A BOND OF AIR
Troilus and Cressida, i. 3.
"You have made a new man of me," Maurice Wynne had said to Mrs. Morison
in bidding her good-by; and the words repeated themselves in his mind
as he came back to Boston, and as he once more took up for a few days
his home with Mrs. Staggchase.
There is nothing more inflammable than the punk left by the decay of a
religion, and any theology may be said to be doomed from the moment
when men begin to ask themselves whether they believe it. Maurice had
been so strenuously questioning his belief that it is small wonder that
he found his heart full of fire. In the days of his stay at Brookfield,
moreover, he had been rapidly journeying on the road toward a new view
of life; and the idea of returning to the Clergy House became to him
well-nigh intolerable. It seemed like taking upon himself once more the
swaddling-clothes of infancy.
On the afternoon of his return, he hurried to see Ashe, and found
himself obliged to wait some time for his friend's return from a
committee meeting. Mr. Herman chanced to be at home alone, and Maurice
sat with him in the library. Wynne had come to know the sculptor fairly
well, and had been warmly drawn toward him. He was to-day struck more
than ever by the strength and self-poise which Herman showed. The young
man was seized with a desire to appeal to the sanity and the kindliness
of one who seemed to possess both so aboundingly.
"Have you ever found yourself all at sea, Mr. Herman?" he asked
abruptly.
"Of course. I fancy every man has had that experience."
"But," Maurice hurried on, more impulsively yet, "you can never have
felt that you were a renegade and a hypocrite. That's where I am now."
The sculptor regarded him with evident surprise, yet with a look so
keen that Maurice felt his cheeks grow warm.
"Does that mean," Herman asked with kindly deliberation, "that you are
tired and out of sorts, or is it something deeper?"
Wynne was silent a moment. Now that he had broken the ice, he feared to
go on. It was something of a shock to find himself on the brink of a
confidence when he had not intended to make one.
"I'm afraid it goes deep," he answered. "The truth is, Mr. Herman, that
I've come back with my whole mind in a turmoil."
Herman seemed to hesitate in his turn.
"I'm afraid I'm a poor one to help you, Mr. Wynne. Mrs. Herman does the
mental straightening-out for this family. Besides, we look at things so
differently, you and I, that I shouldn't know how to put things to you
if I tried."
"I've no right to bother anybody with my troubles," Maurice said.
"That anybody could help you would give you a claim upon him," Herman
responded cheerily. "I noticed, Mr. Wynne, that things were not going
right with you before you went away. May I give you a piece of advice?"
"I shall be glad if you will."
"Then if I were you, I'd go and talk with Mr. Strathmore."
"With Mr. Strathmore!" Maurice echoed in surprise.
"Oh, I know he isn't exactly of your way of thinking in church
matters," Herman proceeded. "He's still farther from my position, but
he's the man I should go to. He is so human, and so sympathetic, that
there isn't such another man in Boston for comfort and advice."
"But I've always been opposed," Maurice protested, "to all"--
"That's no matter. He's too big a man for that to make any difference.
Go to him as a fellow that's in a hobble, and the only thing he'll
consider is how to help you. He's had experience, and he has the gift
of understanding."
No more was said on the subject, but the words stuck in Wynne's mind.
Since all things seemed to him to be turning round, why should he not
take this one more departure from the old ways? Yet it was in some sort
almost like treason to Father Frontford to seek aid and comfort from
Strathmore. Although the thing had never been so stated in words, it
was understood at the Clergy House that Strathmore was to be looked
upon in the light of an enemy to the faith, and Wynne felt as if he had
been enrolled to fight the popular preacher under the banner of Father
Frontford. It seemed the more treasonable to desert the Father Superior
now that he was in the midst of a desperate struggle. Maurice knew,
however, that it was useless to carry to his old confessor doubts which
for the heart of the stern priest could not exist. He would simply be
told that doubt was of the devil and was to be crushed; and the young
man felt that this would leave him where he was now. If he were to seek
aid, it must at least be from one who would understand his state of
mind.
Wynne resumed his clerical garb on the morning after his return to
Boston. His conscience reproached him for the strong distaste which he
felt for the dress, and his spirits were of the lowest. About the
middle of the forenoon, he started out to try the effects of a walk. It
was a clear, brisk morning, with a white frost still on the pavements
where the sun had not fallen. The air was invigorating, and Maurice
began to feel its exhilaration. He walked more briskly, holding his
head more erect, even forgetting to be irritated by the swish of his
cassock about his legs. Without consciously determining whither he
would go, he followed the streets toward the house of Mr. Strathmore,
in that strange yet not uncommon state of mind in which a man knows
fully what he is doing, yet assures himself that he has no purpose.
