Shadows of Ecstasy by Charles Williams (best books to read txt) đ
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its earlier concentration and was filled instead with a profound
conviction, a content so deep that he involuntarily looked at the Zulu
to see what, if anything, had caused it. But no difference showed in
Inkamasi, who still, motionless, glassy-eyed, and lethargic, knelt at
the rail, his hands hanging over it. The Archbishopâs face visible at
moments as he turned and returned, knelt and rose, spread out or
closed his hands, was more sombre than that of the other priests, but
it was no more strongly moved. Philip had once seen his father the
moment before a successful but very dangerous operation, and the look
of the celebrant reminded him of Sir Bernard then: it was the look of
a man conscious of the gravity of the work before him but conscious
also of an entire capacity to deal with it. But was this also then a
work of cutting and setting right and binding? was it as possible, if
less usual, to restore a manâs will as to restore his stomach? The
archbishop seemed to be no more agitated than any clergyman delivering
a sermon; only as he stood now in the Prayer of Consecration, he
suddenly, after the words âin the same night that He was betrayed,â
paused and repeated them on a more exalted note. âIn the same night
that He was betrayedâŠâ Philip felt himself looking into a
different world; a world he had glimpsed once before over the
outstretched arm that had been more significant to him than any other
experience in his life. To take his part in it, if indeed it really
existed, was beyond him; yet he felt that if something was in fact
being done there to aid a man he ought to be taking his part in it. He
understood the work no more than he understood why Rosamond should be
and mean so much. But if the king were really hypnotizedâŠhe began
to make a wordless effort towards prayer, half absurd though he felt
his effort to be. On the instant it took him; a sudden warmth leapt
within him; his being rested stable upon a rocky basis, and the
movements before him became natural and right. He understood them no
more than before, but he was assured that they answered to the
imperious control that held him. That control was gone again in a
moment; he found himself staring only at the ordinary men whom he
knew; his mind was undirected, his heart was unwarmed, as before. But
as at Hampstead there had opened spaces and distance beyond all
dreams, so now there had shown glimpse of a certainty beyond all
pledges and promises, a fixity which any after hesitation was
powerless to deny. He became conscious of an immense stillness around
him; the Archbishop was on his knees before the altar, and the others
motionless in their places. The Archbishopâs voice sounded: âAlmighty
and Everlasting God, who alone art the life of all thy creatures and
hast made them able to know how in thy eternity they glorify thee,
unite them in thy prevailing will, and increase in them that freedom
which only is able to bring them to the bondage of the perfect
service, through Jesus Christ our Lord.â The chaplain and Caithness
answered âAmen.â
âAlmighty God,â the Archbishop said again, âmake us to know thee
through thy Love who hath redeemed us, and bestoweth through the
operations of the Church militant upon earth grace and aid upon all
that are in adversity. Establish in us, and especially at this time
upon our brother here present, a perfect knowledge of thee, overcome
all errors and tyrannies, and as thou only art holy, so be thou only
the Lord, through Jesus Christ our Saviour.â
Before the âAmenâ had ceased, he rose, genuflected, turned, and came
down the steps of the altar to Inkamasi. He set his hands on the
Zuluâs head, paused, and went on: âBy the power of Immanuel who only
is perfect Man, by his power committed unto us, we recall all powers
in thee to their natural obedience, making whole all things that are
sick, and destroying all things that are contrary to his will. Awake,
thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give
thee life. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy
Ghost.â
As his voice sounded through the chapel Philip saw the hands of the
king come together, saw them fold themselves, saw his head move, heard
him sigh. Caithness moved an arm behind him, but it was not needed.
Inkamasi glanced round swiftly, and as he did so the Archbishop as
swiftly went back to the altar, genuflected, and returned, bearing the
Sacred Gifts. He communicated them to Caithness first, and then, as if
in the ritual of his office, to the king; only again his voice
lingered on and intensified the formula of two thousand years, the
formula by which Christendom has defined, commanded and assisted the
resurrection of man in God. As naturally as in any other service of
his life, the king received the Mystery; afterwards he moved as if to
rise, but Caithness with a smile touched him on the shoulder and made
a quiet signal of restraint, and he desisted. They remained in their
places till the Rite was done. The Archbishop and the chaplain passed
out, and in due time the others also rose and made their way to the
door.
The chaplain met them there; he and Caithness exchanged a few murmured
sentences, and then the three went back to the car.
