When It Was Dark: The Story of a Great Conspiracy

Some one entered the carriage, the door was shut, and the train began to move out of the station, but he was too interested to look up to see who his companion might be.

A voice broke in upon his thoughts as they were tearing through the wide-spread slums of Bethnal Green.

"Do you mind if I smoke, sir? This isn't a smoking carriage, but we are alone – "

It was an ordinary query enough. "Oh, dear, no!" said the priest. "Please do, to your heart's content. It doesn't inconvenience me."

Father Ripon's quick, breezy manner seemed to interest the stranger. He looked up and saw a personality. Obviously this clergyman was some one of note. The heavy brows, the hawk-like nose, the large, firm, and yet kindly mouth, all these seemed familiar in some vague way.

For his part, Father Ripon experienced much the same sensation as he glanced at the tall stranger. His hair, which could be seen beneath his ordinary hard felt hat, was dark red and somewhat abundant. His features were Semitic, but without a trace of that fulness, and often coarseness, which sometimes marks the Jew who has come to the period of middle life. The large black eyes were neither dull nor lifeless, but simply cold, irresponsive, and alert. A massive jaw completed an impression which was remarkable in its fineness and almost sinister beauty.

The priest found it remarkable but with no sense of strangeness. He had seen the man before.

Recognition came to Schuabe first.

"Excuse me," he said, "but surely you are Father Ripon? I am Constantine Schuabe."

Ripon gave a merry chuckle. "I knew I knew you!" he said, "but I couldn't think quite who you were for a moment. Sir Michael tells me you're going to Fencastle; so am I."

Schuabe leaned back in his seat and regarded Father Ripon with a steady and calm scrutiny, somewhat with the manner of a naturalist examining a curious specimen, with a suggestion of aloofness in his eyes.

Suddenly Father Ripon smiled rather sternly, and the deep furrows which sprang into his cheeks showed the latent strength and power of the face.

"Well, Mr. Schuabe," he said abruptly, "the train doesn't stop anywhere for an hour, so willy-nilly you're locked up with a priest!"

"A welcome opportunity, Father Ripon, to convince one that perhaps the devil isn't as black as he's painted."

"I've read your books," said Ripon, "and I believe you are sincere, Mr. Schuabe. It's not a personal question at all. At the same time, if I had the power, you know I should cheerfully execute you or imprison you for life, not out of revenge for what you have done, but as a precautionary measure. You should have no further opportunity of doing harm." He smiled grimly as he spoke.

"Rather severe, Father," said Schuabe laughing. "Because I find that in a rational view of history there is no place for a Resurrection and Ascension you would give me your blessing and an auto da fé!"

"I rather believe in stern measures, sometimes," answered the clergyman, with an underlying seriousness, though he spoke half in jest. "Not for all heretics, you know – only the dangerous ones."

"You are afraid of intellect when it is brought to bear on these questions."

"I thought that would be your rejoinder. Superficially it is a very telling one, because there is nothing so insidious as a half-truth. In a sense what you say is true. There are a great many Christians whose faith is weak and whose natural inclinations, assisted by supernatural temptations, are towards a life of sin. Christianity keeps them from it. Now, your books come in the way of such people as these far more readily and easily than works of Christian apologetics written with equal power. An attack upon our position has all the elements of popularity and novelty. It is more seen. For example, ten thousand people have heard of your Christ Reconceived for every ten who know Lathom's Risen Master. You have said the last word for agnosticism and made it widely public, the Master of Trinity Hall has said the last word for Christianity and only scholars know of it. It isn't the strength of your case which makes you dangerous, it's the ignorance of the public and a condition of affairs which makes it possible for you to shout loudest."

"Well, there is at least a half-truth in what you say also, Mr. Ripon," said Schuabe. "But you don't seem to have brought anything to eat. Will you share my luncheon basket? There is quite enough for two people."

Father Ripon had been called away after the early Eucharist, and had quite forgotten to have any breakfast.

"Thank you very much," he said; "I will. I suddenly seem to be hungry, and after all there is scriptural precedent for spoiling the Egyptians!"

Both laughed again, sheathed their weapons, and began to eat.

Each of them was a man of the world, cultured, with a charming personality. Each knew the other was impervious to attack.

Only once, as the short afternoon was darkening and they were approaching their destination, did Schuabe refer to controversial subjects. The carriage was shadowed and dusky as they rushed through the desolate fenlands. The millionaire lit a match for a cigarette, and the sudden flare showed the priest's face, set and stern. He seemed to be thinking deeply.

"What would you say or do, Father Ripon," Schuabe asked, in a tone of interested curiosity, – "What would you do if some stupendous thing were to happen, something to occur which proved without doubt that Christ was not divine? Supposing that it suddenly became an absolute fact, a historical fact which every one must accept?"

"Some new discovery, you mean?"

"Well, if you like; never mind the actual means. Assume for a moment that it became certain as an historical fact that the Resurrection did not take place. I say that the ignorant love of Christ's followers wreathed His life in legend, that the true story was from the beginning obscured by error, hysteria, and mistake. Supposing something proved what I say in such a way as to leave no loophole for denial. What would you do? As a representative Churchman, what would you do? This interests me."

"Well, you are assuming an impossibility, and I can't argue on such a postulate. But, if for a moment what you say could happen, I might not be able to deny these proofs, but I should never believe them."

"But surely – "

"Christ is within; I have found Him myself without possibility of mistake; day and night I am in communion with Him."

"Ah!" said Schuabe, dryly, "there is no convincing a person who takes that attitude. But it is rare."

