I
Two days after the funeral, which had taken place from Calvary, and not
from St. John's, Hodder was no little astonished to receive a note from
Eldon Parr's secretary requesting the rector to call in Park Street. In
the same mail was a letter from Alison. “I have had,” she wrote, “a talk
with my father. The initiative was his. I should not have thought of
speaking to him of my affairs so soon after Preston's death. It seems
that he strongly suspected our engagement, which of course I at once
acknowledged, telling him that it was your intention, at the proper
time, to speak to him yourself.
“I was surprised when he said he would ask you to call. I confess that I
have not an idea of what he intends to say to you, John, but I trust you
absolutely, as always. You will find him, already, terribly changed. I
cannot describe it--you will see for yourself. And it has all seemed
to happen so suddenly. As I wrote you, he sat up both nights, with
Preston--he could not be induced to leave the room. And after the first
night he was different. He has hardly spoken a word, except when he sent
for me this evening, and he eats nothing.... And yet, somehow, I do not
think that this will be the end. I feel that he will go on living.....
“I did not realize how much he still hoped about Preston. And on Monday,
when Preston so unexpectedly came home, he was happier than I have known
him for years. It was strange and sad that he could not see, as I saw,
that whatever will power my brother had had was gone. He could not read
it in the face of his own son, who was so quick to detect it in all
others! And then came the tragedy. Oh, John, do you think we shall ever
find that girl again?--I know you are trying but we mustn't rest until
we do. Do you think we ever shall? I shall never forgive myself for not
following her out of the door, but, I thought she had gone to you and
Mr. Bentley.”
Hodder laid the letter down, and took it up again. He knew that Alison
felt, as he felt, that they never would find Kate Marcy.... He read on.
“My father wished to speak to me about the money. He has plans for much
of it, it appears, even now. Oh. John, he will never understand. I want
so much to see you, to talk to you--there are times when I am actually
afraid to be alone, and without you. If it be weakness to confess that
I need your reassurance, your strength and comfort constantly, then I am
weak. I once thought I could stand alone, that I had solved all problems
for myself, but I know now how foolish I was. I have been face to face
with such dreadful, unimagined things, and in my ignorance I did not
conceive that life held such terrors. And when I look at my father, the
thought of immortality turns me faint. After you have come here this
afternoon there can be no longer any reason why we should not meet, and
all the world know it. I will go with you to Mr. Bentley's.
“Of course I need not tell you that I refused to inherit anything. But
I believe I should have consented if I possibly could have done so. It
seemed so cruel--I can think of no other word--to have, to refuse at
such a moment. Perhaps I have been cruel to him all my life--I don't
know. As I look back upon everything, all our relations, I cannot see
how I could have been different. He wouldn't let me. I still believe to
have stayed with him would have been a foolish and useless sacrifice...
But he looked at me so queerly, as though he, too, had had a glimmering
of what we might have been to each other after my mother died. Why is
life so hard? And why are we always getting glimpses of things when it
is too late? It is only honest to say that if I had it to do all over
again, I should have left him as I did.
“It is hard to write you this, but he actually made the condition of my
acceptance of the inheritance that I should not marry you. I really do
not believe I convinced him that you wouldn't have me take the money
under any circumstances. And the dreadful side of it all was that I had
to make it plain to him--after what has happened that my desire to marry
you wasn't the main reason of my refusal. I had to tell him that even
though you had not been in question, I couldn't have taken what he
wished to give me, since it had not been honestly made. He asked me why
I went on eating the food bought with such money, living under his roof?
But I cannot, I will not leave him just yet.... It is two o'clock. I
cannot write any more to-night.”
II
The appointed time was at the November dusk, hurried forward nearly an
hour by the falling panoply of smoke driven westward over the Park by
the wet east wind. And the rector was conducted, with due ceremony, to
the office upstairs which he had never again expected to enter, where
that other memorable interview had taken place. The curtains were drawn.
And if the green-shaded lamp--the only light in the room--had been
arranged by a master of dramatic effect, it could not have better served
the setting.
In spite of Alison's letter, Holder was unprepared for the ravages a few
days had made in the face of Eldon Parr. Not that he appeared older: the
impression was less natural, more sinister. The skin had drawn sharply
over the cheek-bones, and strangely the eyes both contradicted and
harmonized with the transformation of the features. These, too, had
changed. They were not dead and lustreless, but gleamed out of the
shadowy caverns into which they had sunk, unyielding, indomitable in
torment,--eyes of a spirit rebellious in the fumes....
This spirit somehow produced the sensation of its being separated from
the body, for the movement of the hand, inviting Holder to seat himself,
seemed almost automatic.
“I understand,” said Eldon Parr, “that you wish to marry my daughter.”
“It is true that I am to marry Alison,” Holder answered, “and that I
intended, later on, to come to inform you of the fact.”
He did not mention the death of Preston. Condolences, under the
circumstances, were utterly out of the question.
“How do you propose to support her?” the banker demanded.
“She is of age, and independent of you. You will pardon me if I reply
that this is a matter between ourselves,” Holder said.
“I had made up my mind that the day she married you I would not only
disinherit her, but refuse absolutely, to have anything to do with her.”
“If you cannot perceive what she perceives, that you have already by
your own life cut her off from you absolutely and that seeing her will
not mend matters while you remain relentless, nothing I can say will
convince you.” Holder did not speak rebukingly. The utter uselessness
of it was never more apparent. The man was condemned beyond all present
reprieve, at least.
“She left me,” exclaimed Eldon Parr, bitterly.
“She left you, to save herself.”
“We need not discuss that.”
“I am far from wishing to discuss it,” Holder replied.
“I do not know why you have asked me to come here, Mr. Parr. It is clear
that your attitude has not changed since our last conversation. I tried
to make it plain to you why the church could not accept your money. Your
own daughter, cannot accept it.”
“There was a time,” retorted the banker, “when you did not refuse to
accept it.”
