{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_58433/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_58433","id":"gutenberg_58433","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/58433","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian life -- Fiction","Clergy -- England -- Fiction","Paranormal fiction","Short stories, English"],"text":"Produced by Sonya Schermann, Barry Abrahamsen, and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n(This file was produced from images generously made\navailable by The Internet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                          The Light Invisible\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                \u201c_She moves in tumult: round her lies\n                   The silence of the world of grace;\n                 The twilight of our mysteries\n                   Shines like high noon-day on her face,\n                 Our piteous guesses, dim with fears,\n                 She touches, handles, sees, and hears._\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n                 \u201c_A willing sacrifice, she takes\n                    The burden of our Fall within;\n                  Holy she stands; while on her breaks\n                    The lightning of the wrath of sin:\n                  She drinks her Saviour\u2019s Cup of pain,\n                  And, one with Jesus, thirsts again._\u201d\n                                 THE CONTEMPLATIVE SOUL\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n\n                          _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_\n\n                                -------\n\n                        THE LORD OF THE WORLD\n                        BY WHAT AUTHORITY?\n                        THE KING\u2019S ACHIEVEMENT\n                        THE QUEEN\u2019S TRAGEDY\n                        RICHARD RAYNAL, SOLITARY\n                        THE SENTIMENTALISTS\n                        A MIRROR OF SHALOTT\n\n                                -------\n\n                      A BOOK OF THE LOVE OF JESUS\n\n                                -------\n\n                     SIR ISAAC PITMAN & SONS, LTD.\n\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n                                  The\n\n                            Light Invisible\n\n                                   By\n\n                           Robert Hugh Benson\n\n                              _Author of_\n\n             \u201cThe King\u2019s Achievement,\u201d \u201cBy What Authority?\u201d\n               \u201cThe History of Richard Raynal, Solitary,\u201d\n                  \u201cA Book of the Love of Jesus,\u201d etc.\n\n\n\n\n                     NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO\n                           BENZIGER BROTHERS\n                   PRINTERS TO THE HOLY APOSTOLIC SEE\n                                  1910\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                                Preface\n\n\n_My friend, whose talk I have reported in this book so far as I am able,\nwould be the first to disclaim (as indeed he was always anxious to do)\nthe r\u00f4le of an accredited teacher, other than that which his sacred\noffice conferred on him._\n\n_All that he claimed (and this surely was within his rights) was to be\nat least sincere in his perceptions and expressions of spiritual truth.\nHis power, as he was at pains to tell me, was no more than a particular\ndevelopment of a faculty common to all who possess a coherent spiritual\nlife. To one Divine Truth finds entrance through laws of nature, to\nanother through the medium of other sciences or arts; to my friend it\npresented itself in directly sensible forms. Had his experiences,\nhowever, even seemed to contravene Divine Revelation, he would have\nrejected them with horror: entire submission to the_ _Divine Teacher\nupon earth, as he more than once told me, should normally precede the\nexercise of all other spiritual faculties. The deliberate reversal of\nthis is nothing else than Protestantism in its extreme form, and must\nultimately result in the extinction of faith._\n\n_For the rest, I can add nothing to his own words. It is of course more\nthan possible that here and there I have failed to present his exact\nmeaning; but at least I have taken pains to submit the book before\npublication to the judgment of those whose theological learning is\nsufficient to reassure me that at least I have not so far misunderstood\nmy friend\u2019s words and tales, as to represent him as transgressing the\nexplicit laws of ascetical, moral, mystical, or dogmatic theology._\n\n_To these counsellors I must express my gratitude, as well as to others\nwho have kindly given me the encouragement of their sympathy._\n\n                                                                 _R. B._\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                                Contents\n\n\n                                                         PAGE\n\n          THE GREEN ROBE                                    1\n\n          THE WATCHER                                      15\n\n          THE BLOOD-EAGLE                                  29\n\n          OVER THE GATEWAY                                 49\n\n          POENA DAMNI                                      65\n\n          CONSOLATRIX AFFLICTORUM                          77\n\n          THE BRIDGE OVER THE STREAM                       95\n\n          IN THE CONVENT CHAPEL                           107\n\n          UNDER WHICH KING?                               127\n\n          WITH DYED GARMENTS                              145\n\n          UNTO BABES                                      159\n\n          THE TRAVELLER                                   181\n\n          THE SORROWS OF THE WORLD                        203\n\n          IN THE MORNING                                  227\n\n          THE EXPECTED GUEST                              241\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nThe Green Robe\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                \u201cTo see a world in a grain of sand,\n                   And a heaven in a wild flower;\n                 Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,\n                   And eternity in an hour.