The young couple bought a small house on the outskirts of the city,
some distance beyond the Nye, where it flows at right angles with its
original course, and in the general region of fastidious growth, but in
a settlement of inexpensive villas to one side of the trend of fashion.
The bridegroom had not forgotten his liberal intention to begin
housekeeping on a somewhat more ambitious scale than his salary as a
clerk had warranted. He was now the senior partner in the firm of
Stuart & Robinson, lumber dealers, which had been in existence six
months. He had parted from his employers, Toler & Company, on the
first of January, because of their refusal to accede to his demands,
and had been able to persuade the comrade with five thousand dollars,
to whom he had referred at his first meeting with Constance to enter
into a business alliance. Robinson was three years his junior, and
without commercial experience, but eager to turn the windfall, which
had come to him through the death of an aunt into a cool million. What
could be more natural than to take advantage of the experience which
Stuart offered him--an experience which gave promise of swift and
lucrative operations in the near future?
It was a very modest establishment, from the standpoint of affluence.
A neat little house of eight rooms supplied with modern improvements,
and, though one of a builder's batch, designed with some regard for
artistic effect, which indicated that a preference for harmonious
beauty was working in the popular mind of Benham against the idols,
colorless uniformity and bedizened ugliness. To the bride, whose
experience of housekeeping was limited to a country town where
colorless uniformity ruled undisturbed and modern improvements were
unknown, the expenditure of her nest-egg of five thousand dollars in
this complete little home seemed an investment no less enchanting than
wise. Five thousand for the house, with a subsequent mortgage upon it
of one thousand for the purchase of the furniture and to provide a
small bank balance for emergencies. This was her contribution to the
domestic partnership, and she rejoiced to think that her ability to
help to this extent would leave Emil a free hand for the display of his
business talent.
The basis of a newly married woman's peace of soul is trust. She feels
that the responsibility is on her husband to make good the manly
qualities with which she has endowed him, and because of which she has
consented to become his mate. Occasionally during the first few months
of her married life Constance laughed to think that all her maidenly
eagerness to solve the riddle of life brilliantly, and all her profound
searching of the mysteries of the universe should have ended in her
becoming an every-day housewife with dustpan and brush, and the wife of
one who, to all outward appearances, was an every-day young man. But
her laugh savored of gladness. She had given herself to him because
she had faith that his energy, self-reliance, fearless humor and
sympathetic hatred of shams would distinguish him presently from the
common herd of men, and vindicate her infatuation. She had given
herself to him, besides, because he loved her--a delightful
consciousness. Accordingly, she enclosed herself in the web of
happiness which her confidence in him had spun about her, and took up
her domestic duties with light-hearted devotion.
Nevertheless, no woman emerges from her honeymoon with exactly the same
estimate of her lover as before. If nothing else, she has seen his
mental and moral characteristics in their undress, so to speak, and
become habituated to their sublimity. We may be no less fond of a
person whose anecdotes have grown familiar to us, and analogously a
wife does not weary of her husband's qualities merely because they have
lost the glamor of novelty. On the contrary she is apt to continue to
adore them because they are his. Still she feels free to scrutinize
them closely and--unconsciously at least--to submit them to the test of
her own silent judgment. She discovers, too, of course, that he has
sides and idiosyncrasies the existence of which she never suspected.
Ordinarily she finds to her surprise that his attitude in regard to
this or that matter has shifted perceptibly since marriage, so that,
instead of being lukewarm or ardent, as the case may be, he has become
almost strenuous or indifferent in his attitude. Hence she divines
that during their courtship some of his real opinions and tendencies
have been kept in retreat.
Constance sensibly had decided in advance that Emil was not perfect, so
she was prepared to discover a blemish here and there. In spite of her
happiness it became obvious to her during the first six months of their
married life that the self-confidence which had attracted her verged at
times on braggadocio, and moreover that opposition or disappointment
made him sour and morose. If his affairs were prospering, his spirits
rose, his wits scintillated, and he spoke of the world with a gay, if
sardonic, forbearance, which suggested that it was soon to be his
foot-ball. But if matters went wrong, he not only became depressed,
but was prone to dwell upon his own ill-luck, and inveigh bitterly
against the existing conditions of society. She had noticed from the
first days of their acquaintance that there appeared to be an
inconsistency between his eagerness to grow rich and his enmity toward
the capitalists of Benham; but she had gathered that he was merely
eager to put himself in a position where his sympathy for the toiling
mass could be fortified by the opportunities which wealth would afford.