“Yes,” Holder replied, “that is true.” It came to him vividly then that
it had been Alison herself who had cast the enlightening gleam which
revealed his inconsistency. But he did not defend himself.
“I can see nothing in all this, Mr. Hodder, but a species of insanity,”
said Eldon Parr, and there crept into his tone both querulousness and
intense exasperation. “In the first place, you insist upon marrying my
daughter when neither she nor you have any dependable means of support.
She never spared her criticisms of me, and you presume to condemn me,
a man who, if he has neglected his children, has done so because he has
spent too much of his time in serving his community and his country, and
who has--if I have to say it myself--built up the prosperity which you
and others are doing your best to tear down, and which can only result
in the spread of misery. You profess to have a sympathy with the masses,
but you do not know them as I do. They cannot control themselves, they
require a strong hand. But I am not asking for your sympathy. I have
been misunderstood all my life, I have become used to ingratitude, even
from my children, and from the rector of the church for which I have
done more than any other man.”
Hodder stared at him in amazement.
“You really believe that!” he exclaimed.
“Believe it!” Eldon Parr repeated. “I have had my troubles, as heavy
bereavements as a man can have. All of them, even this of my son's
death, all the ingratitude and lack of sympathy I have experienced--”
(he looked deliberately at Hodder) “have not prevented me, do not
prevent me to-day from regarding my fortune as a trust. You have
deprived St. John's, at least so long as you remain there, of some of
its benefits, and the responsibility for that is on your own head. And I
am now making arrangements to give to Calvary the settlement house which
St. John's should have had.”
The words were spoken with such an air of conviction, of unconscious
plausibility, as it were, that it was impossible for Hodder to doubt the
genuineness of the attitude they expressed. And yet it was more than his
mind could grasp.... Horace Bentley, Richard Garvin, and the miserable
woman of the streets whom he had driven to destroy herself had made
absolutely no impression whatever! The gifts, the benefactions of Eldon
Parr to his fellow-men would go on as before!
“You ask me why I sent for you,” the banker went on. “It was primarily
because I hoped to impress upon you the folly of marrying my daughter.
And in spite of all the injury and injustice you have done me, I do not
forget that you were once in a relationship to me which has been unique
in my life. I trusted you, I admired you, for your ability, for your
faculty of getting on with men. At that time you were wise enough not to
attempt to pass comment upon accidents in business affairs which are, if
deplorable, inevitable.”
Eldon Parr's voice gave a momentary sign of breaking.
“I will be frank with you. My son's death has led me, perhaps weakly, to
make one more appeal. You have ruined your career by these chimerical,
socialistic notions you have taken up, and which you mistake for
Christianity. As a practical man I can tell you, positively, that St.
John's will run downhill until you are bankrupt. The people who come to
you now are in search of a new sensation, and when that grows stale
they will fall away. Even if a respectable number remain in your
congregation, after this excitement and publicity have died down, I have
reason to know that it is impossible to support a large city church on
contributions. It has been tried again and again, and failed. You have
borrowed money for the Church's present needs. When that is gone I
predict that you will find it difficult to get more.”
This had every indication of being a threat, but Hodder, out of sheer
curiosity, did not interrupt. And it was evident that the banker drew a
wrong conclusion from his silence, which he may actually have taken for
reluctant acquiescence. His tone grew more assertive.
“The Church, Mr. Hodder, cannot do without the substantial business men.
I have told the bishop so, but he is failing so rapidly from old age
that I might as well not have wasted my breath. He needs an assistant, a
suffragan or coadjutor, and I intend to make it my affair to see that he
gets one. When I remember him as he was ten years ago, I find it hard to
believe that he is touched with these fancies. To be charitable, it is
senile decay. He seems to forget what I have done for him, personally,
made up his salary, paid his expenses at different times, and no appeal
for the diocese to me was ever in vain. But again, I will let that go.
“What I am getting at is this. You have made a mess of the affairs of
St. John's, you have made a mess of your life. I am willing to give you
the credit for sincerity. Some of my friends might not be. You want to
marry my daughter, and she is apparently determined to marry you. If you
are sensible and resign from St. John's now I will settle on Alison a
sufficient sum to allow you both to live in comfort and decency the
rest of your lives. I will not have it said of me that I permitted my
daughter to become destitute.”
After he had finished, the rector sat for so long a time that the banker
nervously shifted in his chair. The clergyman's look had a cumulative
quality, an intensity which seemed to increase as the silence continued.
There was no anger in it, no fanaticism. On the contrary, the
higher sanity of it was disturbing; and its extraordinary
implication--gradually borne in upon Eldon Parr--was that he himself
were not in his right mind. The words, when they came, were a
confirmation of this inference.
“It is what I feared, Mr. Parr,” he said. “You are as yet incapable of
comprehending.”
“What do you mean?” asked the banker, jerking his hand from the table.
The rector shook his head.
“If this great chastisement with which you have been visited has given
you no hint of the true meaning of life, nothing I can say will avail.
If you will not yet listen to the Spirit which is trying to make you
comprehend, how then will you listen to me? How am I to open your eyes
to the paradox of truth, that he who would save his life shall lose it,
that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than
for a rich man to enter into the Kingdom of God? If you will not believe
him who said that, you will not believe me. I can only beg of you,
strive to understand, that your heart many be softened, that your
suffering soul may be released.”
It is to be recorded, strangely, that Eldon Parr did not grow angry in
his turn. The burning eyes looked out at Hodder curiously, as at a
being upon whom the vials of wrath were somehow wasted, against whom the
weapons of power were of no account. The fanatic had become a phenomenon
which had momentarily stilled passion to arouse interest... “Art thou a
master of Israel, and knowest not these things?”
“Do you mean to say”--such was the question that sprang to Eldon Parr's
lips--“that you take the Bible literally? What is your point of view?
