The interior of the house was treated with great judgment and artistic ability. A successful effort had been made to combine the greatest measure of modern comfort without unduly disturbing the essential character of the place. Thus Father Ripon found himself in an ancient bedroom with a painted ceiling and panelled walls. The furniture was in keeping with the design, but electric lamps had been fitted to the massive pewter sconces on the wall, and the towel rail by the washstand was made of copper tubing through which hot water passed constantly.
The dinner gong boomed at eight and Ripon went down into the great hall, where a group of people stood round an open fire of peat and coal.
Mrs. Bardilly, a widowed sister of Sir Michael's, acted as hostess. She was a quiet, matronly woman, shrewd and placid in character, an admirable woman to take charge of the large house.
Talking to her was Mrs. Hubert Armstrong, the famous woman novelist. Mrs. Armstrong was tall and grandly built. Her grey hair was drawn over a massive, manlike brow in smooth folds; her face was finely chiselled. The mouth was large, with a slight hinting of "superiority" in repose and condescension in movement. A champion of women's rights, when she spoke, always in full, well-chosen phrases, it was with an air of final pronouncement.
The lady's position was a great one. Every two or three years she published a weighty novel, admirably written, full of real culture, and without a trace of humour. In those productions, treatises rather than novels, the theme was generally that of a high-bred philosophical negation of the Incarnation of Jesus Christ. Mrs. Armstrong pitied Christians with passionate certainty. Gently and lovingly she endeavoured to open blinded eyes to the truth as she saw it. With great condescension she still believed in God, and preached Christ as a mighty, but human teacher.
One of her utterances showed Ripon the colossal arrogance -- almost laughable were it not so bizarre -- of her intellect:
"The world has expanded since Jesus preached in the dim, ancient cities of the Middle East. Men and women of today cannot learn the complete lesson of God from Jesus now -- indeed they could not in those old times. But His teaching is most necessary in forming character. It makes for pureness and clarity of soul. This Jesus still has something for us as He had for the people of His own time."
After the enormous success of her book, John Mulgrave, Mrs. Armstrong more than half believed she had struck a final blow at the errors of Christianity.
The woman was highly educated, but her success was with half-educated readers. Her works excited to a sort of frenzy clergymen who realised their own dangerous hollowness. Her success was real; her influence appeared to be real also. To Ripon, it was a deplorable fact that she swayed fools.
By laying on the paint very thick and using bright colours, Mrs. Armstrong caught the class immediately below that which read the works of Constantine Schuabe. They were captain and lieutenant, formidable in coalition.
A short, casually dressed man -- his evening tie was badly arranged and his trousers were ill cut -- was the Duke of Suffolk. His face was covered with dust-coloured hair, his eyes bright and restless. The Duke was the greatest Roman Catholic nobleman in England. His vast wealth and eager, though not first-class brain, were devoted entirely to the conversion of the country. He was beloved by men of all creeds.
Canon Walke, the great popular preacher, was a handsome man, portly, large, and gracious in manner. He was destined for high preferment, welcomed at Court, suave and redolent of the lofty circles in which he moved.
Canon Walke was talking to Schuabe with great animation and a sort of purring geniality.
Dinner was a pleasant meal. Everyone talked well. Great events in Society and politics were discussed by the people who were themselves responsible for them.
Here was the inner circle itself, serene, bland, and guarded from the crowd outside. Perhaps, with the single exception of Father Ripon, who never thought about it at all, everyone was pleasantly conscious of pulling the strings. They sat kindly tolerant of lesser mortals, discussing over a dessert what they would do for the world.
At eleven nearly everyone had retired for the night. Father Ripon and his host, Sir Michael Manichoe, sat talking in the library for another hour discussing church matters. At twelve these two also retired.
And now the great house was silent save for the bitter winter wind which sobbed and moaned round the towers.
It was the eve of the twelfth of December. The world was as usual, and the night came to England with no hints of the morrow.
Far away in Lancashire, Basil Gortre was sleeping calmly after a long, quiet evening with Helena and her father.
Here in Lincolnshire, Father Ripon had said his prayers and lay half dreaming in bed, watching the firelight glows and shadows on the panelling, and listening to the fierce wind outside as if it were a lullaby.
Mrs. Hubert Armstrong was touching up an article for the Nineteenth Century in her bedroom. An open volume by the French scholar Ernest Renan stood by her side. Here and there the lady deftly paraphrased a few lines. Occasionally she sipped a cup of blackcurrant tea -- an amiable weakness of this paragon when engaged on her stirring labours.
In the next room Schuabe, with haggard face and twitching lips, paced rapidly up and down. Why had no news come from Jerusalem? Had the plot been exposed? Impossible!
From the door to the dressing table -- seven steps. From there to the fireplace -- ten steps -- avoiding the flower pattern of the carpet, stepping only on the blue squares. Seven! Ten! Then back again.
Ten, seven, turn. A cold, soft dew came out on his face, dried, hardened, and burst forth again.
