ARE READ FROM HIS SUPPOSED SAYINGS
“It is enough to break one’s heart,” said Mr. Balmy when he had
outstripped the procession, and my father was again beside him. “‘As
well as,’ indeed! We know what that means. Wherever there is a factory
there is a hot-bed of unbelief. ‘As well as’! Why it is a defiance.”
“What, I wonder,” said my father innocently, “must the Sunchild’s
feelings be, as he looks down on this procession. For there can be
little doubt that he is doing so.”
“There can be no doubt at all,” replied Mr. Balmy, “that he is taking
note of it, and of all else that is happening this day in Erewhon. Heaven
grant that he be not so angered as to chastise the innocent as well as
the guilty.”
“I doubt,” said my father, “his being so angry even with this procession,
as you think he is.”
Here, fearing an outburst of indignation, he found an excuse for rapidly
changing the conversation. Moreover he was angry with himself for
playing upon this poor good creature. He had not done so of malice
prepense; he had begun to deceive him, because he believed himself to be
in danger if he spoke the truth; and though he knew the part to be an
unworthy one, he could not escape from continuing to play it, if he was
to discover things that he was not likely to discover otherwise.
Often, however, he had checked himself. It had been on the tip of his
tongue to be illuminated with the words,
Sukoh and Sukop were two pretty men,
They lay in bed till the clock struck ten,
and to follow it up with,
Now with the drops of this most Yknarc time
My love looks fresh,
in order to see how Mr. Balmy would interpret the assertion here made
about the Professors, and what statement he would connect with his own
Erewhonian name; but he had restrained himself.
The more he saw, and the more he heard, the more shocked he was at the
mischief he had done. See how he had unsettled the little mind this
poor, dear, good gentleman had ever had, till he was now a mere slave to
preconception. And how many more had he not in like manner brought to
the verge of idiocy? How many again had he not made more corrupt than
they were before, even though he had not deceived them--as for example,
Hanky and Panky. And the young? how could such a lie as that a chariot
and four horses came down out of the clouds enter seriously into the life
of any one, without distorting his mental vision, if not ruining it?
And yet, the more he reflected, the more he also saw that he could do no
good by saying who he was. Matters had gone so far that though he spoke
with the tongues of men and angels he would not be listened to; and even
if he were, it might easily prove that he had added harm to that which he
had done already. No. As soon as he had heard Hanky’s sermon, he would
begin to work his way back, and if the Professors had not yet removed
their purchase, he would recover it; but he would pin a bag containing
about five pounds worth of nuggets on to the tree in which they had
hidden it, and, if possible, he would find some way of sending the rest
to George.
He let Mr. Balmy continue talking, glad that this gentleman required
little more than monosyllabic answers, and still more glad, in spite of
some agitation, to see that they were now nearing Sunch’ston, towards
which a great concourse of people was hurrying from Clearwater, and more
distant towns on the main road. Many whole families were coming,--the
fathers and mothers carrying the smaller children, and also their own
shoes and stockings, which they would put on when nearing the town. Most
of the pilgrims brought provisions with them. All wore European
costumes, but only a few of them wore it reversed, and these were almost
invariably of higher social status than the great body of the people, who
were mainly peasants.
When they reached the town, my father was relieved at finding that Mr.
Balmy had friends on whom he wished to call before going to the temple.
He asked my father to come with him, but my father said that he too had
friends, and would leave him for the present, while hoping to meet him
again later in the day. The two, therefore, shook hands with great
effusion, and went their several ways. My father’s way took him first
into a confectioner’s shop, where he bought a couple of Sunchild buns,
which he put into his pocket, and refreshed himself with a bottle of
Sunchild cordial and water. All shops except those dealing in
refreshments were closed, and the town was gaily decorated with flags and
flowers, often festooned into words or emblems proper for the occasion.
My father, it being now a quarter to eleven, made his way towards the
temple, and his heart was clouded with care as he walked along. Not only
was his heart clouded, but his brain also was oppressed, and he reeled so
much on leaving the confectioner’s shop, that he had to catch hold of
some railings till the faintness and giddiness left him. He knew the
feeling to be the same as what he had felt on the Friday evening, but he
had no idea of the cause, and as soon as the giddiness left him he
thought there was nothing the matter with him.
