——If Iris does not love this Little Gentleman, what does love look like
when one sees it? She follows him with her eyes, she leans over toward
him when he speaks, her face changes with the changes of his speech, so
that one might think it was with her as with Christabel,——
That all her features were resigned
To this sole image in her mind.
But she never looks at him with such intensity of devotion as when he
says anything about the soul and the soul’s atmosphere, religion.
Women are twice as religious as men;——all the world knows that. Whether
they are any _better_, in the eyes of Absolute Justice, might be
questioned; for the additional religious element supplied by sex hardly
seems to be a matter of praise or blame. But in all common aspects they
are so much above us that we get most of our religion from them,——from
their teachings, from their example,——above all, from their pure
affections.
Now this poor little Iris had been talked to strangely in her childhood.
Especially she had been told that she hated all good things,——which every
sensible parent knows well enough is not true of a great many children,
to say the least. I have sometimes questioned whether many libels on
human nature had not been a natural consequence of the celibacy of the
clergy, which was enforced for so long a period.
The child had met this and some other equally encouraging statements
as to her spiritual conditions, early in life, and fought the battle
of spiritual independence prematurely, as many children do. If all she
did was hateful to God, what was the meaning of the approving or else
the disapproving conscience, when she had done “right” or “wrong”? No
“shoulder-striker” hits out straighter than a child with its logic. Why,
I can remember lying in my bed in the nursery and settling questions
which all that I have heard since and got out of books has never been
able to raise again. If a child does not assert itself in this way in
good season, it becomes just what its parents or teachers were, and is
no better than a plaster image.——How old was I at the time?——I suppose
about 5823 years old,——that is, counting from Archbishop Usher’s date
of the Creation, and adding the life of the race, whose accumulated
intelligence is a part of my inheritance, to my own. A good deal older
than Plato, you see, and much more experienced than my Lord Bacon and
most of the world’s teachers.——Old books, as you well know, are books of
the world’s youth, and new books are fruits of its age. How many of all
these ancient folios round me are like so many old cupels! The gold has
passed out of them long ago, but their pores are full of the dross with
which it was mingled.
And so Iris——having thrown off that first lasso, which not only fetters,
but _chokes_ those whom it can hold, so that they give themselves up
trembling and breathless to the great soul-subduer, who has them by
the windpipe——had settled a brief creed for herself, in which love of
the neighbor, whom we have seen, was the first article, and love of
the Creator, whom we have not seen, grew out of this as its natural
development, being necessarily second in order of time to the first
unselfish emotions which we feel for the fellow-creatures who surround us
in our early years.
The child must have some place of worship. What would a young girl be
who never mingled her voice with the songs and prayers that rose all
around her with every returning day of rest? And Iris was free to choose.
Sometimes one and sometimes another would offer to carry her to this or
that place of worship; and when the doors were hospitably opened, she
would often go meekly in by herself. It was a curious fact, that two
churches as remote from each other in doctrine as could well be divided
her affections.
The Church of Saint Polycarp had very much the look of a Roman
Catholic chapel. I do not wish to run the risk of giving names to the
ecclesiastical furniture which gave it such a Romish aspect; but there
were pictures, and inscriptions in antiquated characters, and there were
reading-stands, and flowers on the altar, and other elegant arrangements.
Then there were boys to sing alternately in choirs responsive to each
other, and there was much bowing, with very loud responding, and a long
service and a short sermon, and a bag, such as Judas used to hold in the
old pictures, was carried round to receive contributions. Everything was
done not only “decently and in order,” but, perhaps one might say, with
a certain air of magnifying their office on the part of the dignified
clergymen, often two or three in number. The music and the free welcome
were grateful to Iris, and she forgot her prejudices at the door of
the chapel. For this was a church with open doors, with seats for all
classes and all colors alike,——a church of zealous worshippers after
their faith, of charitable and serviceable men and women, one that took
care of its children and never forgot its poor, and whose people were
much more occupied in looking out for their own souls than in attacking
the faith of their neighbors. In its mode of worship there was a union
of two qualities,——the taste and refinement, which the educated require
just as much in their churches as elsewhere, and the air of stateliness,
almost of pomp, which impresses the common worshipper, and is often
not without its effect upon those who think they hold outward forms as
of little value. Under the half-Romish aspect of the Church of Saint
Polycarp, the young girl found a devout and loving and singularly
cheerful religious spirit. The artistic sense, which betrayed itself
in the dramatic proprieties of its ritual, harmonized with her taste.
The mingled murmur of the loud responses, in those rhythmic phrases, so
simple, yet so fervent, almost as if every tenth heart-beat, instead of
its dull _tic-tac_, articulated itself as “Good Lord, deliver us!”——the
sweet alternation of the two choirs, as their holy song floated from side
to side,——the keen young voices rising like a flight of singing-birds
that passes from one grove to another, carrying its music with it back
and forward,——why should she not love these gracious outward signs of
those inner harmonies which none could deny made beautiful the lives of
many of her fellow-worshippers in the humble, yet not inelegant Chapel of
Saint Polycarp?
The young Marylander, who was born and bred to that mode of worship,
had introduced her to the chapel, for which he did the honors for such
of our boarders as were not otherwise provided for. I saw them looking
over the same prayer-book one Sunday, and I could not help thinking
that two such young and handsome persons could hardly worship together
in safety for a great while. But they seemed to mind nothing but their
prayer-book. By and by the silken bag was handed round.——I don’t believe
she will;——so awkward, you know;——besides, she only came by invitation.
There she is, with her hand in her pocket, though,——and sure enough, her
little bit of silver tinkled as it struck the coin beneath. God bless
her! she hasn’t much to give; but her eye glistens when she gives it,
and that is all Heaven asks.——That was the first time I noticed these
young people together, and I am sure they behaved with the most charming
propriety,——in fact, there was one of our silent lady-boarders with them,
whose eyes would have kept Cupid and Psyche to their good behavior. A day
or two after this I noticed that the young gentleman had left his seat,
which you may remember was at the corner diagonal to that of Iris, so
that they have been as far removed from each other as they could be at
the table. His new seat is three or four places farther down the table.
Of course I made a romance out of this, at once. So stupid not to see it!
How could it be otherwise?——Did you speak, Madam? I beg your pardon. (To
my lady-reader.)
I never saw anything like the tenderness with which this young girl
treats her little deformed neighbor. If he were in the way of going to
church, I know she would follow him. But his worship, if any, is not with
the throng of men and women and staring children.