\u201d\n                                                _Blake._\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                             The Green Robe\n\n\nTHE old priest was silent for a moment.\n\nThe song of a great bee boomed up out of the distance and ceased as the\nwhite bell of a flower beside me drooped suddenly under his weight.\n\n\u201cI have not made myself clear,\u201d said the priest again. \u201cLet me think a\nminute.\u201d And he leaned back.\n\nWe were sitting on a little red-tiled platform in his garden, in a\nsheltered angle of the wall. On one side of us rose the old irregular\nhouse, with its latticed windows, and its lichened roofs culminating in\na bellturret; on the other I looked across the pleasant garden where\ngreat scarlet poppies hung like motionless flames in the hot June\nsunshine, to the tall living wall of yew, beyond which rose the heavy\ngreen masses of an elm in which a pigeon lamented, and above all a\ntender blue sky. The priest was looking out steadily before him with\ngreat childlike eyes that shone strangely in his thin face under his\nwhite hair. He was dressed in an old cassock that showed worn and green\nin the high lights.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d he said presently, \u201cit is not faith that I mean; it is only an\nintense form of the gift of spiritual perception that God has given me;\nwhich gift indeed is common to us all in our measure. It is the faculty\nby which we verify for ourselves what we have received on authority and\nhold by faith. Spiritual life consists partly in exercising this\nfaculty. Well, then, this form of that faculty God has been pleased to\nbestow upon me, just as He has been pleased to bestow on you a keen\npower of seeing and enjoying beauty where others perhaps see none; this\nis called artistic perception. It is no sort of credit to you or to me,\nany more than is the colour of our eyes, or a faculty for mathematics,\nor an athletic body.\n\n\u201cNow in my case, in which you are pleased to be interested, the\nperception occasionally is so keen that the spiritual world appears to\nme as visible as what we call the natural world. In such moments,\nalthough I generally know the difference between the spiritual and the\nnatural, yet they appear to me simultaneously, as if on the same plane.\nIt depends on my choice as to which of the two I see the more clearly.\n\n\u201cLet me explain a little. It is a question of focus. A few minutes ago\nyou were staring at the sky, but you did not see the sky. Your own\nthought lay before you instead. Then I spoke to you, and you started a\nlittle and looked at me; and you saw me, and your thought vanished. Now\ncan you understand me if I say that these sudden glimpses that God has\ngranted me, were as though when you looked at the sky, you saw both the\nsky and your thought at once, on the same plane, as I have said? Or\nthink of it in another way. You know the sheet of plate-glass that is\nacross the upper part of the fireplace in my study. Well, it depends on\nthe focus of your eyes, and your intention, whether you see the glass\nand the fire-plate behind, or the room reflected in the glass. Now can\nyou imagine what it would be to see them all at once? It is like that.\u201d\nAnd he made an outward gesture with his hands.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d I said, \u201cI scarcely understand. But please tell me, if you will,\nyour first vision of that kind.\u201d\n\n\u201cI believe,\u201d he began, \u201cthat when I was a child the first clear vision\ncame to me, but I only suppose it from my mother\u2019s diary. I have not the\ndiary with me now, but there is an entry in it describing how I said I\nhad seen a face look out of a wall and had run indoors from the garden;\nhalf frightened, but not terrified. But I remember nothing of it myself,\nand my mother seems to have thought it must have been a waking dream;\nand if it were not for what has happened to me since perhaps I should\nhave thought it a dream too. But now the other explanation seems to me\nmore likely. But the first clear vision that I remember for myself was\nas follows:\n\n\u201cWhen I was about fourteen years old I came home at the end of one July\nfor my summer holidays. The pony-cart was at the station to meet me when\nI arrived about four o\u2019clock in the afternoon; but as there was a short\ncut through the woods, I put my luggage into the cart, and started to\nwalk the mile and a half by myself. The field path presently plunged\ninto a pine wood, and I came over the slippery needles under the high\narches of the pines with that intense ecstatic happiness of home-coming\nthat some natures know so well. I hope sometimes that the first steps on\nthe other side of death may be like that. The air was full of mellow\nsounds that seemed to emphasise the deep stillness of the woods, and of\nmellow lights that stirred among the shadowed greenness. I know this\nnow, though I did not know it then. Until that day although the beauty\nand the colour and sound of the world certainly affected me, yet I was\nnot conscious of them, any more than of the air I breathed, because I\ndid not then know what they meant. Well, I went on in this glowing\ndimness, noticing only the trees that might be climbed, the squirrels\nand moths that might be caught, and the sticks that might be shaped into\narrows or bows.