BASSANIO: So may the outward shows be least themselves;
The world is still deceived with ornament.
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt,
But, being seasoned with a gracious voice,
Obscures the show of evil? In religion,
What dammed error, but some sober brow
Will bless it, and approve it with a text,
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
* * * * *
SALARINO: My wind, cooling my broth,
Would blow me to an ague when I thought
What harm a wind too great might do at sea.
... Should I go to church,
And see the holy edifice of stone,
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks?
_Merchant of Venice._
When approaching from the west among picturesque islands and past wooded
points of land, our old city of Kingston affords the traveler a pleasant
scene. Above the blue and green expanse of her spacious harbor, the
penitentiary with its high wall and surrounding turrets suggests the
Canadian justice we are proud of; and, further up, rises the asylum,
suggestive only of Canadian lunacy, for which we do not claim
pre-eminence, while beyond, some little spires and domes, sparkling in
the sun, are seen over the tops of some English-looking stone
residences, where the grassy lawns stretch down to the line of waves
breaking on the rocky shore. Further off one sees the vessel-masts along
the ship-yards and docks; here and there some small Martello forts try
to look formidable; large vessels cross and recross the harbor, while
others lie at anchor drying their sails; and beyond all, on the hill at
the back, rises the garrison walls, where--
In spite of all temptation,
Dynamite and annexation,
Canada is content, for the present at least, to see the English flag
instead of our own.
As our friends came on deck the next morning (Sunday) they were able to
enjoy this pleasant approach to Kingston. Mrs. Dusenall and others had
wished to attend church if possible in the limestone city, and an early
start had been made by the sailors long before the guests were awake.
The wind came lightly from the southward, which allowed them to pick up
the anchors without difficulty, and it took but a short time to sweep in
past the city and "come to" off the barrack's wharf, where a gun was
ceremoniously fired as the anchor was lowered from the catheads.
Mrs. Dusenall piped all hands for divine service. They came out of the
ark two by two and filed up the streets in that order until the church
was reached. The boys came out in "heavy marching order"--Sunday coats,
and all that sort of thing--which made a vast change from the
picturesque and rather buccaneer-like appearance they presented on the
yacht.
If a traveling circus had proceeded up the center aisle of the
attractively decorated edifice, no greater curiosity could have been
exhibited among the worshipers. Mrs. Dusenall had some of the imposing
mien of a drum-major as she led her gallant band to seats at the head of
the church, and Charley was justly proud of the fine appearance they
made. He had surveyed them all with pleasure while on the sidewalk
outside, and had paid the usher half a dollar to lead them all together
to front seats. Walk as lightly as they could, it was impossible in the
stillness of the church to prevent their entrance from sounding like
that of soldiery, and once the eyes of the worshipers rested on the
noble troop they became fixed there for some time. There was a ruddy,
bronzed look about the yachting men's faces which, innocent of limestone
dust tended to deny the almost aggressive respectability which good
tailoring and cruelty collars attempted to claim for them. In the hearts
of the fair Kingstonians who glanced toward them there arose visions of
lawn-tennis, boating, and buccaneer costumes suggested by that
remarkably able-bodied and healthy appearance which a fashionable walk,
bank trousers, and a gauzy umbrella may do much to modify but can not
obliterate. As for the male devotees, it was touching to mark their
interest in Margaret as she went up the aisle keeping step with the
shortened pace of the long-limbed Geoffrey. The clergyman was just
saying that the scriptures moved them in sundry places when all at once
he became a mere cipher to them. After their first thrill at the beauty
of her face, their eyes followed Margaret and that wonderful movement of
hers that made her, as with a well-ordered regiment, almost as dangerous
in the retreat as in the advance. But Nina came along close behind her,
and those who, though disabled, survived the first volley were
slaughtered to a man when the rich charms of her appearance won her a
triumph all her own. Jack, walking by her side, full of gravity but
happy, took in the situation with pride at her silent success. Then all
the others followed, and when they were installed in a body in the three
front pews, and after they had all bowed their heads and the gentlemen
had carefully perused the legend printed in their hats--"Lincoln Bennett
& Coy, Sackville Street, Piccadilly, London. Manufactured expressly for
Jas. H. Rogers, Toronto and Winnipeg"--they got their books open and
admitted that they had done things they ought not to have done and that
there was no health in them.
