And now the days had come for our little friend, whose whims and
weaknesses had interested us, perhaps, as much as his better traits, to
make ready for that long journey which is easier to the cripple than to
the strong man, and on which none enters so willingly as he who has borne
the life-long load of infirmity during his earthly pilgrimage.
The divinity-student was exercised in his mind about the Little
Gentleman, and, in the kindness of his heart,——for he was a good young
man,——and in the strength of his convictions,——for he took it for granted
that he and his crowd were right, and other folks and their crowd were
wrong,——he determined to bring the Little Gentleman round to his faith
before he died, if he could. So he sent word to the sick man, that he
should be pleased to visit him and have some conversation with him; and
received for answer that he would be welcome.
The divinity-student made him a visit, therefore, and had a somewhat
remarkable interview with him, which I shall briefly relate, without
attempting to justify the positions taken by the Little Gentleman. He
found him weak, but calm. Iris sat silent by his pillow.
After the usual preliminaries, the divinity-student said, in a kind way,
that he was sorry to find him in failing health, that he felt concerned
for his soul, and was anxious to assist him in making preparations for
the great change awaiting him.
I thank you, Sir,——said the Little Gentleman;——permit me to ask you, what
makes you think I am not ready for it, Sir, and that you can do anything
to help me, Sir?
I address you only as a fellow-man,——said the divinity-student,——and
therefore a fellow-sinner.
I am _not_ a man, Sir!——said the Little Gentleman.——I was born into
this world the wreck of a man, and I shall not be judged with a race to
which I do not belong. Look at this!——he said, and held up his withered
arm.——See there!——and he pointed to his misshapen extremities.——Lay your
hand here!——and he laid his own on the region of his misplaced heart.——I
have known nothing of the life of your race. When I first came to my
consciousness, I found myself an object of pity, or a sight to show. The
first strange child I ever remember hid its face and would not come near
me. I was a broken-hearted as well as broken-bodied boy. I grew into
the emotions of ripening youth, and all that I could have loved shrank
from my presence. I became a man in years, and had nothing in common
with manhood but its longings. My life is the dying pang of a worn-out
race, and I shall go down alone into the dust, out of this world of
men and women, without ever knowing the fellowship of the one or the
love of the other. I will not die with a lie rattling in my throat. If
another state of being has anything worse in store for me, I have had
a long apprenticeship to give me strength that I may bear it. I don’t
believe it, Sir! I have too much faith for that. God has not left me
wholly without comfort, even here. I love this old place where I was
born;——the heart of the world beats under the three hills of Boston, Sir!
I love this great land, with so many tall men in it, and so many good,
noble women.——His eyes turned to the silent figure by his pillow.——I
have learned to accept meekly what has been allotted to me, but I cannot
honestly say that I think my sin has been greater than my suffering. I
bear the ignorance and the evil-doing of whole generations in my single
person. I never drew a breath of air nor took a step that was not a
punishment for another’s fault. I may have had many wrong thoughts, but
I cannot have done many wrong deeds,——for my cage has been a narrow one,
and I have paced it alone. I have looked through the bars and seen the
great world of men busy and happy, but I had no part in their doings.
I have known what it was to dream of the great passions; but since
my mother kissed me before she died, no woman’s lips have pressed my
cheek,——nor ever will.
——The young girl’s eyes glittered with a sudden film, and almost without
a thought, but with a warm human instinct that rushed up into her
face with her heart’s blood, she bent over and kissed him. It was the
sacrament that washed out the memory of long years of bitterness, and I
should hold it an unworthy thought to defend her.
The Little Gentleman repaid her with the only tear any of us ever saw him
shed.
The divinity-student rose from his place, and, turning away from the
sick man, walked to the other side of the room, where he bowed his
head and was still. All the questions he had meant to ask had faded
from his memory. The tests he had prepared by which to judge of his
fellow-creature’s fitness for heaven seemed to have lost their virtue. He
could trust the crippled child of sorrow to the Infinite Parent. The kiss
of the fair-haired girl had been like a sign from heaven, that angels
watched over him whom he was presuming but a moment before to summon
before the tribunal of his private judgment.
Shall I pray with you?——he said, after a pause.——A little before he
would have said, Shall I pray _for_ you?——The Christian religion, as
taught by its Founder, is full of _sentiment_. So we must not blame
the divinity-student, if he was overcome by those yearnings of human
sympathy which predominate so much more in the sermons of the Master
than in the writings of his successors, and which have made the parable
of the Prodigal Son the consolation of mankind, as it has been the
stumbling-block of all exclusive doctrines.
Pray!——said the Little Gentleman.
The divinity-student prayed, in low, tender tones, that God would look
on his servant lying helpless at the feet of his mercy; that he would
remember his long years of bondage in the flesh; that he would deal
gently with the bruised reed. Thou hast visited the sins of the fathers
upon this their child. O, turn away from him the penalties of his own
transgressions! Thou hast laid upon him, from infancy, the cross which
thy stronger children are called upon to take up; and now that he is
fainting under it, be Thou his stay, and do Thou succor him that is
tempted! Let his manifold infirmities come between him and Thy judgment;
in wrath remember mercy! If his eyes are not opened to all thy truth, let
thy compassion lighten the darkness that rests upon him, even as it came
through the word of thy Son to blind Bartimeus, who sat by the wayside,
begging!