You speak about the salvation of souls, I have heard that kind of talk
all my life. And it is easy, I find, for men who have never known
the responsibilities of wealth to criticize and advise. I regard
indiscriminate giving as nothing less than a crime, and I have always
tried to be painstaking and judicious. If I had taken the words you
quoted at their face value, I should have no wealth to distribute
to-day.
“I, too, Mr. Hodder, odd as it may seem to you, have had my dreams--of
doing my share of making this country the best place in the world to
live in. It has pleased providence to take away my son. He was not
fitted to carry on my work,--that is the way--with dreams. I was to
have taught him to build up, and to give, as I have given. You think me
embittered, hard, because I seek to do good, to interpret the Gospel in
my own way. Before this year is out I shall have retired from all active
business.
“I intend to spend the rest of my life in giving away the money I have
earned--all of it. I do not intend to spare myself, and giving will be
harder than earning. I shall found institutions for research of disease,
hospitals, playgrounds, libraries, and schools. And I shall make the
university here one of the best in the country. What more, may I ask,
would you have me do?”
“Ah,” replied the rector, “it is not what I would have you do. It is
not, indeed, a question of 'doing,' but of seeing.”
“Of seeing?” the banker repeated. “As I say, of using judgment.”
“Judgment, yes, but the judgment which has not yet dawned for you, the
enlightenment which is the knowledge of God's will. Worldly wisdom is a
rule of thumb many men may acquire, the other wisdom, the wisdom of the
soul, is personal--the reward of revelation which springs from desire.
You ask me what I think you should do. I will tell you--but you will not
do it, you will be powerless to do it unless you see it for yourself,
unless the time shall come when you are willing to give up everything
you have held dear in life,--not your money, but your opinions, the very
judgment and wisdom you value, until you have gained the faith which
proclaims these worthless, until you are ready to receive the Kingdom of
God as a little child. You are not ready, now. Your attitude, your
very words, proclaim your blindness to all that has happened you, your
determination to carry out, so far as it is left to you, your own will.
You may die without seeing.”
Crazy as it all sounded, a slight tremor shook Eldon Parr. There was
something in the eyes, in the powerful features of the clergyman that
kept him still, that made him listen with a fascination which had he
taken cognizance of it--was akin to fear. That this man believed it,
that he would impress it upon others, nay, had already done so, the
banker did not then doubt.
“You speak of giving,” Hodder continued, “and you have nothing to
give--nothing. You are poorer to-day than the humblest man who has seen
God. But you have much, you have all to restore.” Without raising his
voice, the rector had contrived to put a mighty emphasis on the word.
“You speak of the labour of giving, but if you seek your God and haply
find him you will not rest night or day while you live until you have
restored every dollar possible of that which you have wrongfully taken
from others.”
John Hodder rose and raised his arm in effective protest against the
interruption Eldon Parr was about to make. He bore him down.
“I know what you are going to say, Mr. Parr,--that it is not practical.
That word 'practical' is the barrier between you and your God. I tell
you that God can make anything practical. Your conscience, the spirit,
tortures you to-day, but you have not had enough torture, you still
think to escape easily, to keep the sympathy of a world which despises
you. You are afraid to do what God would have you do. You have the
opportunity, through grace, by your example to leave the world better
than you found it, to do a thing of such magnitude as is given to few
men, to confess before all that your life has been blind and wicked.
That is what the Spirit is trying to teach you. But you fear the
ridicule of the other blind men, you have not the faith to believe
that many eyes would be opened by your act. The very shame of such a
confession, you think, is not to be borne.”
“Suppose I acknowledge, which I do not, your preposterous charge, how
would you propose to do this thing?”
“It is very simple,” said the rector, “so far as the actual method of
procedure goes. You have only to establish a board of men in whom you
have confidence,--a court of claims, so to speak,--to pass upon the
validity of every application, not from a business standpoint alone, but
from one of a broad justice and equity. And not only that. I should
have it an important part of the duties of this board to discover
for themselves other claimants who may not, for various reasons, come
forward. In the case of the Consolidated Tractions, for instances there
are doubtless many men like Garvin who invested their savings largely
on the strength of your name. You cannot bring him back to life, restore
him to his family as he was before you embittered him, but it would be
a comparatively easy matter to return to his widow, with compound
interest, the sum which he invested.”
“For the sake of argument,” said Eldon Parr, “what would you do with the
innumerable impostors who would overwhelm such a board with claims that
they had bought and sold stock at a loss? And that is only one case I
could mention.”
“Would it be so dreadful a thing,” asked Hodder, “To run the risk of
making a few mistakes? It would not be business, you say. If you had the
desire to do this, you would dismiss such an obsession from your brain,
you would prefer to err on the aide of justice and mercy. And no matter
how able your board, in making restitution you could at best expect to
mend only a fraction of the wrongs you have done.”
“I shall waive, for the moment, my contention that the Consolidated
Tractions Company, had it succeeded, would greatly have benefited the
city. Even if it had been the iniquitous, piratical transaction you
suggest, why should I assume the responsibility for all who were
concerned in it?”
“If the grace were given you to do this, that question would answer
itself,” the rector replied. “The awful sense of responsibility, which
you now lack, would overwhelm you.”
“You have made me out a rascal and a charlatan,” said Eldon Parr, “and I
have listened' patiently in my desire to be fair, to learn from your
own lips whether there were anything in the extraordinary philosophy you
have taken up, and which you are pleased to call Christianity. If you
will permit me to be as frank as you have been, it appears to me as
sheer nonsense and folly, and if it were put into practice the world
would be reduced at once to chaos and anarchy.”
“There is no danger, I am sorry to say, of its being put into practice
at once,” said Hodder, smiting sadly.