The interior of the church was a luxury to the eye in its mellow
coloring from stained-glass windows and carefully-arranged lights, and
in its banners, altar-cloths, embroidery, and church millinery
generally, it left little to be desired. The clergyman was a young
unmarried offspring of a high-church college who, with a lofty disregard
for general knowledge, had acquired a great deal of theology. He it was
who arranged that dim religious light about the altar and walled up a
neighboring window so that the burning of candles seemed to become
necessary. Never having been out of America, it was difficult to imagine
where he acquired the ultra-English pronunciation that had all those
flowing "ah" sounds which after a while make all words so pleasantly
alike in the high-pitched reading of prayers when, it may be inferred,
that word-meanings are perhaps of minor import. It seemed that he alone
was, from the holiness of his office, qualified to enter that mysterious
place at the head of the chancel where, with his back to the
congregation, at stated times he went through certain genuflexions and
other movements in which the general public did not participate further
than to admire the splendor of his back. The effect of the many
mysteries on some of the Kingston men was to keep them away from the
church. A few fathers of families and others came to please wives,
sweethearts, or clients, and in the cool, agreeable edifice enjoyed some
respectable slumber or watched the proceedings with mild curiosity or
had their ears filled either with good music or the agreeable sound of
the intoning.
The effect of the little mysteries on the well-to-do women of the church
(for it was no place for a poor man's family) was varied. On the
large-eyed, nervous, impressionable, and imaginative virgins--those who
could always be found ready in the days of human sacrifices--the
clergyman's mysteries and the exercise of the power of the Church, as
exhibited in the continual working of his strong will upon them, had of
course the usual results in enfeebling their judgment and in rendering
them very subservient. In the case of some unimaginative matrons and
more level-headed girls these attractions did not unfit them for
every-day life more than continual theatre-going, and they took a pride
in and enjoyed a sense of quasi-ownership in the man whom it tickled
their fancy to clothe in gorgeous raiment. To these solid,
pleasure-loving, good-natured women, whose religion was inextricably
mixed up with romance, the mysteries, sideshows, and formalities of
their splendid _protege_ brought satisfaction; and in their social
gatherings they discussed the doings of their favorite much as a
syndicate of owners might, in the pride of ownership, discuss their
horse. It may be pleasing to be identified with the supernatural, but
one's self-respect must need all such compensations to allow one to
become a peg for admiring women to hang their embroidery on--to be
largely dependent upon their gratuities, subject to some of their
control, to put in, say, two fair days' work in seven, and spend the
rest in fiddle-faddle.
"There is but one God. What directly concerns you, my friends, is that
Mohammed _is his Prophet_--to interpret the supernatural for you." It
would be interesting to find out if there ever existed a religion,
savage or civilized, whose public proclamation did not contain a
qualifying clause to retain the power in the priests.
The sermon on this occasion was on the observance of the Sabbath. It
contained much church law and theology, and in quotations from different
saints who had lived at various periods during the dark ages, and whose
sayings did not seem to be chosen so much on account of their force as
for the weight given by the names of the saints themselves, which were
delivered _ore rotundo_. But it is doubtful whether the most erudite
quotation from obscure mediaeval saints is capable of carrying much
conviction to the hearts of a Canadian audience, and Jack and Charley
had to be kicked into consciousness from an uneasy slumber.
From the saints the priest descended to Chicago, a transition which
awoke several. And he sought to illustrate the depravity of that city by
commenting upon the large facilities there provided for
Sabbath-breaking. He spoke of the street-cars he had seen there running
on that day, and of the suburban trains that carried thousands of
working-women and girls out of the city. He did not say that the cars
were chiefly drawn by steam-power, nor that these poor, jaded,
hollow-eyed girls worked harder in one day than he did in three weeks;
nor did he speak of the weak women's hard struggle for existence in the
life-consuming factories; nor of the freshness of the lake breezes in
the spots where the trains dropped thousands of their overworked
passengers.
Margaret Mackintosh had seen these dragged, dust-choked, narrow-chested,
smoke-dried girls, with all the bloom of youth gone from them, trying to
make their drawn faces smile as they go off together in their clean,
Sunday print dresses, too jaded for anything save rest and fresh air.
She knew that any man not devoid of the true essence of Christ might
almost weep in the fullness of his sympathy with them. But the young
priest convicted them of sacrilege, and did not say he was thankful for
being privileged to witness such a sight, or that Chicago existed to
shame the more priest-ridden cities of Canada.
When this story was concluded, Mrs. Dusenall, and many of her kind; and
the unimpressionable girls looked acquiescence, because the words were
backed by the Church, but their hearts went out to the poor sinners in
Chicago. Only with those who took their mental bias from the priest did
his words find solid resting-place. Geoffrey sat with an inmovable face,
impossible to read. His subsequent remark to Margaret, when she had
delivered her opinions about the matter, was, however, characteristic.
He said simply, as if deprecating her vehemence:
"The man must live, you know, and how is he to live if people go out of
town on Sunday." To Geoffrey a short time was sufficient to satisfy him
that the preacher ought to have lived in the days when mankind were
saturated with belief in miracle and looked for explanation of events
by miracle without dreaming of other explanation.
