The Incredulity of Father Brown quotes

He was always exceedingly serious in his social gestures, especially towards religious institutions. He was one of those laymen who are much more ecclesiastical than ecclesiastics. It embarrassed Father Brown a good deal, especially when carried thus into private life.

“I think I am an anti-clerical,” Father Brown would say with a faint smile; “but there wouldn’t be half so much clericalism if they would only leave things to the clerics.”

“Why, Mr. Mendoza,” exclaimed the journalist with a new animation, “I think we have met before. Weren’t you at the Trade Congress in Mexico last year?”

There was something a little more like a lull in the noise; and then Father Brown for the first time reached the utmost stretch of the indignation that he could launch against his children.

“Oh, you silly people,” he said in a high and quavering voice, “Oh, you silly, silly people.”

Then he suddenly seemed to pull himself together, made a bolt for the steps with his more normal gait, and began hurriedly to descend.

And he came tumbling down the steps, the people flinging themselves before him to implore his blessing.

“Bless you, bless you,” said Father Brown hastily. “God bless you all and give you more sense.”

And he scuttled away with extraordinary rapidity to the telegraph office, where he wired to his Bishop’s secretary: “There is some mad story about a miracle here; hope his lordship not give authority. Nothing in it.”

“I shouldn’t think too hard just yet,” said the American. “You must be wanting a rest. Besides, what are you going to think about?”

“I have pretty often had the task of investigating murders, as it happens,” said Father Brown. “Now I have got to investigate my own murder.”

“If I were you,” said Race, “I should take a little wine first.”

Father Brown leaned over to him and said in a low voice:

“I was astonished at not being knocked on the head.”

Race looked at him for a moment as if he thought the knock on the head had been only too effective; but he only said: “What do you mean?”

“Of course,” said Race, “I am not of your religion; but believe me, I have religion enough to understand that. Of course, you would thank God for saving you from death.”

“No,” said the priest “Not from death. From disgrace.”

The other sat staring; and the priest’s next words broke out of him with a sort of cry.

“Not at all,” said Father Brown, quietly.

“It is my duty to visit prisoners and all miserable men in captivity.”

There was a silence, and the young man frowned with a strange and almost shifty look on his lean face. Then he said, abruptly:

“Yes,” said Father Brown, “I always like a dog, so long as he isn’t spelt backwards.”

Those who are quick in talking are not always quick in listening. Sometimes even their brilliancy produces a sort of stupidity.

Fiennes stared still more. “But you told me before that my feelings about the dog were all nonsense, and the dog had nothing to do with it.”

“The dog had everything to do with it,” said Father Brown, “as you’d have found out if you’d only treated the dog as a dog and not as God Almighty judging the souls of men.”

He paused in an embarrassed way for a moment, and then said, with a rather pathetic air of apology:

“Oh, well,” said Professor Vair, rather curtly, “if you are resolved to believe in your priest and his miraculous Irishman, I can say no more. I’m afraid you have not had an opportunity of studying psychology.”

“No,” said Fenner dryly; “but I’ve had an opportunity of studying psychologists.”

And, bowing politely, he led his deputation out of the room and did not speak till he got into the street; then he addressed them rather explosively.

“But I thought you believed in miracles,” broke out the secretary.

“Yes,” answered Father Brown, “I believe in miracles. I believe in man-eating tigers, but I don’t see them running about everywhere. If I want any miracles, I know where to get them.”

“I can’t understand your taking this line, Father Brown,” said Vandam, earnestly. “It seems so narrow; and you don’t look narrow to me, though you are a parson. Don’t you see a miracle like this will knock all materialism endways?

It’s proud and it’s sly. It likes to be superior; it loves to horrify the innocent with things half understood, to make children’s flesh creep. That’s why it’s so fond of mysteries and initiations and secret societies and all the rest of it.

Its eyes are turned inwards, and however grand and grave it may look, it’s always hiding a small, mad smile.

” He shuddered suddenly, as if caught in an icy draught of air. “Never mind about them; they’ve got nothing to do with this, believe me.

“Why should looking out of the window hurt him?” asked Alboin. “He didn’t fall out, or he’d have been found in the lane.”

“No,” said Father Brown, in a low voice. “He didn’t fall. He rose.”

There was something in his voice like the groan of a gong, a note of doom, but otherwise he went on steadily:

“He was a black and bloody assassin, no doubt,” said Fenner, quietly. “I’m not defending him; but I suppose it’s Father Brown’s business to pray for all men, even for a man like—”

“Yes,” assented Father Brown, “it’s my business to pray for all men, even for a man like Warren Wynd.”

Logically speaking, he may be any of the waiters who wait on me at table. He may be any of the passengers who sit with me at table.”

“He may be me,” said Father Brown, with cheerful contempt for grammar.

“He may be anybody else,” answered Smaill seriously. “That is what I meant by what I said just now. You are the only man I feel sure is not the enemy.”

Of course that does not prove he is a lunatic; but it seems rather rum nowadays for a man to expect his valet or his parlourmaid to act as an armed guard.”

“And so,” said the priest with a smile, “he wants a policeman to act as his parlourmaid because his parlourmaid won’t act as a policeman.”

“I thought that rather thick, too,” agreed the doctor; “but I can’t take the responsibility of a flat refusal till I’ve tried a compromise. You are the compromise.”

“You mustn’t let that sort of stuff stupefy you,” he said sharply.

“These devils always try to make us helpless by making us hopeless.”

Rather to his surprise, an awakening wave went over the prostrate figure, which sprang from its chair as if startled out of a dream.

“But I can’t make head or tail of it,” said the doctor. “You must really begin at the beginning.”

“The beginning of it was a dressing-gown,” said Father Brown simply.

“It was the one really good disguise I’ve ever known. When you meet a man in a house with a dressing-gown on, you assume quite automatically that he’s in his own house. I assumed it myself; but afterwards queer little things began to happen.

“Upon my soul,” said the doctor, laughing, “I can’t make out whether you’re denouncing or defending him.”

“It isn’t defending a man to say he is a genius,” said Father Brown.

“Far from it. And it is simply a psychological fact that an artist will betray himself by some sort of sincerity. Leonardo da Vinci cannot draw as if he couldn’t draw.

It tingled with truth and it divided truth from error with a blade like ice; but all that was left had never felt so much alive.

It was as if all joy were a jewel in the heart of an iceberg.

The priest hardly understood his own mood as he advanced deeper and deeper into the green gloaming, drinking deeper and deeper draughts of that virginal vivacity of the air.

“It is no good,” he said hoarsely; “we are dealing with something too terrible.”

“Yes,” assented the priest in a low voice, “we are dealing with something terrible; with the most terrible thing I know; and the name of it is nonsense.”

“What did you say?” said Darnaway, still looking towards him.

“Oh, nonsense!” said Nares; “no sensible person believes in ghosts.”

“That is hardly exact,” said Father Brown, smiling a little. “There is really quite as good evidence for many ghosts as there is for most crimes.”

“Well, it’s my business to run after the criminals,” said Nares rather roughly, “and I will leave other people to run away from the ghosts. If anybody at this time of day chooses to be frightened of ghosts, it’s his affair.”