“I hope not,” answered the banker, dryly. “Utopia is a dream in which
those who do the rough work of the world cannot afford to indulge. And
there is one more question. You will, no doubt, deride it as practical,
but to my mind it is very much to the point. You condemn the business
practices in which I have engaged all my life as utterly unchristian. If
you are logical, you will admit that no man or woman who owns stock in a
modern corporation is, according to your definition, Christian, and, to
use your own phrase, can enter the Kingdom of God. I can tell you, as
one who knows, that there is no corporation in this country which, in
the struggle to maintain itself, is not forced to adopt the natural
law of the survival of the fittest, which you condemn. Your own salary,
while you had it, came from men who had made the money in corporations.
Business is business, and admits of no sentimental considerations. If
you can get around that fact, I will gladly bow to your genius. Should
you succeed in reestablishing St. John's on what you call a free
basis--and in my opinion you will not--even then the money, you would
live on, and which supported the church, would be directly or indirectly
derived from corporations.”
“I do not propose to enter into an economics argument with you, Mr.
Parr, but if you tell me that the flagrant practices indulged in by
those who organized the Consolidated Tractions Company can be excused
under any code of morals, any conception of Christianity, I tell you
they cannot. What do we see today in your business world? Boards of
directors, trusted by stockholders, betraying their trust, withholding
information in order to profit thereby, buying and selling stock
secretly; stock watering, selling to the public diluted values,--all
kinds of iniquity and abuse of power which I need not go into. Do you
mean to tell me, on the plea that business is business and hence
a department by itself, that deception, cheating, and stealing are
justified and necessary? The awakened conscience of the public is
condemning you.
“The time is at hand, though neither you nor I may live to see it,
when the public conscience itself is beginning to perceive thin higher
justice hidden from you. And you are attempting to mislead when you
do not distinguish between the men who, for their own gain and power,
mismanage such corporations as are mismanaged, and those who own stock
and are misled.
“The public conscience of which I speak is the leaven of Christianity at
work. And we must be content to work with it, to await its fulfilment,
to realize that no one of us can change the world, but can only do his
part in making it better. The least we can do is to refuse to indulge
in practices which jeopardize our own souls, to remain poor if we cannot
make wealth honestly. Say what you will, the Christian government we
are approaching will not recognize property, because it is gradually
becoming clear that the holding of property delays the Kingdom at which
you scoff, giving the man who owns it a power over the body of the man
who does not. Property produces slavery, since it compels those who have
none to work for those who have.
“The possession of property, or of sufficient property to give
one individual an advantage over his fellows is inconsistent with
Christianity. Hence it will be done away with, but only when enough have
been emancipated to carry this into effect. Hence the saying of our
Lord about the needle's eye--the danger to the soul of him who owns much
property.”
“And how about your Christian view of the world as a vale of tears?”
Eldon Parr inquired.
“So long as humanity exists, there will always be tears,” admitted the
rector. “But it is a false Christianity which does not bid us work for
our fellow-men, to relieve their suffering and make the world brighter.
It is becoming clear that the way to do this effectively is through
communities, cooperation, through nations, and not individuals. And
this, if you like, is practical,--so practical that the men like you,
who have gained unexampled privilege, fear it more and more. The old
Christian misconception, that the world is essentially a bad place, and
which has served the ends of your privilege, is going by forever. And
the motto of the citizens of the future will be the Christian motto, 'I
am my brother's keeper.' The world is a good place because the Spirit is
continually working in it, to make it better. And life is good, if only
we take the right view of it,--the revealed view.”
“What you say is all very fine,” said Eldon Parr. “And I have heard it
before, from the discontented, the socialists. But it does not take into
account the one essential element, human nature.”
“On the other hand, your scheme of life fails to reckon with the greater
factor, divine nature,” Hodder replied.
“When you have lived as long as I have, perhaps you will think
differently, Mr. Hodder.” Eldon Parr's voice had abruptly grown
metallic, as though the full realization had come over him of the
severity of the clergyman's arraignment; the audacity of the man who
had ventured to oppose him and momentarily defeated him, who had won
the allegiance of his own daughter, who had dared condemn him as an
evil-doer and give advice as to his future course. He, Eldon Parr, who
had been used to settle the destinies of men! His anger was suddenly at
white heat; and his voice, which he strove to control, betrayed it.
“Since you have rejected my offer, which was made in kindness, since you
are bent on ruining my daughter's life as well as your own, and she has
disregarded my wishes, I refuse to see either of you, no matter to what
straits you may come, as long as I live. That is understood. And she
leaves this house to-day, never to enter it again. It is useless to
prolong this conversation, I think.”
“Quite useless, as I feared, Mr. Parr. Do you know why Alison is willing
to marry me? It is because the strength has been given me to oppose you
in the name of humanity, and this in spite of the fact that her love for
you to-day is greater than it has ever been before. It is a part of the
heavy punishment you have inflicted on yourself that you cannot believe
in her purity. You insist on thinking that the time will come when
she will return to you for help. In senseless anger and pride you are
driving her away from you whom you will some day need. And in that day,
should God grant you a relenting heart to make the sign, she will come
to you,--but to give comfort, not to receive it. And even as you have
threatened me, I will warn you, yet not in anger. Except a man be born
again, he cannot see the Kingdom of God, nor understand the motives of
those who would enter into it. Seek and pray for repentance.”
Infuriated though he was, before the commanding yet compassionate
bearing of the rector he remained speechless. And after a moment's
pause, Hodder turned and left the room....
III
When Hodder had reached the foot of the stairs, Alison came out to him.
The mourning she wore made her seem even taller. In the face upturned
to his, framed in the black veil and paler than he had known it, were
traces of tears; in the eyes a sad, yet questioning and trustful smile.
They gazed at each other an instant, before speaking, in the luminous
ecstasy of perfect communion which shone for them, undimmed, in the
surrounding gloom of tragedy. And thus, they felt, it would always
shine. Of that tragedy of the world's sin and sorrow they would ever be
conscious. Without darkness there could be no light.
“I knew,” she said, reading his tidings, “it would be of no use. Tell me
the worst.”