\n\n\u201cI must tell you, too, something of my religion at that time. It was the\nreligion of most well-taught boys. In the fore-ground, if I may put it\nso, was morality: I must not do certain things; I must do certain other\nthings. In the middle distance was a perception of God. Let me say that\nI realised that I was present to Him, but not that He was present to me.\nOur Saviour dwelt in this middle distance, one whom I fancied ordinarily\ntender, sometimes stern. In the background there lay certain mysteries,\nsacramental and otherwise. These were chiefly the affairs of grown-up\npeople. And infinitely far away, like clouds piled upon the horizon of a\nsea, was the invisible world of heaven whence God looked at me, golden\ngates and streets, now towering in their exclusiveness, now on Sunday\nevenings bright with a light of hope, now on wet mornings unutterably\ndreary. But all this was uninteresting to me. Here about me lay the\ntangible enjoyable world\u2013\u2013this was reality: there in a misty picture lay\nreligion, claiming, as I knew, my homage, but not my heart. Well; so I\nwalked through these woods, a tiny human creature, yet greater, if I had\nonly known it, than these giants of ruddy bodies and arms, and garlanded\nheads that stirred above me.\n\n\u201cMy path presently came over a rise in the ground; and on my left lay a\nlong glade, bordered by pines, fringed with bracken, but itself a folded\ncarpet of smooth rabbit-cropped grass, with a quiet oblong pool in the\ncentre, some fifty yards below me.\n\n\u201cNow I cannot tell you how the vision began; but I found myself, without\nexperiencing any conscious shock, standing perfectly still, my lips dry,\nmy eyes smarting with the intensity with which I had been staring down\nthe glade, and one foot aching with the pressure with which I had rested\nupon it. It must have come upon me and enthralled me so swiftly that my\nbrain had no time to reflect. It was no work, therefore, of the\nimagination, but a clear and sudden vision. This is what I remember to\nhave seen.\n\n\u201cI stood on the border of a vast robe; its material was green. A great\nfold of it lay full in view, but I was conscious that it stretched for\nalmost unlimited miles. This great green robe blazed with embroidery.\nThere were straight lines of tawny work on either side which melted\nagain into a darker green in high relief. Right in the centre lay a pale\nagate stitched delicately into the robe with fine dark stitches;\noverhead the blue lining of this silken robe arched out. I was conscious\nthat this robe was vast beyond conception, and that I stood as it were\nin a fold of it, as it lay stretched out on some unseen floor. But,\nclearer than any other thought, stood out in my mind the certainty that\nthis robe had not been flung down and left, but that it clothed a\nPerson. And even as this thought showed itself a ripple ran along the\nhigh relief in dark green, as if the wearer of the robe had just\nstirred. And I felt on my face the breeze of His motion. And it was this\nI suppose that brought me to myself.\n\n\u201cAnd then I looked again, and all was as it had been the last time I had\npassed this way. There was the glade and the pool and the pines and the\nsky overhead, and the Presence was gone. I was a boy walking home from\nthe station, with dear delights of the pony and the air-gun, and the\nwakings morning by morning in my own carpeted bedroom, before me.\n\n\u201cI tried, however, to see it again as I had seen it. No, it was not in\nthe least like a robe; and above all where was the Person that wore it?\nThere was no life about me, except my own, and the insect life that sang\nin the air, and the quiet meditative life of the growing things. But who\nwas this Person I had suddenly perceived? And then it came upon me with\na shock, and yet I was incredulous. It could not be the God of sermons\nand long prayers who demanded my presence Sunday by Sunday in His little\nchurch, that God Who watched me like a stern father. Why religion, I\nthought, told me that all was vanity and unreality, and that rabbits and\npools and glades were nothing compared to Him who sits on the great\nwhite throne.\n\n\u201cI need not tell you that I never spoke of this at home. It seemed to me\nthat I had stumbled upon a scene that was almost dreadful, that might be\nthought over in bed, or during an idle lonely morning in the garden, but\nmust never be spoken of, and I can scarcely tell you when the time came\nthat I understood that there was but one God after all.\u201d\n\nThe old man stopped talking. And I looked out again at the garden\nwithout answering him, and tried myself to see how the poppies were\nembroidered into a robe, and to hear how the chatter of the starlings\nwas but the rustle of its movement, the clink of jewel against jewel,\nand the moan of the pigeon the creaking of the heavy silk, but I could\nnot. The poppies flamed and the birds talked and sobbed, but that was\nall.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nThe Watcher\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                   \u201cIl faut d\u2019abord rendre l\u2019organe de\n                    la vision analogue et semblable \u00e0\n                    l\u2019objet qu\u2019il doit contempler.\u201d\n                                        _Maeterlinck._\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                              The Watcher\n\n\nON the following day we went out soon after breakfast and walked up and\ndown a grass path between two yew hedges; the dew was not yet off the\ngrass that lay in shadow; and thin patches of gossamer still hung like\ntorn cambric on the yew shoots on either side. As we passed for the\nsecond time up the path, the old man suddenly stooped and pushing aside\na dock-leaf at the foot of the hedge lifted a dead mouse, and looked at\nit as it lay stiffly on the palm of his hand, and I saw that his eyes\nfilled slowly with the ready tears of old age.