There Caithness said: âIâll drive this time; you two get in together.â
Inkamasi hesitated a moment but he obeyed, and the priest added
hastily to Philip. âHe knows you; better tell him everything he wants
to hear-â
âYes, but look here,â Philip began, a little startled. âIâm not clear
what-â
âNo, but never mind,â Caithness said, rather more like the vicar for
the moment than the godfather or even the priest, âyouâre able to
explain whatâs happened, arenât you? Heâs met you and he hasnât met
meâthatâs why youâll do it better. In you get.â
In accordingly Philip got. But he didnât quite see how to open the
conversation. Did one just say engagingly, âYou must be surprised to
find yourself here?â or apologetically, âI hope you donât mind our
having carried you away?â Or could one risk saying, with an air of
relief, âThat was a near thing?â And then supposing he said, âWhat?â
or âHow?â What had it been near to? and how? Philip began to wish that
his father was in the car. But before he had found the exact words,
the African turned to him and said, âWill you tell me, Mr. Travers,
what has been happening?â
Philip tried to, and thought he failed badly. But apparently enough
became clear to satisfy Inkamasi, who listened intently, and then
said, âYouâve done me a greater service than I quite know, I think.
Itâs very good of you.â
âNot at all,â said Philip. âMy father didnât like leaving you there.
Perhaps we ought to apologizeâŠbutâŠâ
âNo,â Inkamasi said, âno, I donât think you ought to apologize. If
youâve made my life clear to me, that doesnât seem a thing to
apologize for.â He stared in front of him. âBut that we shall see,â he
added, and relapsed into silence.
Philip, looking at him, thought that he wasnât looking very friendly,
and that he was looking rather African, in fact ratherâsavage. Savage
was a word which might here, in fact, have a stronger meaning than it
generally had. Inkamasiâs head was thrust forward, his jaw was set;
his hand moved, slowly and relentlessly, along his leg to his knee, as
if with purpose, and not a pleasant purpose. âI hope he isnât annoyed
with us,â Philip thought. âMy father must have meant it for the best.â
But before they reached Kensington the king relaxed; only there was
still about him something high and strange, something apart and
reserved, something almost (but quite impersonally) exaltedâin short,
something like a chieftain who knows that he is a chieftain and is
instinctively living up to his knowledge. When they reached Colindale
Square, Philip, being on the near side, got out first, and half held
the car door for the stranger. Inkamasi got out and smiled his thanks.
But he didnât utter them, and Philip was suddenly aware that he had
expected him to. As it was, Inkamasi seemed to have relegated him to
the position of an upper servant, yet without being discourteous. Sir
Bernard met them in the hall.
That evening after dinner they were all in the library. Sir Bernard
was sitting on the right of the fireplace, with Caithness next to him;
opposite him was Isabel, with Rosamond between her and Philip. Roger
lay in a chair next to the priest, and pushed a little back from the
circle. In the centre, between Roger and Philip, opposite the fire,
was the African. Roger looked at him, looked at the rest, and muttered
to Caithness: ââOn him each courtierâs eye was bent, to him each
ladyâs look was lent, and Hampsteadâs refugee was Colindale Squareâs
kingâ.â He looked at Rosamond: âShe doesnât look happy, does she?â he
said. âWhy doesnât she go and plan food for her first dinner-party or
practise giving the housemaid notice?â He became aware that Sir
Bernard was speaking and stopped.
ââŠevidence,â Sir Bernard was saying. âItâs a silly word in the
circumstances, but itâs the only one weâve got. Is there enough
evidence to persuade the authoritiesâor us either for that
matterâthat Nigel Considine has anything to do with the High
Executive? Iâve drawn up a statement of what happened last night, and
I think Iâll read it to you; and if Iâve forgotten anything or the
king can tell us any more-â
They sat silent, and he began. Actually, except for the two women,
they all knew the substance of it before, but they were very willing
to hear it again compacted after this little lapse of time.
Everything was thereâthe photograph, the music, the other visitors,
the guns, the kingâs sleepâand against that background ran the
summaries of Considineâs monologues, conversation, and claim. As they
listened that river of broad pretension flowed faster and deeper at
their feet; they stood on its brink and wondered. Was the source
indeed two hundred years off in the past? was it flowing
towards an ocean of infinite experience till now undiscovered,
unimaginedâundiscovered because unimagined? Across that river their
disturbed fancies saw the African forests, and shapesâboth white and
blackâemerging and disappearing, and from among those high palms and
falling creepers, that curtain of green profusion, came the sound of
strings and the roar of guns. The dark face of Inkamasi, whatever he
himself might be, grew terrible to them, not merely because of his
negro kindred but because of the terrifying exaltation which so darkly
hinted at itself in the words they heard, and when suddenly the
delicate voice that was reading ceased, it was of Inkamasiâs figure
that they were all chiefly aware, whether they looked towards it as
Caithness did or away from it into the fire at which Rosamond
Murchison stared.
Sir Bernard put down his paper, and looked for a cigarette. For once,
among all his friends, no-one forestalled him. He found one, lit it,
and sat back, reluctant to spoil his story with any bathos of comment.
In a minute Inkamasi moved.
âIâve thanked you already, Sir Bernard,â he said, and suddenly Isabel
felt Rosamondâs arm quiver, as it lay in her own, âand Iâll thank you
once more. You and Mr. Caithness have done a great thing for me.
Youâve set
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