“No need to question of the force which is to compel this transmutation. It has been growing consistently with the mind of man. The shame of the dominion of the brute in a world which intellect has shaped for itself; the shame of liberal knowledge lying at the mercy of illiberal ignorance; the shame of the animal coercing the angel, the fool cackling discredit on the sage—these things must cease off the earth at last. For when learning learns to combine, it shall be to ignorance as is the little bag of gun-powder, rammed home, to the material bulk which it is capable of annihilating. This is as certain as it is that the moment of the intellectual renaissance, age foreseen, is at last approaching. Because I, too, hunger and thirst with the fool, am I, Bonito, no better than a fool? The ‘fool’ can make it appear so, because in his numbers he commands the markets. Or has commanded—we shall see. The hour of his disillusionment perhaps is imminent. In the meantime we, who prepare the stage, do not cease of our efforts to divert the paths of evil, to over-reach iniquity, to gather each his quota of dirt and filth ready for the burning.”
He ended on a loud note, and wrung his lips between his thin fingers, leering at the other. If he had been tempted into an over long exordium, the more plausibly, he thought, would its moral “thunder in the index.” His craftiness was not to stultify itself by over-precipitancy.
Saint-Péray discussed his twitching face quite unmoved.
“I am obliged for your interesting message, sir,” he said. “You are reported to be a Rosicrucian? That concerns someone, no doubt; only I was under the impression that that sect eschewed politics. Thank you for putting me right. Good morning.”
Bonito did not stir.
“I aim,” he answered coolly, “in common with kindred spirits, many and potent, at the universal purification. Our politics are no more than that. Latency, cabala—all the rest of the terms which are held by the ignorant to condemn us, are only so many proofs of the divine sympathy with our mission. We can read the stars because we have, so to speak, friends at court there. Woe on him that scoffs at our message! Woe on di Rocco, I say, who heard and would not believe!”
He had shot his bolt, and as instantly saw that he had hit the mark. Louis-Marie gave a mortal start, and sat rigid. The curtain of his eyes was rent; there seemed things visible moving behind it. But not a word came from him.
“My message now is to you,” said the physician, low and distinct, “as to the one most intimately concerned in the scotching or expediting of a half-acted iniquity. I propose no plan; I point out no way. Bear that in mind very clearly. My task was accomplished when I warned di Rocco that his horoscope revealed Mars at the conjunction of the seventh and eighth houses, presaging quick death for him to follow on his marriage consummated. I have said that he disbelieved me. Disregarded would be the truer word. Passion in him was desperate enough to dare the test.”
“But not for a year.”
It was Saint-Péray who spoke, though his voice was scarcely audible. Bonito laughed little and low.