\n\n\u201cHe has chosen his own resting-place,\u201d he said. \u201cLet him lie there. Why\ndid I disturb him?\u201d\u2013\u2013and he laid him gently down again; and then\ngathering a fragment of wet earth he sprinkled it over the mouse. \u201cEarth\nto earth, ashes to ashes,\u201d he said, \u201cin sure and certain hope\u201d\u2013\u2013and then\nhe stopped; and straightening himself with difficulty walked on, and I\nfollowed him.\n\n\u201cYou seemed interested,\u201d he said, \u201cin my story yesterday. Shall I tell\nyou how I saw a very different sight when I was a little older?\u201d And\nwhen I had told him how strange and attractive his story had been, he\nbegan.\n\n\u201cI told you how I found it impossible to see again what I had seen in\nthe glade. For a few weeks, perhaps months, I tried now and then to\nforce myself to feel that Presence, or at least to see that robe, but I\ncould not, because it is the gift of God, and can no more be gained by\neffort than ordinary sight can be won by a sightless man; but I soon\nceased to try.\n\n\u201cI reached eighteen years at last, that terrible age when the soul seems\nto have dwindled to a spark overlaid by a mountain of ashes\u2013\u2013when blood\nand fire and death and loud noises seem the only things of interest, and\nall tender things shrink back and hide from the dreadful noonday of\nmanhood. Some one gave me one of those shot-pistols that you may have\nseen, and I loved the sense of power that it gave me, for I had never\nhad a gun. For a week or two in the summer holidays I was content with\nshooting at a mark, or at the level surface of water, and delighted to\nsee the cardboard shattered, or the quiet pool torn to shreds along its\nmirror where the sky and green lay sleeping. Then that ceased to\ninterest me, and I longed to see a living thing suddenly stop living at\nmy will. Now,\u201d and he held up a deprecating hand, \u201cI think sport is\nnecessary for some natures. After all, the killing of creatures is\nnecessary for man\u2019s food, and sport as you will tell me is a survival of\nman\u2019s delight in obtaining food, and it requires certain noble qualities\nof endurance and skill. I know all that, and I know further that for\nsome natures it is a relief\u2013\u2013an escape for humours that will otherwise\nfind an evil vent. But I do know this\u2013\u2013that for me it was not necessary.\n\n\u201cHowever, there was every excuse, and I went out in good faith one\nsummer evening intending to shoot some rabbit as he ran to cover from\nthe open field. I walked along the inside of a fence with a wood above\nme and on my left, and the green meadow on my right. Well, owing\nprobably to my own lack of skill, though I could hear the patter and\nrush of the rabbits all round me, and could see them in the distance\nsitting up listening with cocked ears, as I stole along the fence, I\ncould not get close enough to fire at them with any hope of what I\nfancied was success; and by the time that I had arrived at the end of\nthe wood I was in an impatient mood.\n\n\u201cI stood for a moment or two leaning on the fence looking out of that\npleasant coolness into the open meadow beyond; the sun had at that\nmoment dipped behind the hill before me and all was in shadow except\nwhere there hung a glory about the topmost leaves of a beech that still\ncaught the sun. The birds were beginning to come in from the fields, and\nwere settling one by one in the wood behind me, staying here and there\nto sing one last line of melody. I could hear the quiet rush and then\nthe sudden clap of a pigeon\u2019s wings as he came home, and as I listened I\nheard pealing out above all other sounds the long liquid song of a\nthrush somewhere above me. I looked up idly and tried to see the bird,\nand after a moment or two caught sight of him as the leaves of the beech\nparted in the breeze, his head lifted and his whole body vibrating with\nthe joy of life and music. As some one has said, his body was one\nbeating heart. The last radiance of the sun over the hill reached him\nand bathed him in golden warmth. Then the leaves closed again as the\nbreeze dropped, but still his song rang out.\n\n\u201cThen there came on me a blinding desire to kill him. All the other\ncreatures had mocked me and run home. Here at least was a victim, and I\nwould pour out the sullen anger that had been gathering during my walk,\nand at least demand this one life as a substitute. Side by side with\nthis I remembered clearly that I had come out to kill for food: that was\nmy one justification. Side by side I saw both these things, and I had no\nexcuse\u2013\u2013no excuse.\n\n\u201cI turned my head every way and moved a step or two back to catch sight\nof him again, and, although, this may sound fantastic and overwrought,\nin my whole being was a struggle between light and darkness. Every fibre\nof my life told me that the thrush had a right to live. Ah! he had\nearned it, if labour were wanting, by this very song that was guiding\ndeath towards him, but black sullen anger had thrown my conscience, and\nwas now struggling to hold it down till the shot had been fired. Still I\nwaited for the breeze, and then it came, cool and sweet-smelling like\nthe breath of a garden, and the leaves parted. There he sang in the\nsunshine, and in a moment I lifted the pistol and drew the trigger.\n\n\u201cWith the crack of the cap came silence overhead, and after what seemed\nan interminable moment came the soft rush of something falling and the\nfaint thud among last year\u2019s leaves. Then I stood half terrified, and\nstared among the dead leaves. All seemed dim and misty. My eyes were\nstill a little dazzled by the bright background of sunlit air and rosy\nclouds on which I had looked with such intensity, and the space beneath\nthe branches was a world of shadows. Still I looked a few yards away,\ntrying to make out the body of the thrush, and fearing to hear a\nstruggle of beating wings among the dry leaves.