During the next five minutes the sermon rather wandered from the
subject, but fastened upon it again in an anecdote of an occurrence said
to have taken place at an American seaport town, during the preacher's
visit there.
Several young mechanics, instead of going to church one Sunday morning,
had engaged a yawl, and also the fishermen who owned it, to take them to
a village on the coast and back again. It appeared from the account that
for a day and a night the yawl had been blown away from the coast, and
then that the wind had changed, so as to drive it back again; and the
story of the voyage naturally found attentive listeners among our
yachting friends.
"All through that first terrible day, and all through the long, black
night they were tossed about among the giant billows of a most
tempestuous ocean. And what, dear friends, must have been the agony and
remorse of those misguided young men when they thus realized the results
of their deliberate breaking of the holy day. As they clung to the frail
vessel, which reeled to and fro beneath them like a drunken man, and
which now alone remained to possibly save them from a watery grave--as
they perceived the billows breaking in upon that devoted ship, insomuch
that it was covered with waves, what must have been their sensations?
And when the wind suddenly changed its direction and blew them with
terrible force back again toward the rocky coast, we can imagine how
earnestly they made their resolutions never again to transgress in this
way. Once more, after a while, they saw the land again, and as they came
closer they could discern the spires of those holy edifices which they
had abandoned for the sake of forbidden pleasures and in which they were
doomed never to hear the teachings of the Church again. There lay the
harbor before them, as if in mockery of all their attempts to reach it;
and while raised on high in the air, on the summit of some white,
mountainous billow, they could obtain a Pisgah-like view of those homes
they were destined never again to enter."
Jack was broad awake now and wondering why, with the wind dead after
them, the fishermen in charge of the boat could not make the harbor.
"Suddenly there came a great noise, which no doubt sounded like a death
knell in the hearts of the terrified and exhausted young men. It was
soon discovered that the mainsail of the ship had been blown away by the
fury of the tempest."
"Now what was their unhappy condition? How could they any longer strive
to reach the longed-for haven when the mainsail of the yawl was blown
away?"
Jack shifted in his seat uncomfortably at this point. He was saying to
himself: "Why not sneak in under a jib? Or even under bare poles? Or, if
the harbor was intricate, why not heave to under the mizzen and signal
for a tug?" Half a score of possibilities followed each other through
his brain, which in sailing matters worked quickly. He always inclined
from his early training to accept without question all that issued from
the pulpit; but this story bothered him. The instructor went on:
"Clearly there was now no hope for the devoted vessel. Even the anchor
was gone; the anchor of Hope, dear friends, was gone. The strong
trustworthy anchor (in which mariners place so great confidence that it
has become the type or symbol of Hope) was gone--washed overboard by the
temptuous waves."
Charley here received a kick under the seat from Jack whose face was now
filled with a blank incredulity, which showed that the influence of his
early training had departed from him.
In one way or another, the preacher succeeded in irritating some of the
Ideal's crew. He went on to say that the yawl was dashed to pieces on
the rocks, and that only one man--a fisherman--survived; from which he
drew the usual moral.
With three or four exceptions, our friends went out of church not as
good-humored as when they came in. Geoffrey alone seemed to have enjoyed
himself. His heart-felt cynicism pulled him through. He said aloud to
Mrs. Dusenall, when they were all together again, that he thought the
preacher's description of the perils of the deep was very beautiful.
(Dead silence from Jack and Charley). Mrs. Dusenall concurred with him,
and said it was wonderful how clergymen acquired so much general
knowledge.
Presently Charley, thoughtfully: "Say, Jack, what was the matter with
that boat, any way?"
"Blessed if I could find out," said Jack.
"Why! did you not hear? Her mainsail was gone," said Geoffrey gravely,
to draw Jack out.
"Well, who the deuce cares for a mains'l?" answered Jack, rising testily
to the bait. "The man does not know what he is--well, of course, he is a
clergyman, but then, you know--my stars! not make a port in broad
daylight with the wind dead aft! Perfectly impossible to miss it! And,
then the anchor--a fisherman's anchor!--washed overboard!"
Geoffrey persisted, more gravely, in a reproachful tone; "You don't mean
to say, Jack, that you doubt that what a clergyman says is true?"
The Misses Dusenall also looked at him very seriously.
Jack was a candid young man, and had his religious views fixed, as it
were, hereditarily. He looked at his boots, as if he would like to evade
the question; but, seeing no escape, he came out with his answer like
parting with his teeth.
