THE RECTOR’S WIFE
The deliberations of boards in control of private corporations are
not, as a rule, presumed to be disclosed to the public. This rule
holds especially good when applied to vestries of churches. It is not,
usually, either necessary or wise that the whole body of parishioners
should be taken into the confidence of the vestry. There are so
many things that can better be discussed and settled by a small,
representative body of men, with power to act, than by the parish at
large. It was, of course, tacitly understood by the members of the
vestry that nothing should be said, outside their own membership,
concerning the clash with the rector on the night of the vestry
meeting. Nevertheless, the entire incident, with many variations and
exaggerations, had become public property within twenty-four hours
after its occurrence. It is a moral impossibility to keep such things
hid. The very light of the next day reveals them. Moreover, most of the
vestrymen were married. Their wives were as deeply interested as they
in all matters pertaining to the Church. It is a man of extraordinary
firmness who can hold back from an anxious and devoted wife legitimate
information on a subject which is close to her heart.
At any rate, before sundown the next day, the whole parish was buzzing
with the news of the conflict at the vestry meeting. Of course the
people of the parish were divided in their opinions. The greater
part of them, comprising nearly all of the rich and well-to-do, were
strenuously opposed not only to the policy of free pews, but also to
the idea of meeting the inferior classes on terms of social equality
in any of the affairs of the Church. They were quite willing, as they
had always been, to give liberally to the charities of the Church, and
to uphold its institutional life and activities to the best of their
ability; but when it came to a matter of social recognition, they drew
the line, and they drew it straight.
It was, broadly speaking, only among the less prosperous persons in the
parish that those were found who sided warmly with the rector. Those
who were called “advanced,” “progressive,” “visionary,” those with
deep sympathies and humanitarian impulses, those with new theories of
government, and a passionate desire to witness, if not to assist in,
the overturning of the social order; these were the ones who, together
with nearly all of the poor, espoused heartily the cause of the rector,
and as heartily condemned the reactionary attitude of the vestry.
It was early in the afternoon of Saturday that the news reached Miss
Chichester, or rather that Miss Chichester overtook the news. There
was seldom anything in the way of church gossip or a parish sensation
that did not early reach the ears of Miss Chichester on its way through
the community. And this vestry incident was a particularly attractive,
not to say sensational bit of gossip. Miss Chichester could not rest
with the exhilarating burden of it on her mind. She was eaten up with
curiosity to know how the Reverend Mr. Farrar was taking the blunt
criticism that, according to her informant, had been hurled at his head
by certain members of the vestry, and how Mrs. Farrar was bearing up
under the indignities that had been heaped upon her husband. Naturally
and logically the most appropriate way of satisfying her curiosity
would be to call at the rectory. As she was active and diligent in
church work there were plenty of excuses for such a call. She gowned
herself becomingly and sallied forth. At the corner of the street
leading to the rectory she met Barry Malleson. He also was in full
afternoon dress.
“Oh, Barry!” she exclaimed, “have you heard the news?”
“What news?” he inquired.
“About the awful time they had at the vestry meeting last night.”
“Yes, I heard about it. I consider it highly improper to have such a
rumpus as that in a vestry meeting. I consider it time for some one
with brains and judgment to interfere. I thought I’d better see what I
could do. I’m just on my way up now to call on Farrar and try to get
the thing settled.”
“How perfectly lovely of you! I was going up there too. I wanted to see
Mr. Farrar about the Doncaster family. We’ll go up together.”
“No; I won’t interfere with your call. My errand’ll keep. I’ll go some
other day.”
“Indeed, you won’t! You’ll go now. I’ll not be a bit in your way.”
“No; I’ll wait.”
“Barry! Don’t be foolish! Come along!”
“All right! I can tell him in a few minutes what I think of the
situation. Then you can have him the rest of the afternoon.”
“What do you think of the situation, Barry?”
“I think it’s ridiculous!”
“Isn’t it!”
