A DELECTABLE DISCUSSION, IN WHICH A SHAKSPERIAN MATRON IS ROUTED.
Natalie Claghorn had always nourished a sentiment, which with many is a
conviction, with most a hope, that man is something more than the futile
hero of a sorry comedy--not made to live merely that he may die. Hence,
religion had been a need of her being, and, though unconsciously, she
had developed a creed of her own, vague, no doubt, from the positive
standpoint, but one which excluded those essential elements of the faith
of her husband, Hell and the Devil; grim inventions these which, while
imbibing wisdom at the paternal knee, she had learned were mere memories
of ancient Oriental mythologies. This view, in so far as she had given
the matter any thought, she had supposed the view commonly held, and
universally held among the cultured. Recently, indeed, there had been a
moment in which even with her bodily eyes she had, as she had then
believed, beheld the terrors and the torments of the damned; but as many
men and women, who believe not in ghosts, have nevertheless seen these
dwellers of the shades, and yet in less receptive phases of the mind
have been able to dismiss their visitants to the shadows from which they
were evoked, so Natalie had been able to discard belief in the reality
of her vision. Nevertheless, though incredulous, he who has seen a ghost
remains impressed, and the memory of her experience naturally recurred
with her theological studies, serving to emphasize the horrible, rather
than the absurd, aspect of her acquirements.
Her desire to know had been honest, and she imputed honesty to others;
hence, when Leonard, with pen and voice, asseverated his belief in a
creed which must render paternity impossible to any being with a
conscience, she had been confounded by the attitude he presented. She
was not aware that between her husband and herself the sources of
sympathy had always been shallow, and she was quite as ignorant of
theological frenzy as she was of the knowledge of masculine passion. She
had loved him; and she had loved Mrs. Joe, Paula, the Marquise, her maid
Berthe; in fact, she had loved, and still loved, humanity, as far as she
knew it, and it was thus that she had loved her husband, though,
doubtless, in his case, this gentle flame had burned with more intensity
than in others.
Though grieved that Leonard had left her without saying good-bye, yet
she felt that he had acted wisely, in that he had given her time to
think without the disturbing sense of his presence in his repellant
mood. And during this period an incident occurred which aided her in
finding the only solution of the problems which vexed her.
It was not to be expected of the Hampton matrons that they continue
their tolerant attitude, with regard to Mrs. Leonard Claghorn. Her
continued languid health after the birth of her child, the subsequent
bereavement and absence, these had afforded an excuse for neglect; but
now there was solicitude, and in a certain circle of dames, which met
every fortnight to discuss Shakspere, but whereat other subjects, as
possessing more of novelty, were occasionally considered, some rather
severe strictures were made, in reference to Professor Claghorn's
apparent inability to convert his wife--he who had so audaciously, if
not successfully, coped with Brigston.
"Brilliancy is less effective than earnestness," opined Mrs. Waring,
wife of Professor Waring, whose forte was Hebrew, and who was noted for
great erudition, a large family and a feeble intellect.
"In the long run, no doubt," assented Mrs. Professor Flint. "But surely,
she is not really unconverted!"
"She certainly hides her light. There are times--I hope I am not
uncharitable--when I wonder, suppose she were a Jesuit!"
"Awful! She's French; her mother was noble--of the old nobility--and the
old nobility are all Jesuits."
"And a Jesuit will stick at nothing in the way of deception. It's a
terrible possibility!"
Natalie found apologists, notably Mrs. Tremaine, who maintained that
there were no female Jesuits, and who defended the absent, partly
because she was a spirited and generous woman, partly because, at this
particular period, she experienced an unusually distinct impression of
her own importance by reason of an acknowledged claim to the admiration
of the other Shaksperians. Even Mrs. Waring, the mother of ten, was
inclined to look with indulgence, if not with envy, upon this champion,
though she whispered to Mrs. Flint that "after a half dozen, Mary
Tremaine would change her note."
However that may be, Mrs. Tremaine's note remained on this occasion
triumphant, and she glowed with victory, and also with good intentions;
for she resolved to warn Natalie that the gossips were preparing for a
feast, "and," said the lady to herself, "it must be stopped; never allow
a tiger a taste of blood," which mental exclamation clearly indicates
the exaltation of the lady's spirit.