“If you marry me, Alison, your father refuses to see you again. He
insists that you leave the house.”
“Then why did he wish to see you?”
“It was to make an appeal. He thinks, of course, that I have made
a failure of life, and that if I marry you I shall drag you down to
poverty and disgrace.”
She raised her head, proudly.
“But he knows that it is I who insist upon marrying you! I explained
it all to him--how I had asked you. Of course he did not understand. He
thinks, I suppose, that it is simply an infatuation.”
In spite of the solemnity of the moment, Hodder smiled down at her,
touched by the confession.
“That, my dear, doesn't relieve me of responsibility. I am just as
responsible as though I had spoken first, instead of you.”
“But, John, you didn't--?” A sudden fear made her silent.
He took her hand and pressed it reassuringly.
“Give you up? No, Alison,” he answered simply. “When you came to me, God
put you in my keeping.”
She clung to him suddenly, in a passion of relief.
“Oh, I never could give you up, I never would unless you yourself told
me to. Then I would do it,--for you. But you won't ask me, now?”
He put his arm around her shoulders, and the strength of it seemed to
calm her.
“No, dear. I would make the sacrifice, ask you to make it, if it would
be of any good. As you say, he does not understand. And you couldn't go
on living with him and loving me. That solution is impossible. We can
only hope that the time will come when he will realize his need of you,
and send for you.”
“And did he not ask you anything more?”
Hodder hesitated. He had intended to spare her that.... Her divination
startled him.
“I know, I know without your telling me. He offered you money, he
consented to our--marriage if you would give up St. John's. Oh, how
could he,” she cried. “How could he so misjudge and insult you!”
“It is not me he misjudges, Alison, it is mankind, it is God. That is
his terrible misfortune.” Hodder released her tenderly. “You must see
him--you must tell him that when he needs you, you will come.”
“I will see him now, she said. You will wait for, me?”
“Now?” he repeated, taken aback by her resolution, though it was
characteristic.
“Yes, I will go as I am. I can send for my things. My father has given
me no choice, no reprieve,--not that I ask one. I have you, dear. I will
stay with Mr. Bentley to-night, and leave for New York to-morrow, to do
what I have to do--and then you will be ready for me.”
“Yes,” he said, “I shall be ready.”
He lingered in the well-remembered hall.... And when at last she came
down again her eyes shone bravely through her tears, her look answered
the question of his own. There was no need for speech. With not so much
as a look behind she left, with him, her father's house.
Outside, the mist had become a drizzle, and as they went down the walk
together beside the driveway she slipped her arm into his, pressing
close to his side. Her intuition was perfect, the courage of her love
sublime.
“I have you, dear,” she whispered, “never in my life before have I been
rich.”
“Alison!”
It was all he could say, but the intensity of his mingled feeling went
into the syllables of her name. An impulse made them pause and turn,
and they stood looking back together at the great house which loomed the
greater in the thickening darkness, its windows edged with glow. Never,
as in this moment when the cold rain wet their faces, had the thought of
its comfort and warmth and luxury struck him so vividly; yes, and of its
terror and loneliness now, of the tortured spirit in it that found no
rest.
“Oh, John,” she cried, “if we only could!”
He understood her. Such was the perfect quality of their sympathy that
she had voiced his thought. What were rain and cold, the inclemency of
the elements to them? What the beauty and the warmth of those great,
empty rooms to Eldon Parr? Out of the heaven of their happiness they
looked down, helpless, into the horrors of the luxury of hell.
“It must be,” he answered her, “in God's good time.”
“Life is terrible!” she said. “Think of what he must have done to
suffer so, to be condemned to this! And when I went to him, just now, he
wouldn't even kiss me good-by. Oh, my dear, if I hadn't had you to take
me, what should I have done?... It never was a home to me--to any of us.
And as I look back now, all the troubles began when we moved into it.
I can only think of it as a huge prison, all the more sinister for its
costliness.”
A prison! It had once been his own conceit. He drew her gently away, and
they walked together along Park Street towards the distant arc-light at
the corner which flung a gleaming band along the wet pavement.
“Perhaps it was because I was too young to know what trouble was when we
lived in Ransome Street,” she continued. “But I can remember now how
sad my mother was at times--it almost seemed as though she had a
premonition.” Alison's voice caught....
The car which came roaring through the darkness, and which stopped
protestingly at their corner, was ablaze with electricity, almost filled
with passengers. A young man with a bundle changed his place in order
that they might sit together in one of the little benches bordering
the aisle; opposite them was a laughing, clay-soiled group of labourers
going home from work; in front, a young couple with a chubby child. He
stood between his parents, facing about, gazing in unembarrassed wonder
at the dark lady with the veil. Alison's smile seemed only to increase
the solemnity of his adoration, and presently he attempted to climb over
the barrier between them. Hodder caught him, and the mother turned in
alarm, recapturing him.
“You mustn't bother the lady, Jimmy,” she said, when she had thanked
the rector. She had dimpled cheeks and sparkling blue eyes, but their
expression changed as they fell on Alison's face, expressing something
of the wonder of the child's.
“Oh, he isn't bothering me,” Alison protested. “Do let him stand.”
“He don't make up to everybody,” explained the mother, and the manner of
her speech was such a frank tribute that Alison flushed. There had been,
too, in the look the quick sympathy for bereavement of the poor.
“Aren't they nice?” Alison leaned over and whispered to Hodder, when the
woman had turned back. “One thing, at least, I shall never regret,--that
I shall have to ride the rest of my life in the streetcars. I love them.
That is probably my only qualification, dear, for a clergyman's wife.”
Hodder laughed. “It strikes me,” he said, “as the supreme one.”
They came at length to Mr. Bentley's door, flung open in its usual
wide hospitality by Sam. Whatever theist fortunes, they would always be
welcome here.... But it turned out, in answer to their question, that
their friend was not at home.
