart was moved to compassion
for their sake, that they must die. Then
I looked into my dear son's eyes; and I knew that
the Atonement of Blood was there. And I went
my way, and left him to his doom.
"This is the remission of sins. He died for you,
and the darkness has swallowed him up; he is
dead, and there is no resurrection; he is dead, and
I have no son. Oh, my boy, my boy!"
The Cardinal's voice broke in a long, wailing
cry; and the voices of the terrified people answered
it like an echo. All the clergy had risen
from their places, and the deacons of honour
started forward to lay their hands on the preacher's
arm. But he wrenched it away, and faced them
suddenly, with the eyes of an angry wild beast.
"What is this? Is there not blood enough?
Wait your turn, jackals; you shall all be fed!"
They shrank away and huddled shivering together,
their panting breath thick and loud, their
faces white with the whiteness of chalk. Montanelli
turned again to the people, and they swayed
and shook before him, as a field of corn before
a hurricane.
"You have killed him! You have killed him!
And I suffered it, because I would not let you die.
And now, when you come about me with your
lying praises and your unclean prayers, I repent
me--I repent me that I have done this thing!
It were better that you all should rot in your vices,
in the bottomless filth of damnation, and that he
should live. What is the worth of your plague-spotted
souls, that such a price should be paid for
them? But it is too late--too late! I cry aloud,
but he does not hear me; I beat at the door of the
grave, but he will not wake; I stand alone, in
desert space, and look around me, from the blood-stained
earth where the heart of my heart lies
buried, to the void and awful heaven that is left
unto me, desolate. I have given him up; oh,
generation of vipers, I have given him up for you!
"Take your salvation, since it is yours! I fling
it to you as a bone is flung to a pack of snarling
curs! The price of your banquet is paid for
you; come, then, and gorge yourselves, cannibals,
bloodsuckers--carrion beasts that feed on the
dead! See where the blood streams down from
the altar, foaming and hot from my darling's
heart--the blood that was shed for you! Wallow
and lap it and smear yourselves red with it!
Snatch and fight for the flesh and devour it--and
trouble me no more! This is the body that was
given for you--look at it, torn and bleeding,
throbbing still with the tortured life, quivering
from the bitter death-agony; take it, Christians,
and eat!"
He had caught up the sun with the Host and
lifted it above his head; and now flung it crashing
down upon the floor. At the ring of the metal on
stone the clergy rushed forward together, and
twenty hands seized the madman.
Then, and only then, the silence of the people
broke in a wild, hysterical scream; and, overturning
chairs and benches, beating at the doorways,
trampling one upon another, tearing down curtains
and garlands in their haste, the surging,
sobbing human flood poured out upon the street.