Turning down a side street that led into the main square of the town, he
found himself opposite the south end of the temple, with its two lofty
towers that flanked the richly decorated main entrance. I will not
attempt to describe the architecture, for my father could give me little
information on this point. He only saw the south front for two or three
minutes, and was not impressed by it, save in so far as it was richly
ornamented--evidently at great expense--and very large. Even if he had
had a longer look, I doubt whether I should have got more out of him, for
he knew nothing of architecture, and I fear his test whether a building
was good or bad, was whether it looked old and weather-beaten or no. No
matter what a building was, if it was three or four hundred years old he
liked it, whereas, if it was new, he would look to nothing but whether it
kept the rain out. Indeed I have heard him say that the mediaeval
sculpture on some of our great cathedrals often only pleases us because
time and weather have set their seals upon it, and that if we could see
it as it was when it left the mason’s hands, we should find it no better
than much that is now turned out in the Euston Road.
The ground plan here given will help the reader to understand the few
following pages more easily.
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a. Table with cashier’s seat on either side, and alms-box in front. The
picture is exhibited on a scaffolding behind it.
b. The reliquary.
c. The President’s chair.
d. Pulpit and lectern.
e. }
f. } Side doors.
g. }
h. }
i. Yram’s seat.
k. Seats of George and the Sunchild.
o’ Pillars.
A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, blocks of seats.
I. Steps leading from the apse to the nave.
K and L. Towers.
M. Steps and main entrance.
N. Robing-room.
The building was led up to by a flight of steps (M), and on entering it
my father found it to consist of a spacious nave, with two aisles and an
apse which was raised some three feet above the nave and aisles. There
were no transepts. In the apse there was the table (a), with the two
bowls of Musical Bank money mentioned on an earlier page, as also the
alms-box in front of it.
At some little distance in front of the table stood the President’s chair
(c), or I might almost call it throne. It was so placed that his back
would be turned towards the table, which fact again shews that the table
was not regarded as having any greater sanctity than the rest of the
temple.
Behind the table, the picture already spoken of was raised aloft. There
was no balloon; some clouds that hung about the lower part of the chariot
served to conceal the fact that the painter was uncertain whether it
ought to have wheels or no. The horses were without driver, and my
father thought that some one ought to have had them in hand, for they
were in far too excited a state to be left safely to themselves. They
had hardly any harness, but what little there was was enriched with gold
bosses. My mother was in Erewhonian costume, my father in European, but
he wore his clothes reversed. Both he and my mother seemed to be bowing
graciously to an unseen crowd beneath them, and in the distance, near the
bottom of the picture, was a fairly accurate representation of the
Sunch’ston new temple. High up, on the right hand, was a disc, raised
and gilt, to represent the sun; on it, in low relief, there was an
indication of a gorgeous palace, in which, no doubt, the sun was supposed
to live; though how they made it all out my father could not conceive.
On the right of the table there was a reliquary (b) of glass, much
adorned with gold, or more probably gilding, for gold was so scarce in
Erewhon that gilding would be as expensive as a thin plate of gold would
be in Europe: but there is no knowing. The reliquary was attached to a
portable stand some five feet high, and inside it was the relic already
referred to. The crowd was so great that my father could not get near
enough to see what it contained, but I may say here, that when, two days
later, circumstances compelled him to have a close look at it, he saw
that it consisted of about a dozen fine coprolites, deposited by some
antediluvian creature or creatures, which, whatever else they may have
been, were certainly not horses.
In the apse there were a few cross benches (G and H) on either side, with
an open space between them, which was partly occupied by the President’s
seat already mentioned. Those on the right, as one looked towards the
apse, were for the Managers and Cashiers of the Bank, while those on the
left were for their wives and daughters.
In the centre of the nave, only a few feet in front of the steps leading
to the apse, was a handsome pulpit and lectern (d). The pulpit was
raised some feet above the ground, and was so roomy that the preacher
could walk about in it. On either side of it there were cross benches
with backs (E and F); those on the right were reserved for the Mayor,
civic functionaries, and distinguished visitors, while those on the left
were for their wives and daughters.
Benches with backs (A, B, C, D) were placed about half-way down both nave
and aisles--those in the nave being divided so as to allow a free passage
between them. The rest of the temple was open space, about which people
might walk at their will. There were side doors (_e_, _j_, and _f_, _h_)
at the upper and lower end of each aisle. Over the main entrance was a
gallery in which singers were placed.