“Yes; Farrar’s dead wrong. I shall tell him so.”
“How I shall enjoy hearing you tell him!”
They were passing up the street in the shade of aristocratic trees
beginning now to take on the flush of autumn. She looked up coyly and
trustingly into his face as she walked and talked, but he was too
deeply absorbed in the importance of his errand to give much heed to
her patent admiration.
It was not far to the rectory. The maid who answered the bell told them
that Mr. Farrar was in and alone. He met them in the hall and took
them into his study.
“Miss Chichester has an errand,” said Barry, “that she wishes to
dispose of, and when she’s through I have something on my own mind that
I want to talk about.”
“Oh, no, Barry!” cried Miss Chichester. “You’re entitled to the first
hearing. Your errand is so much more important than mine.”
“Shall I act as umpire?” inquired the rector.
“No,” replied Barry. “It doesn’t make much difference. I’ll say what I
want to and get through and get out. Why, you know, I came up to see
you about――about that little trouble at the vestry meeting last night.”
“How did you know that there was trouble?”
“Oh, it came to me pretty straight,” replied Barry.
“Everybody knows it,” added Miss Chichester.
“The vestry should have been more discreet,” said the rector. “But no
matter. What is it you wish to say about the meeting?”
“I want to say,” replied Barry, “that I heartily disapprove of
disturbances of that kind in a vestry meeting.”
“I’m glad to hear you say so. So do I.” The rector smiled as he spoke,
and nodded his approval.
“Yes,” continued Barry. “A vestry should always act harmoniously, I may
say unanimously. There should, however, be a strong hand to guide them.
I’m inclined to stand for election to the vestry myself, next Easter. I
think I could be of a good deal of service.”
“That’s a splendid idea,” assented Miss Chichester. “Barry has such
excellent judgment.”
“Yes; thank you, Jane. But,” continued Barry, “I understand that the
disturbance was brought on by your advocating free pews. Now, you know,
Farrar, it would never do to have free pews in Christ Church.”
“Don’t you think so?”
“Of course not. Just imagine who might come and sit with you. Such
a fellow as Bricky Hoover, for instance, who works in our mill,
and thinks he has a right to go anywhere. I tell you, Farrar, it’s
impossible. Utterly impossible!”
“I’m sorry you don’t approve of it.”
“And, in a general way, don’t you know, I don’t approve of your
attitude toward the laboring classes. As a prominent parishioner, a
leading citizen, and as vice-president of the Malleson Manufacturing
Company, I must respectfully suggest that it is――a――extremely
inappropriate for the rector of Christ Church to join with the lower
classes in the attack on wealth and――a――culture, and all those things,
you know. I speak as a friend, Farrar. As one man of high social grade
to another man of high social grade. You see?”
“I understand. I’m glad to have the opinion of any of my parishioners
on my sermons or conduct.”
Barry felt that he was making a conquest; that the rector was swinging
around to his views.
“You see,” he went on, flicking an imaginary speck of dust, as he
spoke, from the surface of an immaculate waistcoat, “we of the upper
classes are responsible for the preservation and advancement in the
world, of art, literature, beauty and, I may say, of religion; and it
becomes our duty――――”
Here Miss Chichester interrupted him to say:
“Excuse me, Barry; I just want to ask Mr. Farrar if Mrs. Farrar is at
home. If she is, I would dearly love to have a five minutes’ chat with
her.”
“She’s at home,” was the reply; “up-stairs, I think. I’ll ask Stella.”
The maid came in response to his ring, and was sent to inquire if Mrs.
Farrar would see Miss Chichester. She returned in a minute to say that
Mrs. Farrar would be delighted, if Miss Chichester wouldn’t mind going
up-stairs to the nursery, where Mrs. Farrar was temporarily engaged.
Of course Miss Chichester wouldn’t mind. It would be her first glimpse
of the nursery which she had long been curious to see. She found Mrs.
Farrar there in temporary charge of the youngest member of the family
who had just fallen asleep.