"When the parson," he said with stolid determination, "goes in for
mediaeval saints, I don't interfere. He can forge ahead and I won't try
to split his wind. But when he talks sailing he must talk sense. No,
sir! I do _not_ believe that story--and no Angel Gabriel would make me."
There was a force behind his tones of conviction which amused some of
his hearers.
"Jack Cresswell! You surprise me," said Geoffrey loftily.
After lunch the ladies went up into the city to visit some friends, and
the men were lying about under the awning, chatting, smoking, and
sipping claret.
"Well, there was one thing about that boat that caused the entire
disturbance," said Charley, sagaciously. "I've thought the whole thing
out; and I put down the trouble to the usual cause--and that is--whisky.
When the fishermen found there was liquor on board they 'steered for the
open sea,' and when they were all stark, staring, blind drunk they went
ashore."
"I fancy you have solved the difficulty," said Mr. Lemons. "The preacher
did not, somehow, seem to get hold of me. My notion is that he should
come down to your level and help you up--like those Arab chaps that lug
and butt you up the Pyramids--not stand at the top and order you to
climb."
"Just so," said Geoffrey. "A speaker must in some way make his listeners
feel at home with him, just as a novel, to sell well, must contain some
one touch of nature that makes the whole world kin. The sympathies must
be excited. In books accepted by gentle folk the "one touch" of
attractive and primitive nature is refined, and in this shape it is
called poetry--in this shape it creates vague and pleasant wonderings,
especially in the minds of those whose fancies are capable of no higher
intellectual flight. When we see that people so universally seek
productions in which nature is only more or less disguised, we seem to
understand man better."
"What are you trying to get at now?" asked Jack, with a smiling show of
impatience.
"Why," said Hampstead, "take the work of the sprightliest modern novel
writers--say, for instance, Besant and Rice. Deduct the fun from their
books and the shadowy plot, and what remains? A girl--a fresh, young,
innocent girl--who, with her beautiful face and figure, charms the
heart. She does not do much, and (with William Black) she says even
less; but the people in the book are all in love with her, and the
reader becomes, in a second-hand and imaginative way, in love with her
also. She is quiet, lady-like, and delicious; her surroundings assist in
creating an interest in her; but in the dawn and development of love
within her lies the chief interest of most readers. The mind
concentrates itself without effort when lured by any of our earlier
instincts. What we want is a definition as to what degree of careful
mental exertion is worthy of being dignified by the name of "thought,"
as distinguished from that sequence of ideas, without exertion, which is
sufficient in all animals for daily routine and the carrying out of
instinct."
"There are some of your ideas, Hampstead, which do not seem to promise
improvement to anybody," said Jack.
"And, for you, the worst thing about them is that they have a semblance
of truth," replied Hampstead.
"Sometimes--yes," admitted Jack. "But I would not excuse you because
they happened to be true. The only way I excuse you is because, after
your scientific mud-groveling, you sometimes point higher than others.
Are we to understand, then, that you object to novel reading on moral
grounds?"
"Don't be absurd. A novel may be all that it should be. I am stating
what I take to be facts, and I think it interesting to consider why we
enjoy what ladies call 'a good love-story.' You will notice that people
who adopt an over-ascetic and unnatural life and do not seek nature,
give up reading 'good love-stories.' Perhaps they vaguely realize that
the difference in the interest created by Black's insipid Yolande and
Byron's Don Juan is merely one of degree."
"Now, will you be so good as to say candidly what gain you or any one
else ever received from thinking in such channels as these?" inquired
Jack, with impatience.
"Certainly. It keeps me from transcendentalism--from being led off into
vanity--thoughts about my immortality--"
"Surely," interrupted Jack, "the aspirations of one's soul are
sufficient to convince us that we will live again."
"Jack, a man's soul is simply his power of imagining and desiring what
he hasn't got. Once a day, more or less, his soul imagines immortality.
The rest of the time it imagines his sweetheart. If a poet, his soul
combines the two. Or else it is the mighty dollar, or hunting, or
something else. Shall all his aspirations toward nature go for nothing?
His soul will conjure up his sweetheart nine thousand times for one
thought of his future state. Because he has acquired neither. If he had
acquired either, he would soon be quite as certain that there was
something still better in store for him. With our minds as active and
refined as they are, it would be quite impossible for men to do
otherwise than have their imaginings about souls and immortality. These
make no proof; the savage has none of them; and if they were proof,
whither do man's aspirations chiefly point? To earth or to heaven?"
"Well, I suppose your answer," said Jack, "is sufficient for yourself.
You study science, then, to persuade yourself that when you die you will
remain teetotally dead?"
"Rather to make myself content with a truth which is different from and
not so pleasant as that which we are taught in early life."
"For goodness' sake," cried Mr. Lemons, yawning, "pass the claret."