“No, sah,” said Sam, bowing and smiling benignantly, “but he done tole
me to say, when you and Miss Alison come, hit was to make no diffunce,
dat you bofe was to have supper heah. And I'se done cooked it--yassah.
Will you kindly step into the liba'y, suh, and Miss Alison? Dar was a
lady 'crost de city, Marse Ho'ace said--yassah.”
“John,” said Alison with a questioning smile, when they were alone
before the fire, “I believe he went out on purpose,--don't you?--just
that we might be here alone.”
“He knew we were coming?”
“I wrote him.”
“I think he might be convicted on the evidence,” Hodder agreed. “But--?”
His question remained unasked.
Alison went up to him. He had watched her, absorbed and fascinated, as
with her round arms gracefully lifted in front of the old mirror she had
taken off her hat and veil; smoothing, by a few deft touches, the dark
crown of her hair. The unwonted intimacy of the moment, invoking as it
did an endless reflection of other similar moments in their future life
together, was in its effect overwhelming, bringing with it at last
a conviction not to be denied. Her colour rose as she faced him, her
lashes fell.
“Did you seriously think, dear, that we could have deceived Mr. Bentley?
Then you are not as clever as I thought you. As soon as it happened I
sent him a note? that very night. For I felt that he ought to be told
first of all.”
“And as usual,” Hodder answered, “you were right.”
Supper was but a continuation of that delicious sense of intimacy.
And Sam, beaming in his starched shirt and swallow-tail, had an air of
presiding over a banquet of state. And for that matter, none had ever
gone away hungry from this table, either for meat or love. It was,
indeed, a consecrated meal,--consecrated for being just there. Such was
the tact which the old darky had acquired from his master that he left
the dishes on the shining mahogany board, and bowed himself out.
“When you wants me, Miss Alison, des ring de bell.”
She was seated upright yet charmingly graceful, behind the old English
coffee service which had been Mr. Bentley's mother's. And it was she
who, by her wonderful self-possession, by the reassuring smile she gave
him as she handed him his cup, endowed it all with reality.
“It's strange,” she said, “but it seems as though I had been doing it
all my life, instead of just beginning.”
“And you do it as though you had,” he declared.
“Which is a proof,” she replied, “of the superior adaptability of
women.”
He did not deny it. He would not then, in truth, have disputed her
wildest statement... But presently, after they had gone back into the
library and were seated side by side before the coals, they spoke again
of serious things, marvelling once more at a happiness which could be
tinged and yet unmarred by vicarious sorrow. Theirs was the soberer,
profounder happiness of gratitude and wonder, too wise to exult, but
which of itself is exalted; the happiness which praises, and passes
understanding.
“There are many things I want to say to you, John,” she told him,
once, “and they trouble me a little. It is only because I am so utterly
devoted to you that I wish you to know me as I am. I have always had
queer views, and although much has happened to change me since I have
known and loved you, I am not quite sure how much those views have
changed. Love,” she added, “plays such havoc with one's opinions.”
She returned his smile, but with knitted brows.
“It's really serious--you needn't laugh. And it's only fair to you to
let you know the kind of a wife you are getting, before it is too late.
For instance, I believe in divorce, although I can't imagine it for us.
One never can, I suppose, in this condition--that's the trouble. I have
seen so many immoral marriages that I can't think God intends people
to live degraded. And I'm sick and tired of the argument that an
indissoluble marriage under all conditions is good for society. That
a man or woman, the units of society, should violate the divine in
themselves for the sake of society is absurd. They are merely setting an
example to their children to do the same thing, which means that society
in that respect will never get any better. In this love that has come
to us we have achieved an ideal which I have never thought to reach. Oh,
John, I'm sure you won't misunderstand me when I say that I would rather
die than have to lower it.”
“No,” he answered, “I shall not misunderstand you.”
“Even though it is so difficult to put into words what I mean. I don't
feel that we really need the marriage service, since God has already
joined us together. And it is not through our own wills, somehow, but
through his. Divorce would not only be a crime against the spirit, it
would be an impossibility while we feel as we do. But if love should
cease, then God himself would have divorced us, punished us by taking
away a priceless gift of which we were not worthy. He would have shut
the gates of Eden in our faces because we had sinned against the Spirit.
It would be quite as true to say 'whom God has put asunder no man may
join together.' Am I hurting you?”
Her hand was on the arm of his chair, and the act of laying his own on
it was an assurance stronger than words. Alison sighed.
“Yes, I believed you would understand, even though I expressed myself
badly,--that you would help me, that you have found a solution. I used
to regard the marriage service as a compromise, as a lowering of the
ideal, as something mechanical and rational put in the place of the
spiritual; that it was making the Church, and therefore God, conform to
the human notion of what the welfare of society ought to be. And it is
absurd to promise to love. We have no control over our affections. They
are in God's hands, to grant or withdraw.
“And yet I am sure--this is new since I have known you--that if such a
great love as ours be withdrawn it would be an unpardonable wrong for
either of us to marry again. That is what puzzles me--confounds the
wisdom I used to have, and which in my littleness and pride I thought
so sufficient. I didn't believe in God, but now I feel him, through
you, though I cannot define him. And one of many reasons why I could
not believe in Christ was because I took it for granted that he taught,
among other things, a continuation of the marriage relation after love
had ceased to justify it.”
Hodder did not immediately reply. Nor did Alison interrupt his silence,
but sat with the stillness which at times so marked her personality,
her eyes trustfully fixed on him. The current pulsing between them was
unbroken. Hodder's own look, as he gazed into the grate, was that of a
seer.
“Yes,” he said at length, “it is by the spirit and not the letter of our
Lord's teaching that we are guided. The Spirit which we draw from the
Gospels. And everything written down there that does not harmonize with
it is the mistaken interpretation of men. Once the Spirit possesses us
truly, we are no longer troubled and confused by texts.