“What a lovely child!” exclaimed Miss Chichester in a whisper, bending
over the crib.
“Yes, he’s a dear. He doesn’t mind in the least having people talk in
the room when he’s asleep,” said Mrs. Farrar.
“How comforting that is!” Miss Chichester took a chair near the window
where she could look out across the rectory lawn to the street. “We
missed you so at the Parish Aid Society Tuesday afternoon at Ruth
Tracy’s. You weren’t ill, were you?”
“Oh, no. Mr. Farrar discovered another poor family up in the eight
hundred block. The mother’s bedridden, and nothing would do but I must
go up and see her Tuesday afternoon.”
“How kind Mr. Farrar is to the poor. What a pity it is that the vestry
isn’t in sympathy with him in his concern for the lower classes.”
“Isn’t it? I didn’t know.”
“I’m told it isn’t. That’s what led to the trouble last evening.”
“What trouble, Miss Chichester?”
“Why, the trouble at the vestry meeting. Hasn’t Mr. Farrar told you
about it?”
“Not a word. He rarely tells me about unpleasant happenings; they worry
me so. What was the trouble at the vestry meeting?”
“Perhaps I ought not to tell you, either.”
“Oh, I suppose I’ll hear about it sooner or later; you might as well
tell me.” She settled herself back in her chair with a sigh.
“Well, they all got into a dreadful quarrel.”
“Is it possible? What about?”
“About free pews. Mr. Farrar wanted the pews declared free, and they
all opposed him but Mr. Emberly and Mr. Hazzard.”
“I’m so sorry! Robert is so far ahead of the times. Did Mr. Westgate
oppose him?”
“Yes; Mr. Westgate and Mr. Hughes, and Mr. Claybank――――”
“And Judge Bosworth?”
“Yes, Judge Bosworth, and――oh, all of the best men in the vestry. Isn’t
it too bad!”
“It’s pitiful!” She sighed again, and her face grew a little paler and
more anxious. “I hope there were no harsh words used, Miss Chichester.
I couldn’t stand it to have any one speak harshly to Mr. Farrar.”
“Why, yes, I believe some very harsh words were used――not by your
husband, my dear; he’s a gentleman. But they――now really, I mustn’t
tell you this.”
“But I want to know. No matter how dreadful it is.”
“Well, they demanded Mr. Farrar’s resignation as rector.”
“Miss Chichester!”
“Yes, and then withdrew the demand. And then Mr. Emberly and Mr.
Hazzard got very angry and said some dreadful things, and―――― Oh, Mrs.
Farrar, really I must not tell you any more.”
“Go on, please; let me hear it all.”
“Well, if I must tell it; these gentlemen and Mr. Hughes and Colonel
Boston said shocking things to each other, and they were going to
fight――――”
“To fight! in the vestry meeting!”
“Yes, actually to fight. And Mr. Westgate and Mr. Farrar stepped
between them and prevented it, and they had to adjourn the meeting
before they were through, in order to avoid more trouble.”
“How dreadful!”
“Isn’t it dreadful! But you mustn’t take my word for it, Mrs. Farrar.
I’m only telling you what I heard, and just as I heard it. It’s so
unfortunate that all the best men in the vestry should be so bitterly
opposed to Mr. Farrar.”
“Do you think they are, Miss Chichester? Do you really think they are
unfriendly to Mr. Farrar?”
There was an appealing tone in the woman’s voice that should have gone
straight to Miss Chichester’s heart, and led her into making some
effort to repair the havoc she had already wrought; but Miss Chichester
was enjoying too deeply the sensation she was creating to take much
note of the pain she was giving to her listener.
“I’m afraid they are, Mrs. Farrar,” she replied. “I’m afraid they will
make it very uncomfortable for Mr. Farrar if he insists on trying to
carry out his projects. I do hope he’ll abandon them, if it’s necessary
to do it in order to avoid trouble in the church.”