\n\n\u201cAnd then I lifted my eyes a little, vaguely. A yard or two beyond where\nthe thrush lay was a rhododendron bush. The blossoms had fallen and the\noutline of dark, heavy leaves was unrelieved by the slightest touch of\ncolour. As I looked at it, I saw a face looking down from the higher\nbranches.\n\n\u201cIt was a perfectly hairless head and face, the thin lips were parted in\na wide smile of laughter, there were innumerable lines about the corners\nof the mouth, and the eyes were surrounded by creases of merriment. What\nwas perhaps most terrible about it all was that the eyes were not\nlooking at me, but down among the leaves; the heavy eyelids lay\ndrooping, and the long, narrow, shining slits showed how the eyes\nlaughed beneath them. The forehead sloped quickly back, like a cat\u2019s\nhead. The face was the colour of earth, and the outlines of the head\nfaded below the ears and chin into the gloom of the dark bush. There was\nno throat, or body or limbs so far as I could see. The face just hung\nthere like a down-turned Eastern mask in an old curiosity shop. And it\nsmiled with sheer delight, not at me, but at the thrush\u2019s body. There\nwas no change of expression so long as I watched it, just a silent smile\nof pleasure petrified on the face. I could not move my eyes from it.\n\n\u201cAfter what I suppose was a minute or so, the face had gone. I did not\nsee it go, but I became aware that I was looking only at leaves.\n\n\u201cNo; there was no outline of leaf, or play of shadows that could\npossibly have taken the form of a face. You can guess how I tried to\nforce myself to believe that that was all; how I turned my head this way\nand that to catch it again; but there was no hint of a face.\n\n\u201cNow, I cannot tell you how I did it; but although I was half beside\nmyself with fright, I went forward towards the bush and searched\nfuriously among the leaves for the body of the thrush; and at last I\nfound it, and lifted it. It was still limp and warm to the touch. Its\nbreast was a little ruffled, and one tiny drop of blood lay at the root\nof the beak below the eyes, like a tear of dismay and sorrow at such an\nunmerited, unexpected death.\n\n\u201cI carried it to the fence and climbed over, and then began to run in\ngreat steps, looking now and then awfully at the gathering gloom of the\nwood behind, where the laughing face had mocked the dead. I think,\nlooking back as I do now, that my chief instinct was that I could not\nleave the thrush there to be laughed at, and that I must get it out into\nthe clean, airy meadow. When I reached the middle of the meadow I came\nto a pond which never ran quite dry even in the hottest summer. On the\nbank I laid the thrush down, and then deliberately but with all my force\ndashed the pistol into the water; then emptied my pockets of the\ncartridges and threw them in too.\n\n\u201cThen I turned again to the piteous little body, feeling that at least I\nhad tried to make amends. There was an old rabbit hole near, the grass\ngrowing down in its mouth, and a tangle of web and dead leaves behind. I\nscooped a little space out among the leaves, and then laid the thrush\nthere; gathered a little of the sandy soil and poured it over the body,\nsaying, I remember, half unconsciously, \u2018Earth to earth, ashes to ashes,\nin sure and certain hope\u2019\u2013\u2013and then I stopped, feeling I had been a\nlittle profane, though I do not think so now. And then I went home.\n\n\u201cAs I dressed for dinner, looking out over the darkening meadow where\nthe thrush lay, I remember feeling happy that no evil thing could mock\nthe defenceless dead out there in the clean meadow where the wind blew\nand the stars shone down.\u201d\n\nWe reached in our going to and fro up the yew path a little seat at the\nend standing back from the path. Opposite us hung a crucifix, with a\npent-house over it, that the old man had put up years before. As he did\nnot speak I turned to him, and saw that he was looking steadily at the\nFigure on the Cross; and I thought how He who bore our griefs and\ncarried our sorrows was one with the heavenly Father, without whom not\neven a sparrow falls to the ground.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nThe Blood-Eagle\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n              \u201cAnd this I know: whether the one True Light\n               Kindle to Love or Wrath\u2013\u2013consume me quite,\n                 One glimpse of It within the Tavern caught\n               Better than in the Temple lost outright.\u201d\n                                            _Omar Khayyam._\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                            The Blood-Eagle\n\n\nONE night when I went to my room I found in a little shelf near the\nwindow a book, whose title I now forget, describing the far-off days\nwhen the religion of Christ and of the gods of the north strove together\nin England. I read this for an hour or two before I went to sleep, and\nagain as I was dressing on the following morning, and spoke of it at\nbreakfast.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the old man, \u201cthat was one of my father\u2019s books. I remember\nreading it when I was a boy. I believe it is said to be very\nill-informed and unscientific in these days. My parents used to think\nthat all religions except Christianity were of the devil. But I think\nSt. Paul teaches us a larger hope than that.\u201d\n\nHe said nothing more at the time; but in the course of the morning, as I\nwas walking up and down the raised terrace that runs under the pines\nbeside the drive, I saw the priest coming towards me with a book in his\nhand. He was a little dusty and flushed.\n\n\u201cI went to look for something that I thought might interest you, after\nwhat you said at breakfast,\u201d he began, \u201cand I have found it at last in\nthe loft.