When at last he found himself ringing the bell, Wynne carried his
private histrionics so far that he told himself that he was surprised
to be there.
The visitor was shown at once to the study of Mr. Strathmore, whose
readiness to receive those who sought him was one of the traits which
endeared him to the general public. Maurice felt the keen and inquiring
look which the clergyman bestowed upon him, and found himself somewhat
at a loss how to begin.
"I am from the Clergy House of St. Mark," he said, rather awkwardly.
"So I judged from your dress," Strathmore responded cordially. "Sit
down, please. That is a comfortable chair by the fire."
The professed ascetic smiled, but he took the chair indicated.
"It is a beautiful, brisk morning," the host went on. "The tingle in
the air makes a man feel that he can do impossible things."
Wynne looked up at him with a smile. He was won by the heartiness of
the tone, by the bright glance of the eye, by some intangible personal
charm which put him at once at his ease and made him feel that
understanding and sympathy were here.
"And I have done the impossible," he said. "I have ventured to come to
talk with you about the celibacy of the clergy."
He saw the face of the other change with a curious expression, and then
melt into a smile.
"And what am I, a married clergyman, expected to say on such a topic?"
Maurice smiled at the absurdity of his own words, and then with sudden
gravity broke out earnestly:--
"I am completely at sea. All things I have believed seem to be failing
me. I don't even know what I believe."
"Will you pardon me," Strathmore asked, "if I ask why you consult me
rather than your Superior?"
Maurice flushed and hesitated: yet he felt that nothing would do but
absolute frankness.
"I will tell you!" he returned. "I was to be a priest. I went into the
Clergy House supposing that that was settled. I see now that I really
followed a friend. If he went, I couldn't be shut out. Now I have been
among men, and"--
He hesitated, but the friendly smile of the other reassured him.
"And among women," he went on bravely; "and--and"--
"And you have discovered the meaning of a certain text in Genesis which
declares that 'male and female created He them,'" concluded Strathmore.
Wynne felt the tone like a caress. He seemed to be understood without
need of more speech. His condition, which had seemed to him so
intricate and so unique, began to appear possible and human. He was not
so completely cut off from human sympathy as he had felt.
"Yes," he assented; "I will be frank about it. I did not think that
Father Frontford would understand what it meant to feel that life is
given to us to be glorified by the love of a woman."
"If this is all that is troubling you," Strathmore remarked, "it seems
to me that your position, though it may not be pleasant, is not very
tragical. Our bishops are generally willing to absolve from vows of
celibacy."
"I doubt if Father Frontford would be," Maurice commented involuntarily.
"That is perhaps one of his virtues in the eyes of his supporters,"
Strathmore suggested with a twinkle.
"I have not taken the vows, however," Maurice responded hastily,
flushing, and ignoring the thrust.
"Then what is your trouble?"
"When I meant to take them, it was the same thing."
"Do I understand you that to intend to do a thing and then to change
the mind is the same as to do it?"
"Oh, no; not that; but I am not clear that it isn't my duty to take
them. I'm not sure that it is right for a priest to marry--if you will
pardon my saying so."
"And you come to me to convince you? It seems to me that Providence has
already done that through the agency of some young woman. If you really
know what it is to love a good woman there is no real doubt in your
mind as to the sacredness of marriage,--for the clergy or for anybody
else. Isn't your trouble perhaps an obstinate dislike to seem to
abandon a position once taken?"
The words might have sounded severe but for the tone in which they were
spoken.
"But that is not the whole of the matter," Maurice continued, feeling
as if he were being carried forward by an irresistible current. "If I
have been mistaken on this point about which I have felt so sure and so
strongly, what confidence can I have in my other beliefs?"
"Ah, it goes deep," Strathmore said with emphasis. "It is of no use to
put old wine into new bottles. The effect of trying to make you young
men accept mediaevalism, like clerical celibacy, is in the end to make
you doubt everything. Haven't you any respect for the authority of the
church?"
"Oh, implicit!" Maurice responded.
"But," his host remarked with a smile, "because you begin to have
doubts about a thing which the church doesn't inculcate, you show an
inclination to throw overboard all that she does teach."
Maurice was silent a moment, playing with a rosary which he wore at his
belt. He was surprised that he had never thought of this; and he was
startled by the doubt which had arisen in his mind as soon as he had
declared his implicit faith in the church. He realized in a flash that
while he had spoken honestly, he had not told the truth.