The child in the crib stirred and moaned in its sleep, and the mother
went to it and readjusted its position and murmured some soothing words
to it, and returned to her chair.
“I am so sorry,” she said.
“Indeed, it is terrible,” assented Miss Chichester. “I thought I must
come in and give you what little comfort I could. I brought Barry
Malleson along, and he’s down-stairs with Mr. Farrar now, trying to
prevail on him not to antagonize the vestrymen any more. Barry isn’t a
communicant, you know, but he’s a man of such good judgment.”
“Is he?”
“Oh, very.”
“I do hope Mr. Farrar will listen to him.”
Miss Chichester rose to take her departure, but it was five minutes
later before she actually got away, and when she went down-stairs
Barry had already gone. He had not accomplished all that he had hoped
to accomplish when he came, but he felt that he had made it so clear
to the rector that he was on the wrong track that his restoration to
reason and good judgment would necessarily soon follow.
But, while Barry left behind him a smiling, self-confident and
optimistic host, Miss Chichester left in her wake a woman on whom the
shock of disclosure had fallen with grievous and humiliating force.
She had feared that something of the kind might happen, but she had
never thought that it would come like this. She could not quite believe
that the best people in the parish were in direct opposition to her
husband; that gentlemen of the vestry who had always treated her with
such marked courtesy and consideration could be so openly antagonistic
toward him. And if it were all true, in what a cruel position was she
herself placed. By birth, breeding and social alignment she belonged to
the cultured class. She shirked none of the duties of a rector’s wife,
so far as her physical and mental ability enabled her to perform those
duties. She was devoted to her husband, her children and her Church. It
was true that the new, and to her strange and incomprehensible, ideas
promulgated by her husband concerning the duty of the Church and its
adherents toward the humble and the poor gave her some anxiety when
she heard them or thought about them; but she considered herself so
ignorant in such matters, and regarded him as being so wise, that she
usually preferred to dismiss the subject from her mind rather than to
dwell upon it to her own confusion. Up to this time his attitude had
not interfered in any way with her Church activities or her social
relaxations. It had caused her no great embarrassment, nor had it
given her any particular concern. But now a point had been reached
beyond which the attempted carrying out of his policy must inevitably
reflect upon her. If Miss Chichester’s story was true, the situation
had grown suddenly acute. The most prominent men of the Church had come
out in open rebellion against her husband. Their wives would naturally
sympathize with them and side with them. They belonged to the class in
which all of her social activities had been performed, and all of her
social friendships maintained. How could she hope to hold her position
among these people and at the same time remain loyal to her husband?
It was a cruel dilemma in which she had, by no fault of her own, been
suddenly and rudely placed.
At dinner time that evening her husband noticed her apparent distraction
and despondency, and inquired of her concerning the cause of it. She
successfully evaded his questions, and it was not until after the
children had been put to bed that she repeated to him the tale that Miss
Chichester had told to her that afternoon. He assured her that she had
heard a grossly exaggerated account of what had actually taken place,
but in its really material aspects he could not do otherwise than
confirm the story. He did not consider, he said, that the opposition to
his plans would necessarily lead to their suppression.
“I may never be able,” he added, “to induce my vestry to act with me in
these matters; nevertheless I shall not relax my effort to make Christ
Church a haven for ‘all sorts and conditions of men.’”
“I suppose you are right about it, Robert,” she replied. “Of course
you are. I must take your judgment in these matters because I don’t
know anything about them myself, and I’ve never been able to understand
them. But it seems so sad to me, and so――so humiliating that it was
necessary to antagonize all these people who have been such dear
friends to us ever since we’ve been here.”
“You take a narrow view of the situation, Alice. The question is not
whether we are going to keep or lose friends; but it is whether I am
right or wrong. If I am right, as I truly believe I am, then nothing,
no opposition, no antagonism, no suffering of any kind should swerve
me from my course. If these people are antagonistic, the antagonism is
theirs. I have only the kindliest feeling toward all of them.”
