Monsignor hesitated. He had considered this point before. He felt his answer was not wholly satisfactory. But the monk went on.

"Suppose these opinions were subversive of all law and order.

Suppose there were men who preached murder and adultery--doctrines that meant the destruction of society. Would you allow these, too, to publish their opinions broadcast?"

"Of course, you must draw the line somewhere," began Monsignor. "Of course----"

"Where?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You said that we must draw the line somewhere. I ask you where?"

"Well, that, of course, must be a matter of degree."

"Surely it must be one of principle. . . . Can't you give me any principle you would allow?"

The pa.s.sion of just now seemed wholly gone. Monsignor had an uncomfortable sense that he had behaved like a child and that this young monk was on firmer ground than himself. But again he hesitated.

"Well, would you accept this principle?" asked Dom Adrian. "Would you say that every society has a right to suppress opinions which are directly subversive of the actual foundations on which itself stands? Let me give an instance. Suppose you had a country that was a republic, but that allowed that other forms of government might be equally good. (Suppose, for instance, that while all acquiesced more or less in the republic, yet that many of the citizens personally preferred a monarchy.) Well, I suppose you would say it was tyranny for the republic to punish the monarchists with death?"

"Certainly."

"So should I. But if a few of the citizens repudiated all forms of government and preached Anarchy, well, I suppose you would allow that the government would have a perfect right to silence them?"

"I suppose so."

"Of course," said Dom Adrian quietly. "It was what you allowed just now. Society may, and must, protect itself."

"What's that got to do with it? These Socialists are not Anarchists. You're not an atheist. And even if you were, what right would the Church have to put you to death?"

"Oh! that's what you're thinking, is it, Monsignor? But really, you know, Society must protect itself. The Church can't interfere there. For it isn't for a moment the Church that punishes with death. On the contrary, the Catholic authorities are practically unanimous against it."

Monsignor made an impatient movement.

"I don't understand in the least," he said. "It seems to me----"

"Well, shall I give you my answer?"

Monsignor nodded.

The monk drew a breath and leaned back once more.

To the elder man the situation seemed even more unreal and impossible than at the beginning. He had come, full of fierce and emotional sympathy, to tell a condemned man how wholly his heart was on his side, to repudiate with all his power the abominable system that had made such things possible. And now, in five minutes, the scene had become one of almost scholastic disputation; and the heretic, it seemed--the condemned heretic--was defending the system that condemned him to a man who represented it as an official! He waited, almost resentfully.

"Monsignor," said the young man, "forgive me for saying so; but it seems to me you haven't thought this thing out--that you're simply carried away by feeling. No doubt it's your illness. . . .

Well, let me put it as well as I can. . . ."

He paused again, compressing his lips. He was pale, and evidently holding himself hard in hand; but his eyes were bright and intelligent. Then he abruptly began again.

"What's wrong with you, Monsignor," he said, "is that you don't realize--again, no doubt, owing to your loss of memory--that you don't realize that the only foundation of society at the present day is Catholicism. You see we _know_ now that Catholicism is true. It has rea.s.serted itself finally. Every other scheme has been tried and has failed; and Catholicism, though it has never died, has once more been universally accepted. Even heathen countries accept it _de facto_ as the scheme on which the life of the human race is built. Very well, then, the man who strikes at Catholicism strikes at society. If he had his way society would crumble down again. Then what can Catholic society do except defend itself, even by the death penalty? Remember, the Church does not kill. It never has; it never will. It is society that puts to death. And it is certainly true to say that theologians, as a whole, would undoubtedly abolish the death penalty to-morrow if they could. It's an open secret that the Holy Father would do away with it to-morrow if he could."

"Then why doesn't he? Isn't he supreme?" snapped the other bitterly.

"Indeed not. Countries rule themselves. He only has a veto if an actually unchristian law is pa.s.sed. And this is not actually unchristian. It's based on universal principles."

"But----"

"Wait an instant. . . . Yes, the Church sanctions it in one sense. So did the Church approve of the death penalty in the case of murder--another sin against society. Well, Christian society a hundred years ago inflicted death for the murder of the body; Christian society to-day inflicts death for a far greater crime against herself--that is, murderous attacks against her own life-principle."

"Then the old Protestants were right after all," burst in Monsignor indignantly; "they said that Rome would persecute again if she could."

"If she could?" said the monk questioningly.

"If she was strong enough."