In this spirit, as soon as the Shaksperian seance was over, she started
for the Morley mansion, full of excellent intentions and the proud
possessor of a secret already known to the wives of all the professors
of the Seminary, except Natalie; and which, if confided to the latter,
would indicate that friendly feeling by which she was really actuated,
and thus pave the way to the warning she wished to give. She was also
impelled by the pardonable desire to further impart the information
already widely diffused; and which, in fact, could not remain much
longer a secret, unless the complacent lady decided on complete
seclusion for some months.
"Yes," she said, "I suppose it will be noticeable soon. Professor
Tremaine is so proud; he actually struts. He hopes for a boy."
"Unfortunate woman!" exclaimed Natalie. "How can you smile?"
"Dear Mrs. Claghorn, I forgot your own recent loss. Believe me,
time----"
"But, have I understood? You hope for a baby--you a Christian wife?"
"Why not I--a Christian wife, as you say?" was the answer of the
visitor, who was both shocked and puzzled by the expression of her
hostess.
"I do not understand," exclaimed Natalie hopelessly; then suddenly: "How
can you dare? Have you no compassion, no fear? You can smile, believing
that an awful calamity hangs over you!"
"Awful calamity!" echoed the bewildered visitor, perhaps a little
alarmed by the speaker's energy.
"Is it not? Have I understood aright? Are you going to have a baby?"
"I have said so. Why the fact should affect you so strangely is a
mystery to me."
"Do you believe this book?" and Natalie seized the well-known volume
with its blue cover.
"Certainly, I believe the Confession."
"And your husband?"
"Does he not teach it?"
"And believing that this book is true, knowing that the furnaces of hell
are choked with sinners--knowing this, you and your husband welcome the
birth of a human being! God help me, and you, Mrs. Tremaine, forgive me,
but I cannot understand these things. Why! you believe that your baby
may be damned!"
"How dare you say such things? My child will not be damned. Ah! You poor
woman, I see. You have brooded over your own baby's death, and have been
dwelling on horrors. I have heard of such cases. Dear Mrs. Claghorn,
dismiss such dreadful folly from your mind. Babies are not damned;
nobody has believed that for years."
"_I_ do not fear for my child, nor for yours. But you--you cannot be
sure he will die. He may grow up--what then?"
"Then he must take his chance," said the would-be mother, though her
face grew white. "We must all trust in God's grace."
"But he lends His grace to his Elect only. Unless your infant was chosen
from before creation, he _must_ be damned. You say this book is true,
and yet you dare to have a child who may burn in hell! How can you
commit such wickedness?" In her energy Natalie had arisen, and now stood
before the unhappy matron in what to her seemed a threatening attitude.
"I--I--do not comprehend," she faltered. "You have no right to speak
thus to me."
"No right! Have I not the right of humanity, the right of a
child-bearing woman?"
"But----"
"I had some excuse, I did not know. But you knew--and yet you dared!"
"I didn't," whimpered the lady. "It was the Professor--it was God's
work. You talk horribly."
"God's work! And you lend yourself to God's work! You could have
died--anything, rather than be an instrument of wickedness in God's
hands!"
Mrs. Tremaine breathed a great sigh of relief when she found herself
safely on the outside of the Morley mansion. She sat for awhile on a
bench in the Square, and when she had in part recovered her equanimity,
she went slowly homeward, pondering over the difficulties which present
themselves to those who try to do good in secret.
Yet she had done good; for when Natalie beheld this matron in all the
pride and joy of approaching maternity, she saw in the spectacle a
living denial of the frightful dogma which, if believed, must have
turned the woman's triumph to despair. The orthodox lady served to
demonstrate the fact that the upholders of hell do not believe in hell;
for the conclusion to which Natalie had arrived was sound: The woman
that believes in hell dare not bear a child.