“But, Robert, it seems to me that it is so necessary to keep them
friendly to us, and interested in the Church. What would we do without
them?”
“I want to keep them interested in the Church and friendly to us, and
I believe I shall. But the Church should not be exclusively for them.
They are already receiving all of the benefits which the Church has
to offer, while outside there is a great multitude of the Churchless
who are spiritually starving and dying for want of just such aid as I
am forbidden by these vestrymen to hold out to them. I must choose my
own path, and I believe my paramount duty is not to the comfortably
situated within the Church but to the physically and spiritually poor
without it.”
“I know, Robert, but couldn’t we visit the poor, and supply their
needs, and be kind and charitable to them in every way, and try to get
them to the services and into the Church without taking them in as our
social equals?”
“No, Alice; that method has been tried for ages, and the working
classes are drifting farther and in larger numbers away from us. If
we want them in the Church we must welcome them there as our equals.
There’s no other way to get them or to keep them. And there must be
not only social equality in the Church, there must be a fair measure
of economic equality outside. Our wealthy churchmen must set the first
example of economic justice, and cease piling up great individual
fortunes at the expense of the men who labor. I tell you this control
of the wealth of the world by a few, and this control of the Church by
those wealthy few, is so unjust and so unchristian that――――”
“Oh, Robert, don’t! I can’t understand those arguments; I never
could. I’ll admit that you are right. But what worries me is what our
relations are going to be with these people who are so opposed to us,
and who have been our good friends.”
“We shall still be friendly to them.”
“But what if they won’t be friendly to us?”
“That will be their loss; and one more assurance, to my mind, that we
are doing the will of our Master.”
“That’s easy enough to say; but how can you manage to carry on the work
of the Church without the aid of Judge Bosworth, and Mr. Claybank, and
Philip Westgate, and all those men who have always been so helpful and
so――so splendid in every way?”
“You’re crossing your bridges before you get to them. These men have
not withdrawn their help. If the time comes that they do, another way
will be found to carry on the work. This is one of the least of the
problems that confront me.”
“But, Robert, what will I do without the friendship and society of Mrs.
Bosworth and Mrs. Claybank and Philip Westgate’s mother, and all the
other ladies who have been so perfectly lovely to me ever since I’ve
been here? I can be good to women of another social grade, but I can’t
associate with them, and I must have my friends.”
At last her grievance and her fear had formed definite expression. The
one was personal and the other was selfish. She never rose above the
level of her domestic and social environment. She never caught even
a glimpse of the things for which he was fighting, as they presented
themselves to his spiritual vision. He tossed his head impatiently as
he replied:
“I do not think you need to borrow trouble. You will not be deserted on
my account. But if, by any chance, matters should come to such a pass
that you are socially outlawed because of my adherence to my duties as
a Christian minister, then I trust you will accept the situation with
fortitude, in the spirit of the martyrs, in order to advance the cause
for which I shall be fighting.”
“That’s all very well for you to say, Robert. But you’re a man and you
can go out and fight and forget. And I’m a woman, and I’ll have to stay
at home, ostracized and deserted, and grieve myself to death. I was
never intended to be a martyr, and I can’t be! I can’t be!”
“Then you shouldn’t have married a clergyman who believes in the
sacredness of his calling.”
It was an unkind thing for him to say, and he knew it the moment the
words had left his lips, and he regretted that he had said them. He
saw her face pale, and a hurt look come into her eyes, but she did not
appear to be angry. He rose, crossed over to where she was sitting, and
bent down and kissed her.
“There, dear,” he said, “I’m sorry if I hurt you. We won’t talk about
it any more, and we’ll hope for the best.”
She laid her hand in his; but it was evident, from the look on her
face, that the hurt remained, and that she found little comfort in his
expression of regret.
“I must go out now,” he added after a moment, “and make a sick
call――Rodney McAllister, you know. And when I come back I’ll go over my
sermon for to-morrow.”