But now that his feverish absorption in business had apparently
banished all interest in philanthropic undertakings from his thoughts,
the inconsistency was more conspicuous.
Constance spoke to Emil about this at last. Naturally, she broached
the topic when he was in one of his sanguine moods. In response he
took out his pocket-book and asked her how much she required, having
jumped to the conclusion that she was beating around the bush and had
some particular object of charity in view.
"You don't understand, exactly, Emil," she answered. "I'm not asking
for money; I was merely hoping that having me to provide for isn't
going to cut you off from your former associations--to lessen your
sympathy with political movements for the protection of the people such
as you used to take part in before we were married."
Stuart frowned, and thrust his hands deep into his pockets as he was
apt to do when he felt his oats. "You don't seem to realize,
Constance, that a man starting in business needs all his energy and
watchfulness to avoid having his head thrust under water by the fellows
who are on the surface of the commercial whirlpool and who don't want
company. When I've got the sharks in my line of trade where I want
them, which is, metaphorically speaking, at the bottom of the pond,
it'll be time enough to take up politics. You'd like to see me in
Congress some day, wouldn't you? Well, that will be plain sailing for
me in this district as soon as I control the lumber business of Benham,
little saint."
This sounded plausible, and did not seem to admit of argument, provided
the consummation of the business supremacy indicated by her husband was
not deferred too long. She dismissed the matter from her mind for the
time being. It was less easy to dispose of another tendency which had
revealed itself in unmistakable guise since their marriage, and this
was Emil's indifferent attitude, not merely toward her form of
religious faith, but toward all religion. Within a short time after
their acquaintance began she had discovered that he was not an
Episcopalian, and that his views regarding the spiritual problems of
the universe were not those of orthodox Christians. But on the other
hand, although he was fond even then of blowing down her card-houses,
as he called them, with an occasional blast of scientific truth, he had
been ready to accompany her to church and had never seemed lacking in
reverence. She had asked herself the question why she should stifle
her love for him merely because his conception of the eternal mysteries
did not coincide with her own, and she had answered it by the
independent assurance that his attitude toward life was the important
consideration. She had even been fascinated by his broad outlook on
the universe, with his flashing eyes and his righteous contempt for
some of the dogmas of the sects. He had seemed to her imagination at
such times almost as a reforming archangel purging away the dross of
superstition and convention from the essentials of religious faith. He
did not believe in the miracles, it is true, because he regarded them
as violations of the laws of the universe; but was he not a firm
believer in the spirit of Christian conduct?
She had reasoned thus as a maiden, and had never doubted the soundness
of her self-justification. But the sequel was disturbing to her peace
of mind and to her hopes. It was not Emil's refusal to go to church,
nor his dedication of the Sabbath to mere rest and recreation which
distressed her, but his scornful tone in regard to any form of
religious ceremonial; his scornful tone toward her own reverence for
the faith in which she had been educated. Even the term of endearment
which he coined for her, "little saint," was a jocose and condescending
appellation reflecting on her susceptibility to ideas which clever
people had discarded as fatuous. She could have borne without
complaint going to church alone had he been willing to respect her
opinions as she respected his. But on her return from service he was
sure to greet her with some ironical jest which made painfully clear
that he regarded her habit of worship as a sign of mental inferiority.
His own habit on Sunday was to remain in bed until after the church
hour. Then he would establish himself in a loose-fitting woolen
garment, which he called his smoking-jacket, on the porch or in the
sitting-room and read the Sunday papers, with a pipe in his mouth.
Sometimes he played on his violin, and by the time Constance returned
he was ready for a short walk, ostensibly for the sake of exercising a
small black and white terrier. His wife could not accompany him on
this stroll, for she could not neglect their mid-day dinner, and when
he sat down at table he was apt, if the weather was fine, to refer
pathetically to the sin of having wasted it in the city. "If only you
were content, little saint, to worship nature with me," he would say,
"we would get away into the country with a luncheon basket the first
thing in the morning and make a day of it in the woods."
