The Gadfly by E. L. Voynich (latest novels to read .txt) 📖

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