\u201d\n\nWe began to walk together up and down.\n\n\u201cA very curious thing happened to me,\u201d he said, \u201cwhen I was a boy. I\nremember telling my father of it when I came home, and it remained in my\nmind. A few years afterwards an old professor was staying with us; and\nafter dinner one night, when we had been talking about what you were\nspeaking of at breakfast, my father made me tell it again, and when I\nhad finished the professor asked me to write it down for him. So I wrote\nit in this book first; and then made a copy and sent it to him. The book\nitself is a kind of irregular diary in which I used to write sometimes.\nWould you care to hear it?\u201d\n\nWhen I had told him I should like to hear the story, he began again.\n\n\u201cI must first tell you the circumstances. I was about sixteen years old.\nMy parents had gone abroad for the holidays, and I went to stay with a\nschool friend of mine at his home not far from Ascot. We used to take\nour lunch with us sometimes on bright days\u2013\u2013for it was at Christmas\ntime\u2013\u2013and go off for the day over the heather. You must remember that I\nwas only a schoolboy at the time, so I daresay I exaggerated or\nelaborated some of the details a little, but the main facts of the story\nyou can rely upon. Shall we sit down while I read it?\u201d\n\nThen when we had seated ourselves on a bench that stood at the end of\nthe terrace, with the old house basking before us in the hot sunshine,\nhe began to read.\n\n\u201cAbout six o\u2019clock in the evening of one of the days towards the end of\nJanuary, Jack and I were still wandering on high, heathy ground near\nAscot. We had walked all day and had lost ourselves; but we kept going\nin as straight a line as we could, knowing that in time we should strike\nacross a road. We were rather tired and silent; but suddenly Jack\nuttered an exclamation, and then pointed out a light across the heath.\nWe stood a moment to see if it moved, but it remained still.\n\n\u201c\u2018What is it?\u2019 I asked. \u2018There can be no house near here.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018It\u2019s a broomsquire\u2019s cottage, I expect,\u2019 said Jack.\n\n\u201cI asked what that meant.\n\n\u201c\u2018Oh! I don\u2019t know exactly,\u2019 said Jack; \u2018they\u2019re a kind of gypsies.\u2019\n\n\u201cWe stumbled on across the heather, while the light grew steadily\nnearer. The moon was beginning to rise, and it was a clear night, one of\nthose windless, frosty nights that sometimes come after a wet autumn.\nJack plunged at one place into a hidden ditch, and I heard the crackling\nof ice as he scrambled out.\n\n\u201c\u2018Skating to-morrow, by Jove,\u2019 he said.\n\n\u201cAs we got closer I began to see that we were approaching a copse of\nfirs; the heather began to get shorter. Then, as I looked at the light,\nI saw there was a fixed outline of a kind of house out of which it\nshone. The window apparently was an irregular shape, and the house\nseemed to be leaning against a tall fir on the outskirts of the copse.\nAs we got quite close, our feet noiseless on the soft heather, I saw\nthat the house was built altogether round the fir, which served as a\nkind of central prop. The house was made of wattled boughs, and thatched\nheavily with heather.\n\n\u201cI felt more and more anxious about it, for I had never heard of\n\u2018broomsquires,\u2019 and also, I confess, a little timid; for the place was\nlonely, and we were only two boys. I was leading now, and presently\nreached the window and looked in.\n\n\u201cThe walls inside were hung with blankets and clothes to keep the wind\nout; there was a long old settle in one corner, the floor was carpeted\nwith branches and blankets apparently, and there was an opening\nopposite, partly closed by a wattled hurdle that leaned against it. Half\nsitting and half lying on the settle, was an old woman with her face\nhidden. An oil-lamp hung from one of the branches of the fir that helped\nto form the roof. There was no sign of any other living thing in the\nplace. As I looked Jack came up behind and spoke over my shoulder.\n\n\u201c\u2018Can you tell us the way to the nearest high-road?\u2019 he asked.\n\n\u201cThe old woman sat up suddenly, with a look of fright on her face. She\nwas extraordinarily dirty and ill-kempt. I could see in the dim light of\nthe lamp that she had a wrinkled old face, with sunken dark eyes, white\neyebrows, and white hair; and her mouth began to mumble as she looked at\nus. Presently she made a violent gesture to wave us from the window.\n\n\u201cJack repeated the question, and the old woman got up and hobbled\nquietly and crookedly to the door, and in a moment she had come round\nclose to us. I then saw how very small she was. She could not have been\nfive feet tall, and was very much bent. I must say again that I felt\nvery uneasy and startled with this terrifying old creature close to me\nand peering up into my face. She took me by the coat and with her other\nhand beckoned quickly away in every direction. She seemed to be warning\nus away from the copse, but still she said nothing.\n\n\u201cJack grew impatient.\n\n\u201c\u2018Deaf old fool!\u2019 he said in an undertone, and then loudly and slowly,\n\u2018Can you tell us the way to the nearest high-road?\u2019\n\n\u201cThen she seemed to understand, and pointed vigorously in the direction\nfrom which we had come.\n\n\u201c\u2018Oh! nonsense,\u2019 said Jack, \u2018we\u2019ve come from there. Come on this way,\u2019\nhe said, \u2018we can\u2019t spend all night here.\u2019 And then he turned the side of\nthe little house and disappeared into the copse.