Leonard's continuing absence afforded time for contemplation of this
discovery and its consequences; among others the gradual conviction
which subjected Leonard, with thousands of others, to the accusation of
maintaining palpable falsehood as the living truth. No other conclusion
was possible in the face of the fact that humanity can judge only by the
aid of human faculties, and that these must, perforce, pronounce eternal
punishment incompatible with justice, and preordination to everlasting
misery as impossible to a God of mercy. Her training made it difficult
for her to understand the palliation of the offense of those who
maintained the paradoxes which denied their actions. She was not aware
that the minds of such as Leonard had, from infancy, been receptacles
into which had been emptied all the follies bred from the meditations of
those who profess the mission of being interpreters of Omniscience; nor
could she fairly estimate the partisan rage which carried such men,
engaged in controversy, even beyond their convictions. She did, however,
gather some comprehension of these extenuating forces from the further
researches offered by Leonard's table, on which were strewn numerous
pamphlets referring to the late theological war. The tone of rancor
which pervaded the effusions of the religious antagonists was repellant,
but she was shrewd enough to see in so much sound and fury evidences of
weakness; and when she came to the theologian who lauded the "beautiful
faith" of that Christian father who demolished his pagan adversary with
the words, "I believe, _because_ it is impossible," she closed the book,
and thenceforth avoided further contemplation of the high mysteries of
theology.
She could not but condemn Leonard, though she would not dwell upon the
thought. To her, as to Dr. Stanley, belief in the impossible was
impossible, and, therefore, pretense of such belief dishonest; yet,
since these pretenders were not otherwise dishonest, there must be some
ground for their attitude, which to her must remain a mystery, but which
ought to cause her to hesitate in judging. So, she would not blame
Leonard; she perceived now, that her own conduct merited reproach. She
was ignorant of her own cruelty and her own absurdity, and would have
resented those terms as applied to her attitude; but she acknowledged
with sorrow that she had not been kind, and for her unkindness she
craved forgiveness.
Very early one morning she started to walk to the cemetery, going by way
of the shore, and glorying in the grandeur of the ocean and the breeze
that came, health-laden, from its bosom. She stood and looked upon the
broad expanse of blue, recalling the day when Leonard had plunged into
the raging waters to rescue the boy. That effort had been in vain, as to
its intended object, but had it never been made she would not be walking
here a wife. She had loved him before, but not with a love that would
have urged her to grant him the boon of kisses; but, fresh from that
brave deed he was a hero, had taken the hero's meed from her lips, and
in that act had sealed the mastery which his courage had won. She gazed
long upon the waters, listening to the surge and noting the glint of the
sun, tinting with rose the billows rolling toward her. She sighed and,
pressing her lips together, turned her back upon the waves and hurried
on. It was as though she had resolved not to see some fair vision
suggested by the rose-tint in the feathery edging of the billows.
When she entered the beautiful cemetery the birds were chirping in the
trees, only their joyous trills breaking the silence of the city of the
dead. She sat down beside the grave of her boy.
And here, recalling her recent thoughts and her condemnation of others
who were dishonest in their attitude toward God, she saw the need of
honesty for herself in all things. If there were facts in her life which
she had been willing to ignore, she must look them in the face and deal
with them as best she might, being honest always. If, in marrying
Leonard, she had striven to escape the longing for a love denied her,
and in so doing had cheated her husband, she must admit her fault and
resolve to make every reparation in her power. If she had chosen to
believe that she had craved religion, and in her husband had seen its
embodiment, while in truth she had craved an earthly love, and had in
marriage weakly sought refuge from her shame, she must even admit her
fault and do what might be in her power to avert its consequences. Not
in the futile attempt to deny hearing to her conscience, to murder her
reason, but in every wifely allegiance. Thus far she had wofully failed
in such allegiance. Even before the last sad breach between her husband
and herself she had allowed estrangement to come between them, and had
so exclusively devoted herself to her child that Leonard had been
secondary. It was true that she had not consciously intended this, but
she had been willing that it be so. Her consciousness of wrong warmed
her heart toward her absent husband, and filled it with longing to
reconsecrate herself to him. He would surely come to-day! As she sped
homeward she was more and more persuaded of it, and, finally, believed
that on her arrival she would find him waiting for her. As she neared
the house she trembled with expectation; she longed to clasp her arms
about his neck and falter her prayer for pardon, and assure him of her
love. There should be no shadows between them in future. She had dared
to look truth in the face, and, lo! it was no longer truth. All the
foolish, sinful longings of the past, persistent because she had refused
to recognize them, had been dissipated by the light of day. The present
moment was to live forever. Henceforth, Leonard, and only he, should
dwell in her heart of hearts.
In her agitation she fumbled at the door-lock, then desisted, for from
the hallway she heard the firm step of a man coming to the door. Her
heart beat wildly; another moment and she would be forgiven.
The door was suddenly opened. With a glad cry Natalie spread wide her
own, and in the same instant was clasped in the arms of Mark Claghorn.