He got his hat, and she helped him on with his overcoat, and kissed
him good-bye at the door, but over them both there was a shadow of
restraint of which they had seldom been aware during the years of their
married life.
It was too bad, he thought, as he descended the steps of the rectory,
crossed the lawn, and went down the pavement in the shadow of the
church, that his wife had not the energy and the desire to join him,
not only in his campaign for souls outside, but also in his crusade
for righteousness within the Church. If she could only see beyond the
circle of her daily life, if she could only understand and appreciate
the things he stood for and fought for, if only she were an inspiration
to him instead of a retarding force, with what added courage and
enthusiasm, with what relentless perseverance and unconquerable energy
could he not push forward to the accomplishment of his glorious
purpose.
Not that he intended to be disloyal to her, even in his remotest
thought. She was charming as a woman, she was devoted as a wife, she
was ideal as a mother, but――it was such a pity that she could not see
the visions that he saw, and help him to realize them. If she had but
the zeal and ability and view-point of Ruth Tracy, for instance. Ah!
There was a woman who was created for a rector’s wife. And she was
to marry a layman; a kind-hearted and brilliant, but conservative
layman, who would doubtless check her aspiration toward the larger
righteousness, and bind her with the chains of deadening custom. It
was unfortunate; it was, in a way, deplorable; but it was one of those
unpreventable situations with which only providence might dare to
interfere. He heaved a sigh of regret, quickened his pace, and went
forward to the accomplishment of his errand.
On his way back from Rodney McAllister’s, as he passed down the main
street of the city, he came to Carpenter’s Hall. Inside the hall a
public meeting was in progress. It had been called by certain labor
leaders for the purpose of discussing and deciding upon the attitude
of labor in the political campaign then fairly under way. Those who
were wise in such things said that the socialists were back of it. The
minister stopped to read the poster announcing the meeting, and when he
had read it it occurred to him that he would enter the hall and listen
to the speeches. He might learn something which would be of benefit to
him, on a subject in which he was deeply interested. It was late when
he pushed his way into the auditorium, and several of the speakers had
already been heard. Representatives of trade-unionism, of socialism,
even of syndicalism, had been duly applauded and occasionally hissed as
they presented their views in turn to their audience. Representatives
and candidates of the old-line parties had been excluded from the
speaker’s platform.
At the moment when Mr. Farrar entered the hall Stephen Lamar was
occupying the rostrum. It was apparent that he had the crowd with him.
His crude eloquence always captured the audience that he saw fit to
address. He was a trade-unionist, and one of the leaders of the large
and growing body of socialists in the city, though his views were
somewhat too radical to please all of them. However, his influence, his
power and his leadership were recognized, not only by workingmen who
went to him for advice, but also by politicians who went to him for aid
and counsel.
The rector of Christ Church was recognized by some of those who were
crowding the aisles, and they made way for him so that he might get
farther to the front where he could both see and hear. One man rose and
offered him a seat, for the benches were filled; but he preferred to
stand.
The gist of Lamar’s argument was that while trade-unionism was a good
thing so far as it went――he himself was a trade-unionist――it did not
go far enough. It was only through socialism, and through political
action under the auspices of the socialist party that the workingman
would be finally disenthralled. Socialism was the only instrument under
heaven which labor could successfully use to enforce its demands upon
society. If conservative socialism was not sufficient to accomplish
that end, then radical socialism must be employed, and if radical
socialism should prove to be insufficient, then resort must be had
to syndicalism. In any event, at whatever cost, the capitalist must
go. The era of the industrial commonwealth must be ushered in. And
with that era would come peace and plenty, comfort and enjoyment, the
luxuries of life to all who cared to have them. But this glorious end
could not be accomplished without a struggle, and a fierce one. If
labor was ever to release itself from the burden of such laws as made
John Bradley’s disappointment and death a crime against humanity, it
must turn deaf ears to the specious pleas of the old line politicians,
it must wholly disregard the silly vaporings of the capitalistic press,
it must shake itself free from the grasp of religious superstition and
the benumbing influence of the Church, and, by its own unaided power,
with the red flag of fellowship in the van, march on, as it surely had
the power to do, to a splendid and overwhelming victory.