\n\n\u201cThe old woman dropped my coat in a moment, and began to run after Jack,\nand I went round the other side of the house and saw Jack moving in\nfront, for the firs were sparse at the edge of the wood, and the\nmoonlight filtered through them. The old woman, I saw as I turned into\nthe wood, had stopped, knowing she could not catch us, and was standing\nwith her hands stretched out, and a curious sound, half cry and half sob\ncame from her. I was a little uneasy, because we had not treated her\nwith courtesy, and stopped, but at that moment Jack called.\n\n\u201c\u2018Come on,\u2019 he said, \u2018we\u2019re sure to find a road at the end of this.\u2019\n\n\u201cSo I went on.\n\n\u201cOnce I turned and saw the little old woman standing as before; and as I\nlooked between the trees she lifted one hand to her mouth and sent a\ncurious whistling cry after us, that somehow frightened me. It seemed\ntoo loud for one so small.\n\n\u201cAs we went on the wood grew darker. Here and there in an open patch\nthere lay a white splash of moonlight on the fir needles, and great dim\nspaces lay round us. Although the wood stood on high ground, the trees\ngrew so thickly about us that we could see nothing of the country round.\nNow and then we tripped on a root, or else caught in a bramble, but it\nseemed to me that we were following a narrow path that led deeper and\ndeeper into the heart of the wood. Suddenly Jack stopped and lifted his\nhand.\n\n\u201c\u2018Hush!\u2019 he said.\n\n\u201cI stopped too, and we listened breathlessly. Then in a moment more,\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013\n\n\u201c\u2018Hush!\u2019 he said, \u2018something\u2019s coming,\u2019 and he jumped out of the path\nbehind a tree, and I followed him.\n\n\u201cThen we heard a scuffling in front of us and a grunting, and some big\ncreature came hurrying down the path. As it passed us I looked, almost\nterrified out of my mind, and saw that it was a huge pig; but the thing\nthat held me breathless and sick was that there ran nearly the whole\nlength of its back a deep wound, from which the blood dripped. The\ncreature, grunting heavily, tore down the path towards the cottage, and\npresently the sound of it died away. As I leaned against Jack, I could\nfeel his arm trembling as it held the tree.\n\n\u201c\u2018Oh!\u2019 he said in a moment, \u2018we must get out of this. Which way, which\nway?\u2019\n\n\u201cBut I had been still listening, and held him quiet.\n\n\u201c\u2018Wait,\u2019 I said, \u2018there is something else.\u2019\n\n\u201cOut of the wood in front of us there came a panting, and the soft\nsounds of hobbling steps along the path. We crouched lower and watched.\nPresently the figure of a bent old man came in sight, making his way\nquickly along the path. He seemed startled and out of breath. His mouth\nwas moving, and he was talking to himself in a low voice in a\ncomplaining tone, but his eyes searched the wood from side to side.\n\n\u201cAs he came quite close to us, as we lay hardly daring to breathe, I saw\none of his hands that hung in front of him, opening and shutting; and\nthat it was stained with what looked black in the moonlight. He did not\nsee us, as by now we were hidden by a great bramble bush, and he passed\non down the path; and then all was silent again.\n\n\u201cWhen a few minutes had passed in perfect stillness, we got up and went\non, but neither of us cared to walk in the path down which those two\nterrible dripping things had come; and we went stumbling over the broken\nground, keeping a parallel course to the path for about another two\nhundred yards. Jack had begun to recover himself, and even began to talk\nand laugh at being frightened at a pig and an old man. He told me\nafterwards that he had not seen the old man\u2019s hand.\n\n\u201cThen the path began to lead uphill. At this point I suddenly stopped\nJack.\n\n\u201c\u2018Do you see nothing?\u2019 I asked.\n\n\u201cNow I scarcely remember what I said or did. But this is what my friend\ntold me afterwards. Jack said there was nothing but a little rising\nground in front, from which the trees stood back.\n\n\u201c\u2018Do you see nothing on the top of the mound? Out in the open, where the\nmoonlight falls on her?\u2019\n\n\u201cJack told me afterwards that he thought I had gone suddenly mad, and\ngrew frightened himself.\n\n\u201c\u2018Do you not see a woman standing there? She has long yellow hair in two\nbraids; she has thick gold bracelets on her bare arms. She has a tunic,\nbound by a girdle, and it comes below her knees: and she has red jewels\nin her hair, on her belt, on her bracelets; and her eyes shine in the\nmoonlight: and she is waiting,\u2013\u2013waiting for that which has escaped.\u2019\n\n\u201cNow Jack tells me that when I said this I fell flat on my face, with my\nhands stretched out, and began to talk: but he said he could not\nunderstand a word I said. He himself looked steadily at the rising\nground, but there was nothing to be seen there: there were the fir-trees\nstanding in a circle round it, and a bare space in the middle, from\nwhich the heather was gone, and that was all. This mound would be about\nfifteen yards from us.\n\n\u201cI lay there, said Jack, a few minutes, and then sat up and looked about\nme. Then I remembered for myself that I had seen the pig and the old\nman, but nothing more: but I was terrified at the remembrance, and\ninsisted upon our striking out a new course through the wood, and\nleaving the mound to our left. I did not know myself why the mound\nfrightened me, but I dared not go near it. Jack wisely did not say\nanything more about it until afterwards. We presently found our way out\nof the copse, struck across the heath for another half-mile or so, and\nthen came across a road which Jack knew, and so we came home.\n\n\u201cWhen we told our story, and Jack, to my astonishment, had added the\npart of which I myself had no remembrance, Jack\u2019s father did not say\nvery much; but he took us next day to identify the place. To our intense\nsurprise the house of the broomsquire was gone; there were the trampled\nbranches round the tree, and the smoked branch from which the oil lamp\nhad hung, and the ashes of a wood-fire outside the house, but no sign of\nthe old man or his wife. As we went along the path, now in the cheerful\nfrosty sunshine, we found dark splashes here and there on the brambles,\nbut they were dry and colourless. Then we came to the mound.