Seven, ten, stop for a glass of water, and then on again, rapidly, hurriedly; the dawn is coming very near.
Ten! Seven! Turn!
Chapter 15
Just after nine o'clock the next morning there was a knock at Father Ripon's door and Lindner, Sir Michael's confidential man, entered.
He seemed agitated. "I beg your pardon," he said, "but Sir Michael instructed me to come to you at once. Sir Michael begs that you will read the columns marked in this paper and then join him in his own room."
The man bowed slightly and went noiselessly away.
Impressed with Lindner's manner, Father Ripon sat up in bed and opened the paper. It was a copy of The Daily Wire which had just arrived by special messenger from the station.
His eyes fell first on the news summary. A paragraph was heavily scored round with ink.
Page 7. -- A communication of the utmost gravity and importance reaches us from Palestine, dealing with certain discoveries at Jerusalem made by Mr. Cyril Hands, the agent of the Palestine Exploring Society, and Herr Schmöulder, the famous German historian."
Ripon turned hastily to the seventh page of the paper where all the foreign telegraphic despatches were. This is what he read:
In reference to the following statements, the Editor wishes it to be distinctly understood that he prints them without comment or bias. Nothing can yet be definitely known as to the truth of what is stated here until the strictest investigations have been made. Our special Commissioner left London for the Middle East twenty-four hours ago. The Editor of this paper is in communication with the Prime Minister and His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury. A special edition of The Daily Wire will be published at two o'clock this afternoon.
MOMENTOUS NEWS FROM JERUSALEM
For the last three months, under a new permit granted by the Turkish Government, the authorities of the Palestine Exploring Society have been engaged in extensive operations in the waste ground beyond the Damascus Gate at Jerusalem.
It is in this quarter, as archaeologists and students will be aware, that some years ago the new reputed site of Calvary and the Holy Sepulchre was placed. Considerable discussion was raised at the time and the evidence for and against the new and the traditional sites was hotly debated.
Ten days ago, Mr. Cyril Hands, M.A., the learned and trusted English explorer, made a further discovery which may prove to
be far-reaching in its influence on Christian peoples.
During the excavations, a system of tombs was discovered, dating from forty or fifty years before Christ according to Mr. Hands's estimate. The tombs are indisputably Jewish and not Christian, a fact proved by the presence of kôkîm, characteristic of Jewish tombs in preference to the usual Christian arcosolia. They are Herodian in character.
These tombs consist of an irregularly cut group of two chambers. The door is coarsely moulded. Both chambers are crooked, and in their floors are four-sided depressions, 1 foot 2 inches deep in the outer, 2 feet in the inner chamber. The roof of the outer chamber is 6 feet above its floor, that of the inner 5 feet 2 inches.
The doorway leading to the inner tomb was built up into stone blocks. Fragments of that coating of broken brick and pounded pottery are still used in Palestine under the name hamra. This hamra lay at the foot of the sealed entrance, showing that it had at one time been plastered over, and was in the nature of a secret room.
In the depression in the floor of the outer room was found a minute fragment of a glass receptacle containing a small quantity of blackish powder. This has been analysed by M. Constant Allard, the French chemist. The glass vessel he found to be an ordinary silicate which had become devitrified and coloured by oxide of iron. The contents were finely divided lead and traces of antimony, showing it to be one of the cosmetics prepared for purposes of burial.
When the interior of the second tomb had been reached, a single loculus or stone slab for the reception of a body was found.
Over the loculus the following Greek inscription in uncial characters was found in a state of good preservation, with the exception of two letters:
[See drawing of the inscription on this page, made from photographs in our possession. We print the inscription below in cursive Greek text, afterwards dividing it into its component words and giving its translation. -- Editor, The Daily Wire.]
FACSIMILE IN MODERN GREEK SCRIPT
Εγωιωσηφοαποαριμαθειαςλαβω
ντοσωματουιησουτουαπονα**
ρεταποτουμνημειουοπουτοπρωτ
ονεκειτοεντωτοπωτουτωενεκρυψα
**=lacunæ of two letters.
FINAL READING OF THE INSCRIPTION
Εγω Ιωσηφ ὁ ἀπο Αριμαθειας λαβων το σωμα του Ιησου του ἀπο Να[ζα]ρετ ἀπο του μνημειου ὁπου το πρωτον ἐκειτο ἐν τω τοπω τουτω ἐνεκρυψα
[ ] = letters supplied.
TRANSLATION INTO ENGLISH OF THE INSCRIPTION:
"I, JOSEPH OF ARIMATHEA, TOOK THE BODY OF JESUS, THE NAZARENE, FROM THE TOMB WHERE IT WAS FIRST LAID AND HID IT IN THIS PLACE.
The slight mould on the stone slab, which may or may not be that of a decomposed body, has been reverently gathered into a sealed vessel by Mr. Hands, who is waiting instructions.
Dr. Schmöulder, the famous scholar from Berlin, has arrived at Jerusalem and is in communication with the German Emperor regarding the discovery.