There was a whirlwind of applause. An enthusiastic adherent of the
labor leader yelled:
“Go it, Steve! Give it to ’em! Give ’em hell!”
Before the last word was out of his mouth a stalwart Irishman, sitting
well to the front of the hall, struggled to his feet and made himself
heard.
“I object,” he shouted, “to this attack on religion. It ain’t nicessary
and it ain’t dacent. Ye’re doin’ small favor to the workin’men, Steve
Lamar, to be ladin’ ’em away from the Church. I’m a laborin’ man
mesilf, and I know there’s nothin’ like religion to steady a man an’
put heart into ’im, an’ give ’im a stomach to fight for what’s due ’im
from them that’s robbin’ ’im. Ye’re usin’ the divil’s logic, Steve, to
desthroy the poor.”
In an instant the hall was in an uproar. A dozen men were on their
feet demanding to be heard. It was only by continuous pounding with
the heavy gavel that the chairman of the meeting was able to restore
order to a sufficient degree to permit Lamar, stung by the Irishman’s
criticism, to go on with his speech.
“I had concluded my address,” he said, when finally he was able to
make himself heard, “but, in view of the interruption which has
just occurred, I will say one word more. My friend, the objector,
is evidently an adherent of a Church that puts a ban on socialism,
and stands ready to give absolution on account of all sins, save the
sin of making war on capital. Advanced socialism has no room within
it for the pious creeds. Listen to what the leaders have declared.
Karl Marx said: ‘The idea of God must be destroyed!’ Engel said:
‘The first word of religion is a lie.’ Bebel declared: ‘Socialism
denies religion altogether.’ My friends, the best thinkers and the
most brilliant leaders in the socialistic propaganda have pronounced
against religion and the Church. I take my stand with them. It is the
economic, the materialistic interpretation of history that is the key
to human happiness, not the religious and the ecclesiastical. What
the workingman wants is justice, not prayers; the full value of the
product of his own toil, not pious charity. Capital controls and orders
the Church, and muzzles the bishops and priests. Why, they dare not
preach even the gospel proclaimed by the Carpenter of Nazareth whom
they affect to adore, lest their masters be offended. I tell you the
workingman who permits himself to be bamboozled by the preachers and
the priests, and bribed by the so-called charity of the Church, is a
short-sighted fool. He is forcing the very chains that are to bind him.
Away with the Church! Away with religion! Use your own brains and your
own consciences, and your own good right arms, if necessary, to work
out your own salvation. Only so will you ever be free.”
Lamar stepped down from the platform amidst another storm of applause,
not unmingled with vigorous protests. It was apparent that there
were those in the audience who disagreed with him. Then, out of the
confusion of voices, one voice rose, clear and distinct. The rector
turned to look at the speaker, who stood not far from him, and at once
recognized the man as Samuel Major, who had been Juror No. 7 in the
Bradley case.
“Mr. Chairman,” shouted Major, “I believe this attack on religion and
the Church should be answered. And it should be answered now, in the
presence of those who have heard it. The Reverend Robert Farrar, rector
of Christ Church and a friend of labor, is here in the audience, and I
call on him to take the stand in defense of religion and the Church.”
The suggestion met with both approval and disapproval. A man with full
black beard and black hair falling on his shoulders arose and called
out:
“Mr. Presiden’: Thees ees politique assembly, not prayer-meeting. We
weesh that no clergy deescourse with us. I say ratha’ put that preach’
out.”
But the sense of fair play that governs all American audiences seized
now upon this one, and immediately there were cries of: “No! No! Give
the preacher a chance! Farrar! Farrar!”
