"If any man cometh unto me and hateth not his own father and mother
and wife and children and brethren and sisters, yea, and his own
life also, he cannot be my disciple."
"And whosoever forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot be my
disciple."
WHEN Rachel Winslow and Virginia Page separated after the meeting at
the First Church on Sunday they agreed to continue their
conversation the next day. Virginia asked Rachel to come and lunch
with her at noon, and Rachel accordingly rang the bell at the Page
mansion about half-past eleven. Virginia herself met her and the two
were soon talking earnestly.
"The fact is," Rachel was saying, after they had been talking a few
moments, "I cannot reconcile it with my judgment of what Christ
would do. I cannot tell another person what to do, but I feel that I
ought not to accept this offer."
"What will you do then?" asked Virginia with great interest.
"I don't know yet, but I have decided to refuse this offer."
Rachel picked up a letter that had been lying in her lap and ran
over its contents again. It was a letter from the manager of a comic
opera offering her a place with a large traveling company of the
season. The salary was a very large figure, and the prospect held
out by the manager was flattering. He had heard Rachel sing that
Sunday morning when the stranger had interrupted the service. He had
been much impressed. There was money in that voice and it ought to
be used in comic opera, so said the letter, and the manager wanted a
reply as soon as possible.
"There's no great virtue in saying 'No' to this offer when I have
the other one," Rachel went on thoughtfully. "That's harder to
decide. But I've about made up my mind. To tell the truth,
Virginia, I'm completely convinced in the first case that Jesus
would never use any talent like a good voice just to make money. But
now, take this concert offer. Here is a reputable company, to travel
with an impersonator and a violinist and a male quartet, all people
of good reputation. I'm asked to go as one of the company and sing
leading soprano. The salary--I mentioned it, didn't I?--is
guaranteed to be $200 a month for the season. But I don't feel
satisfied that Jesus would go. What do you think?"
"You mustn't ask me to decide for you," replied Virginia with a sad
smile. "I believe Mr. Maxwell was right when he said we must each
one of us decide according to the judgment we feel for ourselves to
be Christ-like. I am having a harder time than you are, dear, to
decide what He would do."
"Are you?" Rachel asked. She rose and walked over to the window and
looked out. Virginia came and stood by her. The street was crowded
with life and the two young women looked at it silently for a
moment. Suddenly Virginia broke out as Rachel had never heard her
before:
"Rachel, what does all this contrast in conditions mean to you as
you ask this question of what Jesus would do? It maddens me to think
that the society in which I have been brought up, the same to which
we are both said to belong, is satisfied year after year to go on
dressing and eating and having a good time, giving and receiving
entertainments, spending its money on houses and luxuries and,
occasionally, to ease its conscience, donating, without any personal
sacrifice, a little money to charity. I have been educated, as you
have, in one of the most expensive schools in America; launched into
society as an heiress; supposed to be in a very enviable position.
I'm perfectly well; I can travel or stay at home. I can do as I
please. I can gratify almost any want or desire; and yet when I
honestly try to imagine Jesus living the life I have lived and am
expected to live, and doing for the rest of my life what thousands
of other rich people do, I am under condemnation for being one of
the most wicked, selfish, useless creatures in all the world. I have
not looked out of this window for weeks without a feeling of horror
toward myself as I see the humanity that passes by this house."
Virginia turned away and walked up and down the room. Rachel watched
her and could not repress the rising tide of her own growing
definition of discipleship. Of what Christian use was her own talent
of song? Was the best she could do to sell her talent for so much a
month, go on a concert company's tour, dress beautifully, enjoy the
excitement of public applause and gain a reputation as a great
singer? Was that what Jesus would do?
She was not morbid. She was in sound health, was conscious of her
great powers as a singer, and knew that if she went out into public
life she could make a great deal of money and become well known. It
is doubtful if she overestimated her ability to accomplish all she
thought herself capable of. And Virginia--what she had just said
smote Rachel with great force because of the similar position in
which the two friends found themselves.
Lunch was announced and they went out and were joined by Virginia's
grandmother, Madam Page, a handsome, stately woman of sixty-five,
and Virginia's brother Rollin, a young man who spent most of his
time at one of the clubs and had no ambition for anything but a
growing admiration for Rachel Winslow, and whenever she dined or
lunched at the Page's, if he knew of it he always planned to be at
home.
These three made up the Page family. Virginia's father had been a
banker and grain speculator. Her mother had died ten years before,
her father within the past year. The grandmother, a Southern woman
in birth and training, had all the traditions and feelings that
accompany the possession of wealth and social standing that have
never been disturbed. She was a shrewd, careful business woman of
more than average ability. The family property and wealth were
invested, in large measure, under her personal care. Virginia's
portion was, without any restriction, her own. She had been trained
by her father to understand the ways of the business world, and even
the grandmother had been compelled to acknowledge the girl's
capacity for taking care of her own money.
Perhaps two persons could not be found anywhere less capable of
understanding a girl like Virginia than Madam Page and Rollin.
Rachel, who had known the family since she was a girl playmate of
Virginia's, could not help thinking of what confronted Virginia in
her own home when she once decided on the course which she honestly
believed Jesus would take. Today at lunch, as she recalled
Virginia's outbreak in the front room, she tried to picture the
scene that would at some time occur between Madam Page and her
granddaughter.
"I understand that you are going on the stage, Miss Winslow. We
shall all be delighted, I'm sure," said Rollin during the
conversation, which had not been very animated.