At present it would be presumptuous and idle to comment on these stupendous facts. It seems our duty, however, to quote a final passage from Mr. Hands's communication, and to state that we have a cablegram in our possession from Dr. Schmöulder, which states that he is in entire agreement with Mr. Hands's conclusions.
To sum up, there now seems no shadow of doubt that the disappearance of the body of Christ from the first tomb is accounted for, and the Resurrection as told in the Gospels did not take place. Joseph of Arimathea here confesses he stole away the body, probably in order to spare the Disciples and friends of the dead Teacher, with whom he was in sympathy, the shame and misery of the final end to their hopes.
The use of the first aorist 'ἐνεκρυψα,' 'I hid,' seems to indicate that Joseph was making a confession to satisfy his own mind, with only a vague idea of it ever being read. Were his confession written for future ages, we may surmise that the perfect tense, 'κεκρυφα,' 'I have hidden,' would have been used."
________________________
(A photograph of a replica of the inscription, from the 1907 edition of When It Was Dark.)
________________________
So the simple, bald narrative ended, without a single attempt at sensationalism on the part of the newspaper.
Just as Father Ripon laid down the newspaper, with shaking hands and a pallid face, Sir Michael Manichoe strode into the room.
Tears of anger and shame were in his eyes. He glanced at Father Ripon and sank into a chair by the bedside.
The clergyman rose and dressed hastily. "We will speak of this in the library," he said, controlling himself by a tremendous effort. "Meanwhile----"
He took some sal volatile from his dressing case, gave some to his host, and drank some also.
As they went downstairs, a brilliant sun streamed into the great hall. The world outside was bright and frost-bound.
The bell of the private chapel was tolling for matins.
The sound struck on both their minds strangely. Sir Michael shuddered and grew ashen grey. Ripon recovered himself first.
He placed his arm in his host's and turned towards the passage which led to the chapel. "Come, my friend," he said in low, sweet tones. "Let us pray together for Christendom. Peace waits us. Say the creed with me, for God will not desert us."
They passed into the vaulted chapel and knelt down in the chancel stalls. Some of the servants came in and then the house chaplain began the confession.
The stately monotone went on, echoing through the damp breath of the morning.
Father Ripon and Sir Michael turned to the east. The sun was pouring through the great window of stained glass, where Christ was painted ascending to heaven.
The two elderly men said the creed after the priest in firm, almost triumphant voices:
"I believe in God the Father ... and in Jesus Christ His only Son our Lord.... The third day he arose again from the dead. He ascended into heaven...."
Those two, as they came gravely out of the chapel and walked to the library, knew that a great and awful lie was resounding through the world. The Risen Christ had spoken with them, bidding them be of good courage for what was to come.
The voice of the apostle Peter called down the ages:
"This Jesus hath God raised up, whereof we are all witnesses."
Chapter 16
When Mrs. Armstrong came down to breakfast her hostess told her, with many apologies, that Sir Michael had left for London with Father Ripon. They had gone by an early train. Matters of great moment were afoot.
As this was being explained, Mr. Wilson the private chaplain, Schuabe, and Canon Walke entered the room. The Duke of Suffolk did not appear.
A long, low room panelled in white, over which a huge fire of logs cast occasional cheery reflections, was used as a breakfast room.
The glowing fire, the luxurious domesticity of the round table, with its shining silver and gleaming china, the great quiet of the park outside, gave a singular peace and remoteness to the room. Here one seemed far away from strife and disturbance.
This was the usual aspect and atmosphere of all Fencastle, but as the members of the house party came together for the meal, the air became suddenly electrified. Invisible waves of excitement, of surmise, doubt, and fear radiated from these people. All had seen the paper, though at first not one of them referred to it.
Mrs. Hubert Armstrong at length broke the silence. Her speech was deliberate, her words were chosen with extreme care, her tone was hushed and almost reverential.
"Today," she said, "what I perceive we have all heard, may mean the sudden dawning of a New Light in the world. If this stupendous statement is true -- and it bears every hallmark of the truth even at this early stage -- a new image of Jesus of Nazareth will be for ever indelibly graven on the hearts of mankind."
At her words there was a sudden movement of relief amon
g the others. The ice had been broken. Formless and terrifying things assumed a shape that could be handled, discussed. Her words acted as a trigger 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 Churchman, with his commanding presence, his grand manner, spoke without any 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.
Canon Walke was 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 his mind flashed to a memory of Gortre, the young curate at Manchester, then with a little shudder of dislike he bent his attention to Canon Walke's words.
"No, Mrs. Armstrong," the Canon was saying, "an article such as this in a newspaper will be dangerous. It will unsettle weak brains, until it is proved to be 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. But, despite your anticipations, Mrs. Armstrong, you will see that the Church, as she has ever done, will weather the storm. I myself will leave for town at midday, 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 today, though the majority of them do not speak out. 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. The antichristian movement has so far been guided by emotions, hardly by principles. At last we have the great discovery which will rouse the world to sanity. Even as I speak in this quiet room, the whole world is thrilling with this news. It is awaking from a long slumber."