She spoke with extreme earnestness. No doubt she saw in this marvellous historical confirmation of her attitude a triumph for the school of which she had become the vocal chieftainess, that would ring and glitter through the world of thought. The mental arrogance which had already led this woman so far was already busy, opening a vista that had suddenly become extremely dazzling, imminently near.
At her words there was a sudden movement of relief among the others. The ice had been broken; formless and terrifying things assumed a shape that could be handled, discussed. Her words acted as a precipitate, which made analysis possible.
The lady's calm, intellectual face, with its clear eyes and smooth bands of hair, waited with interest, but without impatience, for other views.
Canon Walke took up her challenge. His words were assured enough, but Schuabe, listening with keen and sinister attention, detected a faint tremble, an alarmed lack of conviction. The courtier-Churchman, with his commanding presence, his grand manner, spoke without pedantry, but also without real force. His language was beautifully chosen, but it had not the ring of utter conviction, of passionate rejection of all that warred with Faith.
A chaplain of the Court, the husband of an earl's daughter, a friend of royal folk, a future bishop, there were those who called him time-serving, exclusively ambitious. Schuabe realised that not here, indeed, was the great champion of Christianity. For a brief moment the Jew's mind flashed to a memory of the young curate at Manchester, then, with a little shudder of dislike, he bent his attention to Canon Walke's words.
"No, Mrs. Armstrong," he was saying, "an article such as this in a newspaper will be dangerous; it will unsettle weak brains for a time until it is proved, as it will be proved, either a blasphemous fabrication or an ignorant mistake. It cannot be. Whatever the upshot of such rumours, they can only have a temporary effect. It may be that those at the head of the Church will have to sit close, to lay firm hold of principles, or anything that will steady the vessel as the storm sweeps up. This may be an even greater tempest than that which broke upon the Church in the days of the first George, when Christianity was believed to be fictitious. What did Bishop Butler say to his chaplain? He asked: 'What security is there against the insanity of individuals? The doctors know of none. Why, therefore, may not whole communities be seized with fits of insanity as well as individuals?' It is just that which will account for so much history tells us of wild revolt against Truth. It may be—God grant that it will not—that we are once more upon the eve of one of these storms. But, despite your anticipations, Mrs. Armstrong, you will see that the Church, as she has ever done, will weather the storm. I myself shall leave for town at mid-day, and follow the example of our host. My place is there. The Archbishop will, doubtless, hold a conference, if this story from Palestine seems to receive further confirmation. Such dangerous heresies must not be allowed to spread."
Then Schuabe took up the discussion. "I fear for you, Canon Walke," he said, "and for the Church you represent. This news, it seems to me, is merely the evidence for the confirmation of what all thoughtful men believe to-day, though the majority of them do not speak out. There is a natural dislike to active propaganda, a timidity in combination to upset a system which is accepted, and which provides society as an ethical programme, though founded on initial error. But now—and I agree with Mrs. Armstrong in the extreme probability of this news being absolute fact, for Hands and Schmöulder are names of weight—everything must be reconstructed and changed. The churches will go. Surely the times are ripe, the signs unmistakable? We are face to face with what is called an anti-clerical wave—a dislike to the clergy as the representatives of the Church, a dislike to the Church as the embodiment of religion, a dislike to religion as an unwelcome restraint upon liberty of thought. The storm which will burst now has been muttering and gathering here in England no less than on the Continent. You have heard its murmur in the debates on the Education Act, in the proposed State legislation for your Church. Your most venerable and essential forms are like trees creaking and groaning in the blast; public opinion is rioting to destroy. But perhaps until this morning it has never had a weapon strong enough to attack such a stronghold as the Church with any hope of victory. There has been much noise, but that is all. It has been a matter of feeling; conviction has been weak, because it could only be supported by probabilities, not by certainties. The antichristian movement has been guided by emotions, hardly by principles. At last the great discovery which will rouse the world to sanity appears to have been made. Even as I speak in this quiet room the whole world is thrilling with this news. It is awakening from a long slumber."
Walke heard his ringing words with manifest uneasiness. The man was unequal to the situation. He represented the earthly pomp and show of Christianity, wore the ceremonial vestments. He feared the concrete power, the vehement opposition of the mouthpiece of secularism. He saw the crisis, but from one side only. The deep spiritual love was not there.
"You are exultant, Mr. Schuabe," he said coldly, "but you will hardly be so long."
"You do not appreciate the situation, sir," Schuabe answered. "I can see further than you. A great intellectual peace will descend over the civilised world. Should one not exult at that, even though men must give up their dearest fetishes, their secret shrines; even though sentiment must be sacrificed to Truth? The religion of Nature, which is based upon the determination not to believe anything which is unsupported by indubitable evidence, will become the faith of the future, the fulfilment of progress. It is as Huxley said, 'Religion ought to mean simply reverence and love for the Ethical Ideal, and the desire to realise that Ideal in life.' Miracles do not happen. There has been no supernatural revelation, and nothing can be known of what Herbert Spencer calls the Infinite and Eternal Energy save by the study of the phenomena about us. And I repeat that the discovery we hear of to-day makes a thorough intellectual sanity possible for each living man. Doubt will disappear."