The cry deepened into a roar. The demand was insistent. Half the
audience was on its feet yelling for “Farrar!” He was not unknown to
most of them. The story of his sermons had gone abroad. They wanted
to see him and to hear him. The chairman wavered, turned to consult
with one of the vice-presidents of the meeting, and then called to the
clergyman to come to the platform. It was an invitation that could
not be refused, nor had the rector of Christ Church any thought of
refusing it. Resenting Lamar’s assault on Christianity, he welcomed the
opportunity to reply to it. He made his way to the rostrum, mounted the
steps, and turned and faced the audience now grown remarkably still.
He was stalwart, clean-cut, fine featured. His garments were not of
the clerical type. He appealed to the eyes of those who looked on him
before he had spoken a word.
“My friends,” he said, “I accept your invitation gladly. I want to deny
the charges made against religion and the Church by the last speaker. I
believe, with the man who replied to him from the floor, that the great
need of the workingman to-day is the need of religion and the Church.
Physical comforts are not the sole foundation for the happiness of
mankind. History can never be properly interpreted from its economical
side alone. There can be no just interpretation of it that leaves out
God. Before food was, before clothes or homes or gold or silver were,
before this world itself was, God was. And after all these things have
vanished, God will still be. It is the conception of God in the souls
of men, broadening, brightening, growing as the ages have grown, that
has lifted man out of the ranks of the savage and brute and has made
of him an enlightened human being, demanding good food, good clothes,
good homes, and all the comforts and amenities of life. And we of
the Christian Church believe that Jesus Christ was the inspired and
final interpreter of all the wisdom of God. He was born in a manger.
In childhood He felt the pinch of poverty. In early manhood He was
a carpenter, working with saw and hammer as many of you are working
to-day. He dwelt with the proletariat. Their problems and sufferings
were His. He knew the poor and He loved them and strove for them. He
had no soft word to say for the rich. If ever there was a guide, a
leader, a saviour for the toilers of the world, that leader and saviour
is Jesus Christ. He founded a Church upon earth and that Church is
still a vital force and a mighty factor in the lives of men, even
though, in its course through the centuries, it has fallen now and then
from the lofty height on which He placed it. Restored and lifted up, it
stands to-day the authorized agent of Christ on earth. That Church is
as much for you as it is for your wealthy neighbor. Aye, more for you
than for him, because yours is the greater need. Avail yourselves of
its privileges. As rector of Christ Church I invite you to come to our
services, to unite yourselves with us, to partake of all the privileges
we enjoy. Do not let the fear of intrusion hinder you, nor any coldness
of welcome on the part of the wealthy prevent you from coming. The
place is yours, and its privileges are yours, and as children of God
you have a right to enjoy them. And so far as I can control it, there
shall be no class distinction there, no line of demarcation between the
rich and the poor; but every man shall be the equal of every other man,
and all be brothers in Christ.
“My friends, I am a Christian socialist. I believe in your ideals of
justice, of equality, of economic independence, and I shall rejoice
with you when all those ideals have been crystallized into law. But do
not deceive yourselves with the notion that you can accomplish these
things without God. Do not make the mistake of attempting to realize
your hopes without the aid of religion, for you will never succeed.
Rob socialism of the things that hinder and debase it. Vivify it and
glorify it with the religion of Jesus Christ who was the one great
socialist of all the ages, and your cause cannot fail; the dawn of that
splendid day of which you dream, and for which I pray, will not then be
far removed from any one of us.”
It was his appearance, his evident sincerity, his magnetic personality,
no less than the words he uttered, that caught the audience and carried
it with him. They might not yield to his appeal, they might not follow
his advice, but from that moment, to the vast majority of them, he was
something more than _persona grata_.
As he came down from the platform and made his way to the rear of the
hall a great roar of applause shook the walls of the building, and many
men stopped him in the aisle to shake hands with him, and to thank him
for coming to their meeting, and for addressing them thus intimately
from their own platform.
After that night the toilers of the whole city counted the Reverend
Robert Farrar as their friend and advocate, and a protagonist of their
cause.