The souls of the dead were ascending towards the Judgment Seat and the
Gate of Heaven. The world soul pressed them on every side, just as the
atmosphere presses upon rising bubbles, striving to vanquish them, to
break their thin envelope of personality, to mingle their virtue with
its own. But they resisted, remembering their glorious individual life
on earth, and hoping for an individual life to come.
Among them ascended the soul of a Mr. Andrews who, after a beneficent
and honourable life, had recently deceased at his house in town.
He knew himself to be kind, upright and religious, and though he
approached his trial with all humility, he could not be doubtful of
its result. God was not now a jealous God. He would not deny salvation
merely because it was expected. A righteous soul may reasonably be
conscious of its own righteousness and Mr. Andrews was conscious of his.
"The way is long," said a voice, "but by pleasant converse the way
becomes shorter. Might I travel in your company?"
"Willingly," said Mr. Andrews. He held out his hand, and the two souls
floated upwards together.
"I was slain fighting the infidel," said the other exultantly, "and I
go straight to those joys of which the Prophet speaks."
"Are you not a Christian?" asked Mr. Andrews gravely.
"No, I am a Believer. But you are a Moslem, surely?"
"I am not," said Mr. Andrews. "I am a Believer."
The two souls floated upwards in silence, but did not release each
other's hands. "I am broad church," he added gently. The word "broad"
quavered strangely amid the interspaces.
"Relate to me your career," said the Turk at last.
"I was born of a decent middle-class family, and had my education at
Winchester and Oxford. I thought of becoming a missionary, but was
offered a post in the Board of Trade, which I accepted. At thirty-two I
married, and had four children, two of whom have died. My wife survives
me. If I had lived a little longer I should have been knighted."
"Now I will relate my career. I was never sure of my father, and my
mother does not signify. I grew up in the slums of Salonika. Then I
joined a band and we plundered the villages of the infidel. I prospered
and had three wives, all of whom survive me. Had I lived a little
longer I should have had a band of my own."
"A son of mine was killed travelling in Macedonia. Perhaps you killed
him."
"It is very possible."
The two souls floated upward, hand in hand. Mr. Andrews did not speak
again, for he was filled with horror at the approaching tragedy. This
man, so godless, so lawless, so cruel, so lustful, believed that he
would be admitted into Heaven. And into what a heaven--a place full
of the crude pleasures of a ruffian's life on earth! But Mr. Andrews
felt neither disgust nor moral indignation. He was only conscious of an
immense pity, and his own virtues confronted him not at all. He longed
to save the man whose hand he held more tightly, who, he thought, was
now holding more tightly on to him. And when he reached the Gate of
Heaven, instead of saying, "Can I enter?" as he had intended, he cried
out, "Cannot _he_ enter?"
And at the same moment the Turk uttered the same cry. For the same
spirit was working in each of them.
From the gateway a voice replied, "Both can enter." They were filled
with joy and pressed forward together.