HOW A PAGAN PHILOSOPHER ENTERED THE SERVICE OF THE CHURCH.
"I fear you do not sympathize with Miss Achsah," observed the widow to
her companion.
"In her solicitude for the tomb of Grandfather Eliphalet? No. Reverence
for my ancestor has diminished with age; my excellent aunt, as befits a
lady, remains ever young and romantic."
"She ought to appreciate the lawyer's declared intention to respect the
grave."
"Handsome of the lawyer, who, _du reste_, seems an anomaly."
"How so?"
"He pays an extravagant price for a dreary desert. He volunteers to keep
a stranger's tomb in repair----"
"Suppose I were to tell you that I am the lawyer who is to build the
handsome residence."
"I should feel honored by your confidence, and unreservedly put my trust
in your motives, because they are yours."
"But you are not surprised?"
"Rather deeply interested, and no less solicitous."
"Why solicitous?"
"Because of the incongruity you present as a resident of Easthampton.
That little town is not merely the sepulchre of Eliphalet Claghorn, but
the grave of mirth and the social graces. Can I contemplate the
possibility of your interment without sorrow?"
The gentleman's tone had lapsed into tenderness; the lady smiled. "I
believe you have not seen the place for many years," she said.
"Nothing has prevented my doing so except my recollection of its
attractions."
"The ground I intend for a residence," said the lady, "has great
natural advantages. It faces the ocean, has noble trees----"
"And crags and boulders, a most desolate spot."
"Which a handsome house will adorn and make beautiful. We must live
somewhere. If we leave California, what better place can we choose than
the old home of my son's race, where his name has been honored for
generations? In that region he will not be a new man."
"An old one, assuredly, if he remains there. But he will flee from the
home of his ancestors. The place is sunk in somnolence; one of those
country towns that the world has been glad to forget. Rotting wharves, a
few tumbledown warehouses, and three or four streets, shaded by trees so
big that even the white houses with their green blinds look gloomy."
"The wharves and warehouses are mine, and are to be pulled down. I like
the shady streets and the white houses."
"And their inmates?" The philosopher shuddered.
"The Claghorn paragon, Miss Achsah, lives in one of them."
"Ah, Miss Achsah! You do not know Miss Achsah; she superintended my
boyhood."
"The result is a tribute to her excellence."
The gentleman bowed. "She is a good woman--the personification of Roman
virtue, adorned with the graces of Calvinism--but, my dear Cousin" (the
lady was his aunt, if anything), "I put it to you. Is not personified
virtue most admirable at a distance?"
The lady laughed. "Possibly. But I do not expect to be reduced to
virtuous society only, even if I am fortunate enough to prove acceptable
in the eyes of Miss Claghorn. Our Professor assures me that the Hampton
circle is most agreeable; and Hampton and Easthampton are practically
one."
"And what a one!" The philosopher shrugged his shoulders in true Gallic
fashion. "Madame, Hampton is the home of theology--and such theology! It
is filled with musty professors, their musty wives and awkward and
conceited boys, in training to become awkward and conceited men.
Remember, I was one of the horde and know whereof I speak. Think
seriously, my dear Cousin, before you expose so beautiful a girl as
Mademoiselle Paula, not to speak of yourself, to such an environment."
The lady remained unmoved, though the gentleman had pleaded eloquently.
"You are prejudiced," she answered. "Confess that there is no more
agreeable man than our Cousin Jared; and if his son is a fair specimen
of Hampton students, they must compare favorably with any others."
"Which would not be saying much. Jared is, doubtless, a good fellow,
amenable once, but now encrusted with frightfully narrow views. As to
young Leonard, his extraordinary good looks and amiability render him
exceptional. It is really a pity that he can't be rescued," and the
speaker sighed.
A sigh born of a sincere sentiment. Monsieur was at bottom good-natured,
and it affected him disagreeably to see unusual graces doomed to a
pulpit or a professorial chair. It was a sad waste of advantages fitted
for better things. To dedicate to Heaven charms so apt for the world,
seemed to him foolish, and to the devotee unfair. He felt as may feel a
generous beauty whose day is past, and who contemplates some blooming
maid about to enter a nunnery. "Ah! _Si la jeunesse savait_," he
murmured.
"You will not resolve without deliberation," he pleaded, having rendered
to Leonard's fate the passing tribute of a sigh. "I dare not venture to
beg you to wait until after your winter in Paris, but----"
"But, Monsieur, my resolve is fixed, though known only to you. Work is
already commenced. But I must request you to keep the secret from all,
including my son. I wish to surprise him."