“The alpha and omega of Christ's message is rebirth into the knowledge
of that Spirit, and hence submission to its guidance. And that is what
Paul meant when he said that it freed us from the law. You are right,
Alison, when you declare it to be a violation of the Spirit for a man
and woman to live together when love does not exist. Christ shows us
that laws were made for those who are not reborn. Laws are the rules of
society, to be followed by those who have not found the inner guidance,
who live and die in the flesh. But the path which those who live under
the control of the Spirit are to take is opened up to them as they
journey. If all men and women were reborn we should have the paradox,
which only the reborn can understand, of what is best for the individual
being best for society, because under the will of the Spirit none can
transgress upon the rights and happiness of others. The Spirit would
make the laws and rules superfluous.
“And the great crime of the Church, for which she is paying so heavy
an expiation, is that her faith wavered, and she forsook the Spirit and
resumed the law her Master had condemned. She no longer insisted on that
which Christ proclaimed as imperative, rebirth. She became, as you say,
a mechanical organization, substituting, as the Jews had done, hard and
fast rules for inspiration. She abandoned the Communion of Saints, sold
her birthright for a mess of pottage, for worldly, temporal power when
she declared that inspiration had ceased with the Apostles, when she
failed to see that inspiration is personal, and comes through rebirth.
For the sake of increasing her membership, of dominating the affairs of
men, she has permitted millions who lived in the law and the flesh, who
persisted in forcing men to live by the conventions and customs Christ
repudiated, and so stultify themselves, to act in Christ's name.
The unpardonable sin against the Spirit is to doubt its workings, to
maintain that society will be ruined if it be substituted for the
rules and regulations supposed to make for the material comforts of the
nations, but which in reality suppress and enslave the weak.
“Nevertheless in spite of the Church, marvellously through the Church
the germ of our Lord's message has come down to us, and the age in which
we live is beginning to realize its purport, to condemn the Church for
her subservient rationalism.
“Let us apply the rule of the Spirit to marriage. If we examine the
ideal we shall see clearly that the marriage-service is but a symbol.
Like baptism, it is a worthless and meaningless rite unless the man and
the woman have been born again into the Spirit, released from the law.
If they are still, as St. Paul would say, in the flesh, let them have,
if they wish, a civil permit to live together, for the Spirit can have
nothing to do with such an union. True to herself, the Church symbolizes
the union of her members, the reborn. She has nothing to do with laws
and conventions which are supposedly for the good of society, nor is any
union accomplished if those whom she supposedly joins are not reborn.
If they are, the Church can neither make it or dissolve it, but merely
confirm and acknowledge the work of the Spirit. And every work of the
Spirit is a sacrament. Not baptism and communion and marriage only, but
every act of life.
“Oh, John,” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting, “I can believe that! How
beautiful a thought! I see now what is meant when it is said that man
shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of
the mouth of God. That is the hourly guidance which is independent of
the law. And how terrible to think that all the spiritual beauty of
such a religion should have been hardened into chapter and verse
and regulation. You have put into language what I think of Mr.
Bentley,--that has acts are sacraments.... It is so simple when you
explain it this way. And yet I can see why it was said, too, that we
must become as children to understand it.”
“The difficult thing,” replied Holder, gravely, “is to retain it, to
hold it after we have understood it--even after we have experienced
it. To continue to live in the Spirit demands all our effort, all our
courage and patience and faith. We cannot, as you say, promise to love
for life. But the marriage service, interpreted, means that we will use
all our human endeavour, with the help of the Spirit, to remain in what
may be called the reborn state, since it is by the Spirit alone that
true marriage is sanctified. When the Spirit is withdrawn, man and woman
are indeed divorced.
“The words 'a sense of duty' belong to moral philosophy and not to
religion. Love annuls them. I do not mean to decry them, but the reborn
are lifted far above them by the subversion of the will by which our
will is submitted to God's. It is so we develop, and become, as it
were, God. And hence those who are not married in the Spirit are not
spiritually man and wife. No consecration has taken place, Church or
no Church. If rebirth occurs later, to either or both, the individual
conscience--which is the Spirit, must decide whether, as regards each
other, they are bound or free, and we must stand or fall by that. Men
object that this is opening the door to individualism. What they fail
to see is that the door is open, wide, to-day and can never again be
closed: that the law of the naturally born is losing its power, that
the worn-out authority of the Church is being set at naught because that
authority was devised by man to keep in check those who were not reborn.
The only check to material individualism is spiritual individualism,
and the reborn man or woman cannot act to the detriment of his
fellow-creatures.”
In her turn she was silent, still gazing at him, her breath coming
deeply, for she was greatly moved.
“Yes,” she said simply, “I can see now why divorce between us would be
a sacrilege. I felt it, John, but I couldn't reason it out. It is the
consecration of the Spirit that justifies the union of the flesh. For
the Spirit, in that sense, does not deny the flesh.”
“That would be to deny life,” Hodder replied.
“I see. Why was it all so hidden!” The exclamation was not addressed
to him--she was staring pensively into the fire. But presently, with a
swift movement, she turned to him.
“You will preach this, John,--all of it!”
It was not a question, but the cry of a new and wider vision of his
task. Her face was transfigured. And her voice, low and vibrating,
expressed no doubts. “Oh, I am proud of you! And if they put you out
and persecute you I shall always be proud, I shall never know why it was
given me to have this, and to live. Do you remember saying to me once
that faith comes to us in some human form we love? You are my faith. And
faith in you is my faith in humanity, and faith in God.”
Ere he could speak of his own faith in her, in mankind, by grace of
which he had been lifted from the abyss, there came a knock at the door.
And even as they answered it a deeper knowledge filtered into their
hearts.
Horace Bentley stood before them. And the light from his face, that
shone down upon them, was their benediction.