As my father was worming his way among the crowd, which was now very
dense, he was startled at finding himself tapped lightly on the shoulder,
and turning round in alarm was confronted by the beaming face of George.
“How do you do, Professor Panky?” said the youth--who had decided thus to
address him. “What are you doing here among the common people? Why have
you not taken your place in one of the seats reserved for our
distinguished visitors? I am afraid they must be all full by this time,
but I will see what I can do for you. Come with me.”
“Thank you,” said my father. His heart beat so fast that this was all he
could say, and he followed meek as a lamb.
With some difficulty the two made their way to the right-hand corner
seats of block C, for every seat in the reserved block was taken. The
places which George wanted for my father and for himself were already
occupied by two young men of about eighteen and nineteen, both of them
well-grown, and of prepossessing appearance. My father saw by the
truncheons they carried that they were special constables, but he took no
notice of this, for there were many others scattered about the crowd.
George whispered a few words to one of them, and to my father’s surprise
they both gave up their seats, which appear on the plan as (_k_).
It afterwards transpired that these two young men were George’s brothers,
who by his desire had taken the seats some hours ago, for it was here
that George had determined to place himself and my father if he could
find him. He chose these places because they would be near enough to let
his mother (who was at i, in the middle of the front row of block E, to
the left of the pulpit) see my father without being so near as to
embarrass him; he could also see and be seen by Hanky, and hear every
word of his sermon; but perhaps his chief reason had been the fact that
they were not far from the side-door at the upper end of the right-hand
aisle, while there was no barrier to interrupt rapid egress should this
prove necessary.
It was now high time that they should sit down, which they accordingly
did. George sat at the end of the bench, and thus had my father on his
left. My father was rather uncomfortable at seeing the young men whom
they had turned out, standing against a column close by, but George said
that this was how it was to be, and there was nothing to be done but to
submit. The young men seemed quite happy, which puzzled my father, who
of course had no idea that their action was preconcerted.
Panky was in the first row of block F, so that my father could not see
his face except sometimes when he turned round. He was sitting on the
Mayor’s right hand, while Dr. Downie was on his left; he looked at my
father once or twice in a puzzled way, as though he ought to have known
him, but my father did not think he recognised him. Hanky was still with
President Gurgoyle and others in the robing-room, N; Yram had already
taken her seat: my father knew her in a moment, though he pretended not
to do so when George pointed her out to him. Their eyes met for a
second; Yram turned hers quickly away, and my father could not see a
trace of recognition in her face. At no time during the whole ceremony
did he catch her looking at him again.
“Why, you stupid man,” she said to him later on in the day with a quick,
kindly smile, “I was looking at you all the time. As soon as the
President or Hanky began to talk about you I knew you would stare at him,
and then I could look. As soon as they left off talking about you I knew
you would be looking at me, unless you went to sleep--and as I did not
know which you might be doing, I waited till they began to talk about you
again.”
My father had hardly taken note of his surroundings when the choir began
singing, accompanied by a few feeble flutes and lutes, or whatever the
name of the instrument should be, but with no violins, for he knew
nothing of the violin, and had not been able to teach the Erewhonians
anything about it. The voices were all in unison, and the tune they sang
was one which my father had taught Yram to sing; but he could not catch
the words.
As soon as the singing began, a procession, headed by the venerable Dr.
Gurgoyle, President of the Musical Banks of the province, began to issue
from the robing-room, and move towards the middle of the apse. The
President was sumptuously dressed, but he wore no mitre, nor anything to
suggest an English or European Bishop. The Vice-President, Head Manager,
Vice-Manager, and some Cashiers of the Bank, now ranged themselves on
either side of him, and formed an impressive group as they stood,
gorgeously arrayed, at the top of the steps leading from the apse to the
nave. Here they waited till the singers left off singing.
When the litany, or hymn, or whatever it should be called, was over, the
Head Manager left the President’s side and came down to the lectern in
the nave, where he announced himself as about to read some passages from
the Sunchild’s Sayings. Perhaps because it was the first day of the year
according to their new calendar, the reading began with the first
chapter, the whole of which was read. My father told me that he quite
well remembered having said the last verse, which he still held as true;
hardly a word of the rest was ever spoken by him, though he recognised
his own influence in almost all of it. The reader paused, with good
effect, for about five seconds between each paragraph, and read slowly
and very clearly. The chapter was as follows:-
These are the words of the Sunchild about God and man. He said--
1. God is the baseless basis of all thoughts, things, and deeds.
2. So that those who say that there is a God, lie, unless they also
mean that there is no God; and those who say that there is no God,
lie, unless they also mean that there is a God.