"I am afraid that I'm not quite honest," he said, "though I meant to
be. I'm afraid that after all I don't feel sure of all the church
teaches."
"My dear young man," the other replied kindly, "you are fighting
against the age. You have been taught to believe,--if you will pardon
me,--that the thing for a true man to do is to resist the light of
reason. There are, for instance, a great many things which used to be
received literally which we now find it necessary to interpret
figuratively. It would be refusing to use the reason heaven gives us if
we refused to recognize this. The teachings of the church are true and
infallible, but every man must interpret them according to the light of
his own conscience and reason."
"But if this is once allowed I don't see where you are to draw the
line. The heathen are very likely honest enough."
"I said the teaching of the church, Mr. Wynne. If a man earnestly
searches his heart and follows this guide as he understands it, there
can be no danger."
"Mr. Strathmore," Maurice said, "perhaps it seems like forcing myself
upon you, and then taking the liberty of fighting your views; but this
is too vital to me to allow of my stopping for conventionalities. You
seem to me to be inconsistent. You refer to the church as the supreme
authority, but you give into the hand of every man a power over that
authority."
The other smiled with that warm, sympathetic glance which was so
winning.
"Does it seem possible to you," asked he, "that two human beings ever
mean quite the same thing by the same words? Isn't there always some
little variation, at least, in the impression that a given phrase
conveys to you and to me?"
"Theoretically I suppose that this is true," assented Maurice; "but
practically it doesn't amount to much, does it?"
"It at least amounts to this," was the reply, "that what one man means
by a set form of words cannot be exactly the same that another would
mean by it. The creed is one thing to the simple-minded, ignorant man,
and something infinitely higher and richer to a Father in the church.
You would allow that, of course."
"Yes," Maurice hesitatingly assented, "but I shouldn't have thought of
it as an excuse for laxity of doctrine."
"I am not recommending laxity of doctrine. I am only saying that since
absolute unity of conception is impossible, it is idle to insist upon
it. I am not excusing anything. A fact cannot need an excuse in the
search for truth."
The young deacon felt himself sliding into deeper and deeper waters,
though the mien of Strathmore seemed to inspire confidence. He was more
and more uncertain what he believed or ought to believe.
"But is this the belief of the church?" he persisted.
"What is the belief of the church if not the belief of its members?"
"I do not know," Maurice answered. "I came to you to be told."
He tried to grasp definitely the belief which was being presented to
him, but it appeared as elusive as a shadow in the mist. Mr.
Strathmore's look was as frank and clear as ever. There was in his eyes
no sign of wavering or of evasion; his smile was full of warmth and
sympathy.
"My dear young friend," the elder said, "I don't pretend to speak with
the authority of the church; but to me it seems like this. We live in
an age when we must recognize the use of reason. We are only doing
frankly what men have in all ages been doing in their hearts. Men
always have their private interpretations whether they recognize it or
not. Nothing more is ever needed to create a schism than for some clear
thinker to define clearly what he believes. There are always those who
are ready to follow him because this seems so near to what many are
thinking."
"But that is because so few persons are ever able to define for
themselves what they do believe," Maurice threw in.
"Then do they ever really appreciate what the doctrines of the church
are?" Strathmore asked significantly.
Maurice shook his head. He seemed to himself to be entangled in a net
of words. He could not tell whether the man before him was entirely
sincere or not. There seemed something hopelessly incongruous between
the position of Mr. Strathmore as a religious leader and these opinions
which seemed to strike at the very foundations of all creeds; yet the
manner and look with which all was said were evidently honest and
unaffected.
"Don't suppose that I think it would be wise to proclaim such a
doctrine from the housetops," continued Strathmore, answering, Maurice
felt, the doubt in the face of the latter. "I speak to you as one who
is face to face with these facts, and must have the whole of it."
Maurice rose with a feeling that he must get away by himself and think.
"Mr. Strathmore," he said, "I am more grateful than I can say for your
kindness. I'm afraid that I've seemed stupid and ungracious, but I
haven't meant to be either. I see that every man must work out his own
salvation."
"But with fear and trembling, Mr. Wynne."
The smile of the rector was so warm and so winning that it cheered
Maurice more than any words could have cheered him; Mr. Strathmore
grasped the young man warmly by the hand and added:--
"Don't think me a heretic because I have spoken with great frankness.
Remember that the good of the church is to me more dear than anything
else on earth except the good of men for whom the church exists. God
help you in your search for light."