AFTERWORD
Although these pages have been published serially, it is with a feeling
of reluctance that I send them out into the world, for better or worse,
between the covers of a book. They have been written with reverence,
and the reading of the proofs has brought back to me vividly the long
winters in which I pondered over the matter they contain, and wrote and
rewrote the chapters.
I had not thought to add anything to them by way of an afterword.
Nothing could be farther from my mind than to pose as a theologian; and,
were it not for one or two of the letters I have received, I should have
supposed that no reader could have thought of making the accusation that
I presumed to speak for any one except myself. In a book of this
kind, the setting forth of a personal view of religion is not only
unavoidable, but necessary; since, if I wrote sincerely, Mr. Hodder's
solution must coincide with my own--so far as I have been able to work
one out. Such as it is, it represents many years of experience and
reflection. And I can only crave the leniency of any trained theologian
who may happen to peruse it.
No one realizes, perhaps, the incompleteness of the religious
interpretations here presented more keenly than I. More significant,
more vital elements of the truth are the rewards of a mind which
searches and craves, especially in these days when the fruit of so many
able minds lies on the shelves of library and bookshop. Since the last
chapter was written, many suggestions have come to me which I should
like to have the time to develop for this volume. But the nature of
these elements is positive,--I can think of nothing I should care to
subtract.
Here, then, so far as what may be called religious doctrine is
concerned, is merely a personal solution. We are in an age when the
truth is being worked out through many minds, a process which seems
to me both Christian and Democratic. Yet a gentleman has so far
misunderstood this that he has already accused me, in a newspaper, of
committing all the heresies condemned by the Council of Chalcedon,--and
more!
I have no doubt that he is right. My consolation must be that I have as
company--in some of my heresies, at least--a goodly array of gentlemen
who wear the cloth of the orthodox churches whose doctrines he accuses
me of denying. The published writings of these clergymen are accessible
to all. The same critic declares that my interpretations are without
“authority.” This depends, of course; on one's view of “authority.” But
his accusation is true equally against many men who--if my observation
be correct--are doing an incalculable service for religion by giving
to the world their own personal solutions, interpreting Christianity
in terms of modern thought. No doubt these, too, are offending the
champions of the Council of Chalcedon.
And does the gentleman, may I ask, ever read the pages of the Hibbert
Journal?
Finally, I have to meet a more serious charge, that Mr. Hodder remains
in the Church because of “the dread of parting with the old, strong
anchorage, the fear of anathema and criticism, the thought of sorrowing
and disapproving friends.” Or perhaps he infers that it is I who keep
Mr. Hodder in the Church for these personal reasons. Alas, the concern
of society is now for those upon whom the Church has lost her hold, who
are seeking for a solution they can accept. And the danger to-day is not
from the side of heresy. The rector of St. John's, as a result of his
struggle, gained what I believe to be a higher and surer faith than that
which he formerly held, and in addition to this the realization of the
presence of a condition which was paralyzing the Church's influence.
One thing I had hoped to make clear, that if Mr. Hodder had left the
Church under these circumstances he would have made the Great Refusal.
The situation which he faced demanded something of the sublime courage
of his Master.
Lastly, may I be permitted to add that it is far from my intention to
reflect upon any particular denomination. The instance which I have
taken is perhaps a pronounced rather than a particular case of the
problem to which I have referred, and which is causing the gravest
concern to thoughtful clergymen and laymen of all denominations.
WINSTON CHURCHILL
SANTA BARBARA, CALIFORNIA March 31,1913.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Absurd to promise to love
Acceptance of authority is not faith, it is mere credulity
Always getting glimpses of things when it is too late
Antipathy to forms
Bad music, she said, offended her
Can't believe in the doctrine of the virgin birth
Clothes of one man are binding on another
Conviction that all things were as they ought to be
Deification of beauty to the exclusion of all else
Economic slavery
Elaborate attention little men are apt to bestow upon women
Even after all these ages, the belief, the hope would not down
Faith may be likened to an egg
Foolish sacrifices are worse than useless
For ye make clean the outside of the cup and of the platter
Futility of the traditional words of comfort
Genius, analyzed, is often disappointing
God himself would have divorced us
Had a habit of not waiting for answers to her questions
Happiness of gratitude and wonder, too wise to exult
He was what is known as a “success”--always that magic word
Hell's here--isn't it?
How to be silent with a clamouring heart
I see no one upon whom I can rely but myself
I hate humility
I'm always searching for things to do
If Christians were logical, they should be Socialists
Immortality as orthodox Christianity depicts it
Impulse had brought him thus far
Indiscriminate, unreasoning self-sacrifice
Individualism with which the Church can have no sympathy
Intellectually lazy
Know a great deal and don't believe anything
Knowledge puts faith out of the question
Logical result of independent thinking is anarchy
“Love,” she added, “plays such havoc with one's opinions”
Luxuries formerly unthought of seemed to become necessities
Material proof, it seems to me, is a denial of faith
Mistaking the effect for the cause
Mixture of awkwardness and straightforwardness
Not given to trite acquiescence
Olmah which Isaiah uses does not mean virgin
Only one regret as to what you said--that it is true
Pleasure? Yes. It makes me feel as if I were of some use
Religion, I think, should be everybody's (profession)
Rule which you so confidently apply to fit all cases
Scandalously forced through the council of Nicaea
Seeking a forgiveness out of all proportion to the trespass
St Paul, you say, put us in our proper place
Success--which was really failure
Sunday was then a day essentially different from other days
The law cannot fit all cases
The weak always sink
The hours of greatest suffering are the empty hours
Thinking isn't--believing
Vagueness generally attributed to her sex
Vividly unreal, as a toy village comes painted from the shop
We must believe, if we believe at all, without authority
We are always trying to get away from ourselves
We never can foresee how we may change
We have no control over our affections
When our brief span of usefulness is done
Who had learned the lesson of mothers,--how to wait
Whole conception of charity is a crime against civilization
You and your religion are as far apart as the poles