There was something winsome in this proposition, especially as the
inability to enjoy an outing because of her reluctance to renounce
church worship seemed to spoil his day in a double sense. For, as a
consequence, he ate a huge Sunday dinner, including two bottles of
beer, smoked more than his wont, and after a tirade against the evils
of monopoly or some kindred topic invariably fell into a heavy slumber
on the lounge, from which he did not awaken until nearly sunset.
"Another Sunday wasted," he more than once remarked by way of
melancholy comment on this state of affairs.
No wonder that Constance was perplexed as to her duty. Since coming to
Benham she had been a member of Rev. George Prentiss's parish. Her
mother was of English descent, and Constance had been brought up in the
Episcopal faith. At Colton there had been no church of that
denomination, and to attend the Episcopal service one had to drive or
walk two miles to a neighboring village. It had often seemed to
Constance more important to remain at home with her invalid mother than
to take this excursion. Consequently, during her girlhood, she had
been irregular in her attendance at church. Frequently, in order to be
able to return home more speedily, she had worshipped at the Methodist
or Unitarian meeting-house in the village. Sometimes she had stayed
away altogether; therefore she understood the fascination of communion
with books or with spring buds or autumn leaves as a substitute for
worship in the sanctuary. Her untrammelled experience had made her
open-minded and independent, but on the other hand the difficulty of
kneeling at her own shrine had nourished her sentiment for the
Episcopal faith, so that she had rejoiced spiritually in the
opportunity, which her residence in Benham afforded, to become a
regular and devoted member of Mr. Prentiss's flock. Moreover, the
vital character of St. Stephen's as a religious body had appealed to
her. The little church near Colton had been a peaceful and poetic, but
poor and unenterprising establishment. Contrasted with it, St.
Stephen's appeared a splendid and powerful influence for righteousness,
stirring deeply her æsthetic sensibilities, and at the same time
proving its living, practical grasp on human character through its able
pastor and active organization. St. Stephen's never slumbered; St.
Stephen's prided itself on its ardent faith and essentially modern
spirit; and St. Stephen's, by common acceptance, was synonymous with
its rector, Rev. George Prentiss.
Mr. Prentiss had grown up with the church. That is, he had been curate
to the Rev. Henry Glynn, an Englishman who had selected Benham as a
promising pasture for the propagation of the Episcopal faith beyond the
pale of the mother country, who had gone forth into the wilderness and
had lived to see a goodly flock of sheep browsing beneath his
ministrations. Mr. Glynn was a pioneer, and had gone forth in the
early seventies when Benham was in the throes of rapid progress and
extraordinary development from month to month. His mission had been to
spread the tenets of his sect by the zeal and eloquence of his
testimony, and to provide a suitable edifice for the human souls
attracted by his teachings. In his time the congregation forsook the
small and primitive structure, erected in hot haste within a year of
his arrival, for a commodious and sufficiently æsthetic building.
Before his death, which occurred prematurely, Benham had become a large
and important municipality. His successor found himself not only the
pastor of the leading Episcopal Church of the city--which had also in
the process of social evolution become the most fashionable and
probably the richest church in the city--but a shepherd in a wilderness
of a different sort. In other words, he was brought suddenly face to
face with the problems which confront earnest spirits eager to redeem
human nature in a huge industrial community. The former wilderness had
blossomed, even with the rose, but the thistles, tares, and rank grass
which fought for mastery with the wholesome vegetation had
revolutionized the soil. There were scores of saloons in Benham; there
was a herd of immoral women on the streets of Benham; and, most
perplexing problem of all, perhaps, there were, only a mile apart, the
picturesque neighborhood of the Riverside Drive with its imposing,
princely, private mansions, and Smith Street, boulevard of unwholesome
tenement-houses, garnished with rumshops and squalid lives--contrast
repugnant and disconcerting to American ideals, and to him as an
American.