Many more petitions he uttered, but all in the same subdued tone
of tenderness. In the presence of helpless suffering, and in the
fast-darkening shadow of the Destroyer, he forgot all but his Christian
humanity, and cared more about consoling his fellow-man than making a
proselyte of him.
This was the last prayer to which the Little Gentleman ever listened.
Some change was rapidly coming over him during this last hour of which
I have been speaking. The excitement of pleading his cause before his
self-elected spiritual adviser,——the emotion which overcame him, when
the young girl obeyed the sudden impulse of her feelings and pressed
her lips to his cheek,——the thoughts that mastered him while the
divinity-student poured out his soul for him in prayer, might well hurry
on the inevitable moment. When the divinity-student had uttered his last
petition, commending him to the Father through his Son’s intercession,
he turned to look upon him before leaving his chamber. His face was
changed.——There is a language of the human countenance which we all
understand without an interpreter, though the lineaments belong to the
rudest savage that ever stammered in an unknown barbaric dialect. By the
stillness of the sharpened features, by the blankness of the tearless
eyes, by the fixedness of the smileless mouth, by the deadening tints, by
the contracted brow, by the dilating nostril, we know that the soul is
soon to leave its mortal tenement, and is already closing up its windows
and putting out its fires.——Such was the aspect of the face upon which
the divinity-student looked, after the brief silence which followed his
prayer. The change had been rapid, though not that abrupt one which is
liable to happen at any moment in these cases.——The sick man looked
towards him.——Farewell,——he said——I thank you. Leave me alone with her.
When the divinity-student had gone, and the Little Gentleman found
himself alone with Iris, he lifted his hand to his neck, and took from
it, suspended by a slender chain, a quaint, antique-looking key,——the
same key I had once seen him holding. He gave this to her, and pointed to
a carved cabinet opposite his bed, one of those that had so attracted my
curious eyes and set me wondering as to what it might contain.
Open it,——he said,——and light the lamp.——The young girl walked to the
cabinet and unlocked the door. A deep recess appeared, lined with black
velvet, against which stood in white relief an ivory crucifix. A silver
lamp hung over it. She lighted the lamp and came back to the bedside.
The dying man fixed his eyes upon the figure of the dying Saviour.——Give
me your hand,——he said; and Iris placed her right hand in his left. So
they remained, until presently his eyes lost their meaning, though they
still remained vacantly fixed upon the white image. Yet he held the young
girl’s hand firmly, as if it were leading him through some deep-shadowed
valley and it was all he could cling to. But presently an involuntary
muscular contraction stole over him, and his terrible dying grasp held
the poor girl as if she were wedged in an engine of torture. She pressed
her lips together and sat still. The inexorable hand held her tighter and
tighter, until she felt as if her own slender fingers would be crushed
in its gripe. It was one of the tortures of the Inquisition she was
suffering, and she could not stir from her place. Then, in her great
anguish, she, too, cast her eyes upon that dying figure, and, looking
upon its pierced hands and feet and side and lacerated forehead, she felt
that she also must suffer uncomplaining. In the moment of her sharpest
pain she did not forget the duties of her tender office, but dried the
dying man’s moist forehead with her handkerchief, even while the dews of
agony were glistening on her own. How long this lasted she never could
tell. _Time_ and _thirst_ are two things you and I talk about; but the
victims whom holy men and righteous judges used to stretch on their
engines knew better what they meant than you or I!——What is that great
bucket of water for? said the Marchioness de Brinvilliers, before she
was placed on the rack.——_For you to drink_,——said the torturer to the
little woman.——She could not think that it would take such a flood to
quench the fire in her and so keep her alive for her confession. The
torturer knew better than she.
After a time not to be counted in minutes, as the clock
measures,——without any warning,——there came a swift change of his
features; his face turned white, as the waters whiten when a sudden
breath passes over their still surface; the muscles instantly relaxed,
and Iris, released at once from her care for the sufferer and from his
unconscious grasp, fell senseless, with a feeble cry,——the only utterance
of her long agony.
* * * * *
——Iris went into mourning for the Little Gentleman. Although he left
the bulk of his property, by will, to a public institution, he added a
codicil, by which he disposed of various pieces of property as tokens
of kind remembrance. It was in this way I became the possessor of the
wonderful instrument I have spoken of, which had been purchased for
him out of an Italian convent. The landlady was comforted with a small
legacy. The following extract relates to Iris: “——in consideration of her
manifold acts of kindness, but only in token of grateful remembrance,
and by no means as a reward for services which cannot be compensated, a
certain messuage, with all the land thereto appertaining, situate in ——
Street, at the North End, so called, of Boston, aforesaid, the same being
the house in which I was born, but now inhabited by several families, and
known as ‘the Rookery.’” Iris had also the crucifix, the portrait, and
the red-jewelled ring. The funeral or death’s-head ring was buried with
him.