"No, no, no!" cried the other, beating his hand on the table in gentle impatience; "it would be hopelessly immoral for the Church to persecute simply because she was strong enough--simply because she had a majority. She never persecutes for mere opinions. She has never claimed her right to use force. But, as soon as a country is convincedly Catholic--as soon, that is to say, as her civilization rests upon Catholicism _and nothing else_, that country has a perfect right to protect herself by the death penalty against those who menace her very existence as a civilized community. And that is what heretics do; and that is what Socialists do. Whether the authorities are right or wrong in any given instance is quite another question. Innocent men have been hanged. Orthodox Catholics have suffered unjustly. Personally I believe that I myself am innocent; but I am quite clear that _if I am a heretic_" (he leaned forward again and spoke slowly), "_if I am a heretic_, I must be put to death by society."

Monsignor was dumb with sheer amazement, and a consciousness that he had been baffled. He felt he had been intellectually tricked; and he felt it an additional outrage that he had been tricked by this young monk with whom he had come to sympathize.

"But the death penalty!" he cried. "Death! that is the horror. I understand a spiritual penalty for a spiritual crime--but a physical one. . . ."

Dom Adrian smiled a little wearily.

"My dear Monsignor," he said, "I thought I had explained that it was for a crime against society. I am not put to death for my opinions; but because, holding those opinions, which are declared heretical, and refusing to submit to an authoritative decision, I am an enemy of the _civil state_ which is upheld solely by the sanctions of Catholicism. Remember it is _not_ the Church that puts me to death. That is not her affair. She is a spiritual society."

"But death! death, anyhow!"

The man's face grew grave and tender.

"Is that so dreadful," he said, "to a convinced Catholic?"

Monsignor rose to his feet. It seemed to him that his whole moral sense was in danger. He made his last appeal.

"But Christ!" he cried; "Jesus Christ! Can you conceive that gentle Lord of ours tolerating all this for one instant! I cannot answer you now; though I am convinced there is an answer. But is it conceivable that He who said, 'Resist not evil,' that He who Himself was dumb before his murderers----"

Dom Adrian rose too. An extraordinary intensity came into his eyes, and his face grew paler still. He began in a low voice, but as he ended his voice rang aloud in the little room.

"It is you who are dishonouring our Lord," he said. "Certainly He suffered, as we Catholics too can suffer, as you shall see one day--as you have seen a thousand times already, if you know anything of the past. But is that all that He is? . . . Is He just the Prince of Martyrs, the supreme Pain-bearer, the silent Lamb of G.o.d? Have you never heard of the wrath of the Lamb? of the eyes that are as a flame of fire? of the rod of iron with which He breaks in pieces the kings of the earth? . . . The Christ you appeal to is nothing. It is but the failure of a Man with the Divinity left out . . . the Prince of sentimentalists, and of that evil old religion that once dared to call itself Christianity. But the Christ we worship is more than that--the Eternal Word of G.o.d, the Rider on the White Horse, conquering and to conquer.... Monsignor, you forget of what Church you are a priest! It is the Church of Him who refused the kingdoms of this world from Satan, that He might win them for Him self. He has done so! _Christ reigns!_ . . . Monsignor, that is what you have forgotten! Christ is no longer an opinion or a theory. He is a Fact. _Christ reigns!_ He actually rules this world. And the world knows it."

He paused for one second, shaking with his own pa.s.sion. Then he flung out his hands.

"Wake up, Monsignor! Wake up! You are dreaming. Christ is the King of men again, now--not of just religiously minded devots. He rules, because He has a right to rule. . . . And the civil power stands for Him in secular matters, and the Church in spiritual. I am to be put to death! Well, I protest that I am innocent, but not that the crime charged against me does not deserve death. I protest, but I do not resent it. Do you think I fear death? . .

Is that not in His hands too? . . . Christ reigns, and we all know it. And you must know it too!"

All sensation seemed to have ebbed from the man who listened. . . . He was conscious of a white ecstatic face with burning eyes looking at him. He could no longer actively resist or rebel. It was only by the utmost effort that he could still keep from yielding altogether. Some great pressure seemed to enfold and encircle him, threatening his very existence as an individual. So tremendous was the force with which the words were spoken, that for an instant it seemed as if he saw in mental vision that which they described--a Supreme Dominant Figure, wounded indeed, yet overmastering and compelling in His strength--no longer the Christ of gentleness and meekness, but a Christ who had taken His power at last and reigned, a Lamb that was a Lion, a Servant that was Lord of all; One that pleaded no longer, but commanded. . . .

And yet he clung still desperately and blindly to his old ideal.

He pushed off from him this dominating Presence; his whole self and individuality would not yield to Him who demanded the sacrifice of both. He saw this Christ at last, and by a flash of intuition perceived that this was the key to this changed world he found so incomprehensible; and yet he would not have it--he would not have this Man to rule over him. . . .