"Faith is weak in the world," said the priest, with a sigh, as the train drew up in the little wayside station.

A footman took their luggage to a carriage which was waiting, and they drove off rapidly through the twilight, over the bare brown fen with a chill leaden sky meeting it on the horizon, towards Fencastle.

Sir Michael's house was an immemorial feature of those parts. Josiah Manichoe, his father, had bought it from old Lord Lostorich. To this day Sir Michael paid two pounds each year, as "Knight's fee," to the lord of the manor at Denton, a fee first paid in 1236. As it stood now, the house was Tudor in exterior, covering a vast area with its stately, explicit, and yet homelike, rather than "homely," beauty.

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 washing-stand 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 were standing round an open fire of peat and coal.

Mrs. Bardilly, a widowed sister of Sir Michael's, acted as hostess, a quiet, matronly woman, very Jewish in aspect, shrewd and placid in temper, an admirable châtelaine.

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, rather sweet in expression, but with a slight hinting of "superiority" in repose and condescension in movement. When she spoke, always in full, well-chosen periods, it was with an air of somewhat final pronouncement. She was ever ex cathedra.

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. Mrs. Armstrong pitied Christians with passionate certainty. Gently and lovingly she essayed to open blinded eyes to the truth. With great condescension she still believed in God and preached Christ as a mighty teacher.

One of her utterances suffices to show 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 East. Men and women of to-day cannot learn the complete lesson of God from him now – indeed they could not in those old times. But all that is most necessary in forming character, all that makes for pureness and clarity of soul – this Jesus has still 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.

Shrewd critics remarked that John Mulgrave described the perversion of the hero with great skill and literary power, while quite forgetting to recapitulate the arguments which had brought it about.

The woman was really educated, but her success was with half-educated readers. Her works excited to a sort of frenzy clergymen who realised their insidious hollowness. Her success was real; her influence appeared to be real also. 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, carelessly 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, a persona grata 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 very pleasant meal. Every one 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. And perhaps, with the single exception of Father Ripon, who never thought about it at all, every one was pleasantly conscious of pulling the strings. They sat, Jove-like, kindly tolerant of lesser mortals, discussing, over a dessert, what they should do for the world.

At eleven nearly every one had retired for the night. Father Ripon and his host 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 hintings of the morrow.

Far away in Lancashire, Basil Gortre was sleeping calmly after a long, quiet evening with Helena and her father.

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 outside wind as if it were a lullaby.

Mrs. Hubert Armstrong was touching up an article for the Nineteenth Century in her bedroom. An open volume of Renan stood by her side; here and there the lady deftly paraphrased a few lines. Occasionally she sipped a cup of black-currant tea – an amiable weakness of this paragon when engaged upon her stirring labours.

In the next room Schuabe, with haggard face and twitching lips, paced rapidly up and down. 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! and then back again.

Ten, seven, turn. A cold, soft dew came out upon 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 III

"I, JOSEPH"

At about 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 slightly agitated.

"I beg your pardon, Father," 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 at once 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.

The priest's eyes fell first upon 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 Fund, and Herr Schmöulder, the famous German historian."

Ripon turned hastily to the seventh page of the paper, where all the foreign telegrams were. This is what he read:

"NOTE

"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 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 firman 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 archæologists and students will be aware, that some years ago the 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 were 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 which is 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, which is still used in Palestine under the name hamra, which lay at the foot of the sealed entrance, showed 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 sepulture.

"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 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, Daily Wire.]

FACSIMILE IN MODERN GREEK SCRIPTΕγωιωσηφοαποαριμαθειαςλαβω 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 ARIMATHÆA, 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 savant 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 upon 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 that the Resurrection as told in the Gospels did not take place. Joseph of Arimathæa here confesses that 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 a very vague idea of it ever being read. Were his confession written for future ages, we may surmise that the perfect 'κεκρυφα,' 'I have hidden,' would have been used."

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 moved jerkily, automatically, without volition. His right arm was sawing the air in meaningless gesticulation.

He glanced furtively at Father Ripon and then 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 down-stairs 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 brains very 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, "come to the altar. 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 with the seven dim lamps burning before the altar, and knelt down in the chancel stalls. Some of the servants came in and then the 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…"

And those two, as they came gravely out of church and walked to the library, knew that a great and awful lie was resounding through the world, for the Risen Christ had spoken with them, bidding them be of good courage for what was to come.

The voice of Peter called down the ages:

"This Jesus hath God raised up, whereof we are all witnesses."

CHAPTER IV

THE DOMESTIC CHAPLAIN'S TESTIMONY

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. Here and there the quiet simplicity of the place was violently disturbed by great gouts of colour, startling notes which, so cunningly had they been arranged in alternate opulence and denial, were harmonised with their background.

A curtain of Tyrian purple, a sea picture full of gloom and glory, red light and wind; a bronze head, with brilliant, lifelike enamel eyes, the features swollen and brutal, from Sabacio – these were the means used by the young artist employed by Sir Michael to decorate the room.

The long windows, hewn out of a six-foot wall, presented a sombre vista of great leafless trees standing in the trackless snow, touched here and there with the ruddiness of the winter sun.

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 breakfast-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 humans. All had seen the paper, and though at first not one of them referred to it, the currents of tumult and alarm were knocking loudly at heart and brain, varied and widely diverse as were the emotions of each one.

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.

"To-day," 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 hall-mark 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. That image which thought, study, and research have already made so vivid to some of us will be common to the world. The old, weary superstitions will vanish for all time. The real significance of the anthropomorphic view will be clear at last. The world will be able to realise the Real Figure as It went in and out among Its brother men."