But Rev. George Prentiss was not the man to shrink from deep and
important responsibilities. On the contrary, it might be said of him
that he revelled in them. The consciousness that, in spite of Benham's
mushroom-like growth as a proud testimonial to the sacredness of
institutions established by the free-born, the city had begun closely
to resemble large cities everywhere was sobering, but on the whole,
inspiriting to him as a worker. His mission was clearly disclosed to
him--a mission worthy of the energies of a clergyman eager to bring his
church into closer touch with everyday life and common human
conditions. For Mr. Prentiss as an American and a churchman was
ambitious for the future of the Episcopal faith. His predecessor and
friend had seen in their pastorate only a glorious continuation of
English orthodoxy--a spiritual revolt from dissent, transcendentalism
and cold, intellectual independence, which would, in the end, gather
sixty million people into a Protestant fold, national in its title and
dimensions. Mr. Prentiss shared this delectable vision, but he would
not have American Episcopacy a mere blind imitation of the mother
church or a colonial dependency. He felt that it behooved those of his
faith on this side of the Atlantic to gird their loins zealously, and
to guide their sheep fearlessly, receiving with respectful attention
the interpretations of the spiritual lords of Great Britain regarding
dogma, but exercising intelligent discretion in regard to their
adoption. This attitude, which might be called patriotism, in some
sense reflected the pride which Dante, that stern censor of prelates,
condemns. Was the Church of England to prescribe doctrine to the
thriving, hardy child of its loins forever? Surely not, now that that
child, waxing in size and resources and dignified with power, promised
soon to rival its parent. It was agreeable to the rector of St.
Stephen's to reflect that the tide of fashion was bearing the children
of Unitarian and other indeterminate faiths into the fold of the true
and living church of Christ. It was also agreeable to behold in his
mind's eye that church--the American church--taking advantage of this
splendid opportunity and accepting with fearless and uncompromising
zeal the challenge of infidelity and materialism. The people were
tired, he believed, of intellectual, spiritual dissipation, in which
each soul formed its own conception of God, and defined the terms of
its own compact with Him. They were welcoming fervor, passion, color
and all the symbols of a faith which beholds in man a miserable sinner
redeemed through the blood of Christ. If the people of his nationality
had been reluctant in the days of their early history, when population
was sparse and sin was kept at bay by primitive economic conditions, to
admit that man was a sinner, could they doubt it now? Was not Benham
with its bustling, seething, human forces an eloquent testimonial to
the reality of evil and the intensity of the struggle between the
powers of darkness? The Church's mission--his mission--was to take an
active part, in a modern spirit, in the great work of regeneration by
bringing light to the blind, sympathy and relief to the down-trodden
and protection to the oppressed.
Mr. Prentiss had carried his theories energetically into practice. He
had striven to make St. Stephen's a tabernacle for the prosperous and
the fortunate and also for the desolate and the friendless. His wish
would have been to see them intermingled at morning service without
regard to vested rights, but his wardens assured him that the finances
of the church could not be conducted successfully except on the basis
of inviolable pew ownership until after the morning service had begun.
But he was able to throw the church open in the afternoon to the
general public, and to reserve in the morning certain gallery and less
desirable benches for the accommodation of young men and women students
who wished to worship regularly and could not afford to hire seats. If
it was at first a tribulation to him that his congregation was rich and
fashionable and a little stolid, their liberality on collection days
was a great compensation, for it gave him scope for extending his
influence along the line of his ambition by the establishment of the
mission church, known as the Church of the Redeemer, in the heart of
Benham's arid social quarter, as an adjunct to St. Stephen's, and to be
maintained by the generosity of that body of Christians. When this
undertaking was in full operation, under the direction of a competent
curate, Mr. Prentiss experienced fewer qualms as he looked down from
his reading-desk at the gay bonnets and costly toilets of his own
parishioners. He had been assured by several women active in church
work that the independent poor were not fond of worshipping where their
clothes would show at a disadvantage. As a Christian who was an
American, he deplored the formation of classes in the sheep-fold of the
church; yet he reasoned that the preferences of human nature could not
be ignored altogether in a matter of this kind, and it was evident that
his parishioners preferred to worship God in full possession of their
property rights, surrounded by their social acquaintance. There was a
zest, too, in the knowledge that he was the rector of the important and
powerful people of the city, and that he had the opportunity to
denounce the commercial spirit of the age in the presence of men like
Carleton Howard, the millionaire, and women like his sister, Mrs.
Randolph Wilson, and their friends. If he could reach their hearts,
what might he not hope for? Obviously by the support of this class the
Church could not fail to increase its revenues and extend its power.
The triumph of the Church was after all, for him, the essential
thing--the illumination of the souls of men through faith in the
Christian ideal. So with this end constantly in view, Rev. George
Prentiss ministered to his well-favored congregation in St. Stephen's,
and vicariously, and often by personal service, conducted a crusade
against ignorance and sin in the Church of the Redeemer and its
neighborhood.