“Dr Cassell, I was reading a pamphlet the other day which you would have been so interested in. It was about the Roman Catholics; and it treated the question in the main almost exactly as you do; but with some minor differences, which I really am not sure I do not incline to myself — they were put so very convincingly. I should so like you to read it. It was called ‘Roman Catholicism — its Spread and Significance.’”
Dr Cassell leant forward in his chair, and held up one hand.
“It is a subject — Mrs Blackwood — upon which I hardly require to read further treatises. I know it — only too well — under both the heads to which you allude — to which the title of the little work you mention, alluded. I do not think further reading could add to my comprehension of it.”
“Ah, Mr Billing, the doctor is the man to consult, if you want to know anything about the Roman Catholics,” said Mr Blackwood. “He is an authority upon them, I can tell you. He has studied the question, and no mistake, has the doctor.”
“You consider the spread of Roman Catholicism a serious thing?” said Mr Billing, addressing Dr Cassell.
Dr Cassell leant forward, and again raised his hand.
“You ask me, Mr Billing — whether I consider — the spread of Roman Catholicism — a serious thing. My answer is — that I consider it a hopeless thing, a damnable thing, a thing that is sucking the very life-blood of our religion.” Dr Cassell held himself for a further moment in his didactic posture, and then leaned back in his chair.
“But do you not think,” said Mr Billing, “that the spread of agnosticism and atheism — I fear we must recognise that they are both spreading — is even more serious — more significant of vital danger to the faith?”
“I do not,” said Dr Cassell, implying a not uncomplacent knowledge that his view was peculiar. “I have met — in the course of my medical experience — as I could not have failed to do — examples of all the three forms of — er — perverted religious conviction; and I am of the opinion — that the Roman Catholic is more — obstinately tenacious of error, and pernicious in influence, than either the atheist or the agnostic. Both the latter are — as a rule more or less amenable to argument, and more or less straightforward and aboveboard in their tactics. But the Catholic—” Dr Cassell broke off and shook his head.
“You have had dealings with them?” said the Reverend Cleveland, his tone accepting this as a matter of course, and therefore implying collapse of the doctor’s position if he should be mistaken.
“I will tell you,” said Dr Cassell, relapsing into his anecdotal tone, “of an experience I had with one. I was called in to attend a patient — a Catholic — in his last illness; and I found him in a state of great depression about the state he was about to enter; burdened with notions of purgatory, praying to the Virgin, and so forth.” The doctor paused to allow this grave evidence to be grasped. “I endeavoured — to bring the light or the true faith to his darkened mind; but — with little success — owing to its prejudiced and — generally unhappy condition. As I was leaving the room, I happened to pause for a moment, holding the door ajar; and I fancied as I stood there — that I heard a faint noise”—the speaker gesticulated slightly with his hand and his tone became mystical—“as of somebody moving quickly away from the door-mat. When I opened the door, I came upon a priest—ostensibly coming across the passage. I shall never forget the appearance of the man, as he came towards me, with a sort of leering smile on his lips — his long, black, gown-sort-of-thing hanging about him, and a crucifix suspended from his neck. I stopped him — I placed myself dead in front of him — and I remember now how his eye quailed beneath mine. ‘So,’ I said, ‘you have added to your list of deadly sins — the sins that have clouded deathbeds and damned souls. Go,’ I said, ‘and dare to contradict a word of mine to that dying man, as you will answer for it at the judgment.’ Would you believe it, the fellow never even answered me! He calmly walked by me, and into the sick-room; though, mark you, he did not once raise his eyes to mine. The next day — no, wait a minute”—the doctor checked with a motion of his hand any exclamations on the point of breaking forth—“I received a message — purporting to be written by the patient — though I knew he was too weak to handle a pen — informing me that my services would not be again required. This message I ignored; happening to regard the future of a soul — as of greater importance than the will of a priest. I was not allowed — to set my foot over the threshold. Orders had been given that I should not be admitted; and my only course was to leave the priest to his work — doubtless he wished to get the man’s money bequeathed to his cause. The money I have no doubt was gained— the soul of the man—” The doctor broke off, and just perceptibly shook his head.
Mr Blackwood twisted his moustache, and observed without altering his easy posture in his chair, “Ah! Ah! — an awful thing — the power of these priests — an awful thing — there’s no doubt of that.” Mr Billing dropped his eyes to the ground, and nodded once or twice, muttering, “Yes, yes — yes, yes,” as though he could well believe what he heard, but looked upon the subject as hardly a matter for words. Mr Hutton raised his eyes and met his wife’s, and perceiving an unsteadiness about her lips, dropped them and assumed an equivocal expression; and in a moment addressed the doctor.
“Well, but, Dr Cassell, you could hardly expect the priest to feel grateful to you, especially as you worded what you had to say as you did. I daresay he was an honest fellow, doing his best for what he thought to be right, as you were.”
“I once knew a Roman Catholic priest, and he was a de-ar man,” said Mrs Merton-Vane, with a vague sense of supporting Mr Hutton.
“It was not my object to make him grateful. My object was to bring him to a sense of the abominable wickedness of his course. It was the last thing I expected of him — that he should be grateful!” said Dr Cassell, ending with a grim little laugh.
“Well, on what ground do you find fault with him then?” said the Reverend Cleveland. “I hardly follow you.”
“I think I may retort,” said Dr Cassell, frankly militant, “that I do not follow you. I should not myself describe a man, whose habit it is to listen at doors, as ‘an honest fellow.’”
“Oh, but,” said Mr Hutton, with casual surprise at ignorance of a widespread truth, “the Catholic priests are considered justified in going to any length for the sake of their cause. A breach of morality committed in furtherance or their faith is righteous in their eyes. They would regard it as service for their religion.”
“I think that nothing could show more clearly than that — the superiority — of our religion — the religion of the majority of us here,” said Dr Cassell, with the quiver in his voice of temper kept when loss of it is to be expected, and a glance at the cross on the breast of Mr Hutton. “It is given to us to know, that it is not lawful to do evil — that good may come.”
“Oh, come, Vicar,” interposed Mr Blackwood in loud tones; “the doctor is right—as right as it is possible for a man to be. This spread of the Roman Catholics is an awful thing — an out-and-out awful thing — there’s no denying that. Of course there may be good people amongst them, mistaken through no fault of their own; we all admit that. But we can’t have you talking as if priests and people of that sort ought to be allowed to do their worst without any check. We can’t have that.”