Rachel colored and felt annoyed. "Who told you?" she asked, while
Virginia, who had been very silent and reserved, suddenly roused
herself and appeared ready to join in the talk.
"Oh! we hear a thing or two on the street. Besides, every one saw
Crandall the manager at church two weeks ago. He doesn't go to
church to hear the preaching. In fact, I know other people who don't
either, not when there's something better to hear."
Rachel did not color this time, but she answered quietly, "You're
mistaken. I'm not going on the stage."
"It's a great pity. You'd make a hit. Everybody is talking about
your singing."
This time Rachel flushed with genuine anger. Before she could say
anything, Virginia broke in: "Whom do you mean by 'everybody?'"
"Whom? I mean all the people who hear Miss Winslow on Sundays. What
other time do they hear her? It's a great pity, I say, that the
general public outside of Raymond cannot hear her voice."
"Let us talk about something else," said Rachel a little sharply.
Madam Page glanced at her and spoke with a gentle courtesy.
"My dear, Rollin never could pay an indirect compliment. He is like
his father in that. But we are all curious to know something of your
plans. We claim the right from old acquaintance, you know; and
Virginia has already told us of your concert company offer."
"I supposed of course that was public property," said Virginia,
smiling across the table. "I was in the NEWS office day before
yesterday."
"Yes, yes," replied Rachel hastily. "I understand that, Madam Page.
Well, Virginia and I have been talking about it. I have decided not
to accept, and that is as far as I have gone at present."
Rachel was conscious of the fact that the conversation had, up to
this point, been narrowing her hesitation concerning the concert
company's offer down to a decision that would absolutely satisfy her
own judgment of Jesus' probable action. It had been the last thing
in the world, however, that she had desired, to have her decision
made in any way so public as this. Somehow what Rollin Page had said
and his manner in saying it had hastened her decision in the matter.
"Would you mind telling us, Rachel, your reasons for refusing the
offer? It looks like a great opportunity for a young girl like you.
Don't you think the general public ought to hear you? I feel like
Rollin about that. A voice like yours belongs to a larger audience
than Raymond and the First Church."
Rachel Winslow was naturally a girl of great reserve. She shrank
from making her plans or her thoughts public. But with all her
repression there was possible in her an occasional sudden breaking
out that was simply an impulsive, thoroughly frank, truthful
expression of her most inner personal feeling. She spoke now in
reply to Madam Page in one of those rare moments of unreserve that
added to the attractiveness of her whole character.
"I have no other reason than a conviction that Jesus Christ would do
the same thing," she said, looking into Madam Page's eyes with a
clear, earnest gaze.
Madam Page turned red and Rollin stared. Before her grandmother
could say anything, Virginia spoke. Her rising color showed how she
was stirred. Virginia's pale, clear complexion was that of health,
but it was generally in marked contrast with Rachel's tropical type
of beauty.
"Grandmother, you know we promised to make that the standard of our
conduct for a year. Mr. Maxwell's proposition was plain to all who
heard it. We have not been able to arrive at our decisions very
rapidly. The difficulty in knowing what Jesus would do has perplexed
Rachel and me a good deal."
Madam Page looked sharply at Virginia before she said anything.
"Of course I understand Mr. Maxwell's statement. It is perfectly
impracticable to put it into practice. I felt confident at the time
that those who promised would find it out after a trial and abandon
it as visionary and absurd. I have nothing to say about Miss
Winslow's affairs, but," she paused and continued with a sharpness
that was new to Rachel, "I hope you have no foolish notions in this
matter, Virginia."
"I have a great many notions," replied Virginia quietly. "Whether
they are foolish or not depends upon my right understanding of what
He would do. As soon as I find out I shall do it."
"Excuse me, ladies," said Rollin, rising from the table. "The
conversation is getting beyond my depth. I shall retire to the
library for a cigar."
He went out of the dining-room and there was silence for a moment.
Madam Page waited until the servant had brought in something and
then asked her to go out. She was angry and her anger was
formidable, although checked in some measure by the presence of
Rachel.
"I am older by several years than you, young ladies," she said, and
her traditional type of bearing seemed to Rachel to rise up like a
great frozen wall between her and every conception of Jesus as a
sacrifice. "What you have promised, in a spirit of false emotion I
presume, is impossible of performance."
"Do you mean, grandmother, that we cannot possibly act as our Lord
would? or do you mean that, if we try to, we shall offend the
customs and prejudices of society?" asked Virginia.
"It is not required! It is not necessary! Besides how can you act
with any--" Madam Page paused, broke off her sentence, and then
turned to Rachel. "What will your mother say to your decision? My
dear, is it not foolish? What do you expect to do with your voice
anyway?"
"I don't know what mother will say yet," Rachel answered, with a
great shrinking from trying to give her mother's probable answer. If
there was a woman in all Raymond with great ambitions for her
daughter's success as a singer, Mrs. Winslow was that woman.
"Oh! you will see it in a different light after wiser thought of it.
My dear," continued Madam Page rising from the table, "you will live
to regret it if you do not accept the concert company's offer or
something like it."
Rachel said something that contained a hint of the struggle she was
still having. And after a little she went away, feeling that her
departure was to be followed by a very painful conversation between
Virginia and her grandmother. As she afterward learned, Virginia passed
through a crisis of feeling during that scene with her grandmother that
hastened her final decision as to the use of her money and her social
position.