3. It is very true to say that man is made after the likeness of God;
and yet it is very untrue to say this.
4. God lives and moves in every atom throughout the universe.
Therefore it is wrong to think of Him as ‘Him’ and ‘He,’ save as by
the clutching of a drowning man at a straw.
5. God is God to us only so long as we cannot see Him. When we are
near to seeing Him He vanishes, and we behold Nature in His stead.
6. We approach Him most nearly when we think of Him as our expression
for Man’s highest conception, of goodness, wisdom, and power. But we
cannot rise to Him above the level of our own highest selves.
7. We remove ourselves most far from Him when we invest Him with
human form and attributes.
8. My father the sun, the earth, the moon, and all planets that roll
round my father, are to God but as a single cell in our bodies to
ourselves.
9. He is as much above my father, as my father is above men and
women.
10. The universe is instinct with the mind of God. The mind of God
is in all that has mind throughout all worlds. There is no God but
the Universe, and man, in this world is His prophet.
11. God’s conscious life, nascent, so far as this world is concerned,
in the infusoria, adolescent in the higher mammals, approaches
maturity on this earth in man. All these living beings are members
one of another, and of God.
12. Therefore, as man cannot live without God in the world, so
neither can God live in this world without mankind.
13. If we speak ill of God in our ignorance it may be forgiven us;
but if we speak ill of His Holy Spirit indwelling in good men and
women it may not be forgiven us.
The Head Manager now resumed his place by President Gurgoyle’s side, and
the President in the name of his Majesty the King declared the temple to
be hereby dedicated to the contemplation of the Sunchild and the better
exposition of his teaching. This was all that was said. The reliquary
was then brought forward and placed at the top of the steps leading from
the apse to the nave; but the original intention of carrying it round the
temple was abandoned for fear of accidents through the pressure round it
of the enormous multitudes who were assembled. More singing followed of
a simple but impressive kind; during this I am afraid I must own that my
father, tired with his walk, dropped off into a refreshing slumber, from
which he did not wake till George nudged him and told him not to snore,
just as the Vice-Manager was going towards the lectern to read another
chapter of the Sunchild’s Sayings--which was as follows:-
The Sunchild also spoke to us a parable about the unwisdom of the
children yet unborn, who though they know so much, yet do not know as
much as they think they do.
He said:-
“The unborn have knowledge of one another so long as they are unborn,
and this without impediment from walls or material obstacles. The
unborn children in any city form a population apart, who talk with one
another and tell each other about their developmental progress.
“They have no knowledge, and cannot even conceive the existence of
anything that is not such as they are themselves. Those who have been
born are to them what the dead are to us. They can see no life in
them, and know no more about them than they do of any stage in their
own past development other than the one through which they are passing
at the moment. They do not even know that their mothers are
alive--much less that their mothers were once as they now are. To an
embryo, its mother is simply the environment, and is looked upon much
as our inorganic surroundings are by ourselves.
“The great terror of their lives is the fear of birth,--that they
shall have to leave the only thing that they can think of as life, and
enter upon a dark unknown which is to them tantamount to annihilation.
“Some, indeed, among them have maintained that birth is not the death
which they commonly deem it, but that there is a life beyond the womb
of which they as yet know nothing, and which is a million fold more
truly life than anything they have yet been able even to imagine. But
the greater number shake their yet unfashioned heads and say they have
no evidence for this that will stand a moment’s examination.
“‘Nay,’ answer the others, ‘so much work, so elaborate, so wondrous as
that whereon we are now so busily engaged must have a purpose, though
the purpose is beyond our grasp.’
“‘Never,’ reply the first speakers; ‘our pleasure in the work is
sufficient justification for it. Who has ever partaken of this life
you speak of, and re-entered into the womb to tell us of it? Granted
that some few have pretended to have done this, but how completely
have their stories broken down when subjected to the tests of sober
criticism. No. When we are born we are born, and there is an end of
us.’
“But in the hour of birth, when they can no longer re-enter the womb
and tell the others, Behold! they find that it is not so.”
Here the reader again closed his book and resumed his place in the apse.