"Your success is certain. It would be presumptuous to further combat
your plans; especially"--with a graceful inclination--"since you disarm
me by honoring me with your confidence."
"I have a reason for that," she said frankly. "I want your aid."
"In self-immolation! Even in that I am at your service."
"My purpose can be explained in a few words," she said, indicating a
chair near the balustrade, into which the philosopher gracefully sank,
after bowing the lady into one beside it. "I wish to build a grand
house. My son's importance in the world is an attribute of his wealth.
This is not a fact to flaunt, but is to be considered, and one by which
I am bound to be influenced in contemplating his future."
"A great aid, Madame, in right conduct."
"My son will find it a great responsibility."
"Inheriting, as he does, your sense of duty," suggested the philosopher.
"Precisely. Now, I have planned a career for Mark."
There was a faint movement as of a fleeting smile behind Monsieur's
well-trimmed moustache. The sharp-eyed lady noticed it, but was not
disconcerted.
"I recognize the possibility of my plans coming to naught," she said.
"That need not prevent my attempt to realize them. I see but one career
open to my son; he must become a statesman."
"In Easthampton?"
"In the United States. It is his country. Pardon me," seeing him about
to interpose. "It is not on this point I ask the aid you are willing to
accord. That refers to my contemplated operations in Easthampton. It
happens, however, that my son's future will depend, in no small measure,
upon the enterprises in question. His great need will be identification
with local interests, to which end a fixed habitation is necessary. I
wish to build a house which will attract attention. To put it bluntly, I
intend to advertise my son by means of my house."
"You will extort the sympathetic admiration of your compatriots."
"I shall not be as frank with them as with you. You will know that mere
display is not my object."
"Yours merits admiration, even while it extorts regret."
"And now you see why Easthampton is peculiarly adapted to the end in
view. No man can point to Mark Claghorn and ask, 'Who is he?' His name
was carved in that region two centuries since."
"But you and your son are, I believe, liberal in your religious views.
The Claghorns----"
"Have always kept the faith--with one notable exception"--the
philosopher bowed acceptance of the compliment--"but I object to being
called liberal, as you define the term; we are Catholics, that is to
say, Anglicans."
"Humph!" muttered the philosopher dubiously.
"And I intend," pursued the lady, "to proclaim my creed by an act which
I know is daring, but which will have the advantage of rooting my son
and his descendants in the soil of Easthampton. I intend to build, to
the memory of my husband, a High-Church chapel, a work of art that shall
be unequalled in the country."
"Daring, indeed! Rash----"
"Not rash; but were it so, I should still do that which I have planned.
My husband longed to return to the home of his boyhood, had fully
resolved on purchasing the Seminary tract. He shall sleep where his
ancestor sleeps." She turned her head to conceal a tear; the philosopher
turned his to conceal a smile.
"In this pious and appropriate design, my dear Cousin," he murmured----
"I shall have your sympathy; I was sure of it. I want more; I want your
aid."
In view of its wealthy source the suggestion was not alarming. The
gentleman promised it to the extent of his poor powers, intimating,
however, that connubial fidelity might conflict with maternal ambition,
a result which he deprecated as deplorable.
Mrs. Joe had, she said, fully considered that possibility. "Suppose you
are right," she answered to the philosopher's argument, "even if Hampton
is the home of bigotry, boldness always commands sympathy. My chapel
will lend importance to a town which mourns a lost prestige. It will be
talked about from one end of the State to the other; and I intend that
the Seminary shall be my right hand, the Church--my church, my left----"
"And both hands full!"
She blushed. "Of course, I shall use my advantages. The Seminary is the
centre of much religious effort, which, as a Christian, I shall be glad
to aid. It is the centre of influence, which I hope to share. Under my
roof the representatives of differing creeds shall meet in harmony and
acquire mutual respect. Should it happen that my son be politically
objectionable because of my chapel--why, in such a condition of affairs
the liberalism that is always latent where bigotry flourishes would
spring to his aid, and find in him a leader."
"Madame!" exclaimed the gentleman, "you will win."
"I hope so," she replied, pleased at the admiration she had extorted.
"And now, you shall be told how you can aid me. Paris is an art centre;
there are to be found the people I shall need in regard to my plans
concerning the chapel. I am resolved that this shall be so noble an
edifice that the voice of detraction shall never be heard. Next winter
we shall meet in Paris. Will you, so far as may be, prepare the way for
my access to the places and people I desire to see?"
"Assuredly. I shall enter upon the task assigned me with admiration for
your plans and sincere devotion to your interests," Thus, with his hand
upon his heart and with an inclination of true Parisian elegance, the
philosopher entered the service of Mrs. Joe, and of the Church.