\n\n\u201cI grew uneasy again as we came to it, but was ashamed to show my fear\nin the broad daylight.\n\n\u201cOn the top we found a curious thing, which Jack\u2019s father told us was\none of the old customs of the broomsquires, that no one was altogether\nable to explain. The ground was shovelled away, so as to form a kind of\nsloping passage downwards into the earth. The passage was not more than\nfive yards long; and at the end of it, just where it was covered by the\nground overhead, was a sort of altar, made of earth and stones beaten\nflat; and plastered into its surface were bits of old china and glass.\nBut what startled us was to find a dark patch of something which had\nsoaked deep into the ground before the altar. It was still damp.\u201d\n\nWhen the old man had read so far, he laid down the book.\n\n\u201cWhen I told all this to the Professor,\u201d he said, \u201che seemed very deeply\ninterested. He told us, I remember, that the wound on the pig identified\nthe nature of the sacrifice that the old man had begun to offer. He\ncalled it a \u2018blood-eagle,\u2019 and added some details which I will not\ndisgust you with. He said too that the broomsquire had confused two\nrites\u2013\u2013that only human sacrifices should be offered as \u2018blood-eagles.\u2019\nIn fact it all seemed perfectly familiar to him: and he said more than I\ncan either remember or verify.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the woman on the rising ground?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the old man, smiling, \u201cthe Professor would not listen to my\nevidence about that. He accepted the early part of the story, and simply\ndeclined to pay any attention to the woman. He said I had been reading\nNorse tales, or was dreaming. He even hinted that I was romancing. Under\nother circumstances this method of treating evidence would be called\n\u2018Higher Criticism,\u2019 I believe.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut it\u2019s all a brutal and disgusting worship,\u201d I said.\n\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d said the old man, \u201cvery brutal and disgusting; but is it not\nvery much higher and better than the Professor\u2019s faith? He was only a\nskilled Ritualist after all, you see.\u201d\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nOver the Gateway\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                \u201c\u2013\u2013For faith, that, when my need is sore,\n                 Gleams from a partly-open door,\n                 And shows the firelight on the floor\u2013\u2013\u201d\n                           _A Canticle of Common Things._\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                            Over the Gateway\n\n\nWE were sitting together one morning in the common sitting-room in the\ncentre of the house. There had been a fall of rain during the night, and\nit was thought better that the old man should not sit in the garden\nuntil the sun had dried the earth\u2013\u2013so we sat indoors instead, but with\nthe great door wide open, that looked on to a rectangle of lawn that lay\nbefore the house. Once a drive had led to this door through a gate with\npedestals and stone balls, that stood exactly opposite, about fifteen\nyards away, but the drive had long been grassed over; although even now\nit showed faintly under two slight ridges in the grass that ran from the\ngate to the door. Otherwise the lawn was enclosed by a low old brick\nwall, almost hidden by a wealth of ivy, against which showed in rich\nmasses of colour the heads of purple and yellow irises and tawny\nwallflowers.\n\nThe old man had been silent at breakfast. He had offered the Holy\nSacrifice as usual that morning in the little chapel upstairs, and I had\nnoticed at the time even that he seemed pre-occupied: and at breakfast\nhe had talked very little, letting every subject drop as I suggested it;\nand I had understood at last that his thoughts were far away in the\npast; and I did not wish to trouble him.\n\nWe were sitting in two tall carved chairs at the doorway, his feet were\nwrapped in a rug, and his eyes were looking steadily and mournfully out\nacross towards the iron-work gate in the wall. Tall grasses of the patch\nof uncut meadow outside leaned against it or pushed their feathery heads\nthrough it; and I saw presently that the priest was looking at the gate,\nletting his eyes rove over every detail of climbing plant, iron-work and\nthe old brickwork\u2013\u2013and not, as I had at first thought, merely gazing\ninto the dim distances of the years behind him.\n\nSuddenly he broke the long silence.\n\n\u201cDid I ever tell you,\u201d he asked, \u201cabout what I saw out there in the\ngarden? It looks ordinary enough now: yet I saw there what I suppose I\nshall never see again on this side of death, or at least not until I am\nin the very gate of death itself.\u201d\n\nI too looked out at the gate. The atmosphere was full of that \u201cclear\nshining after rain\u201d of which King David sang\u2013\u2013it was air made visible\nand radiant by the union of light and water, those two most joyous\ncreatures of God. A great chestnut tree blotted out all beyond the gate.\n\n\u201cTell me if you can,\u201d I said. \u201cYou know how I love to hear those\nstories.\u201d\n\n\u201cYears ago, as perhaps you know, not long after my ordination I was\nworking in London. My father lived here then, as his father before him.\nThat coat of arms in the centre of that iron gate was put up by him soon\nafter he succeeded to the property. I used to come down here now and\nthen for a breath of country air. I hardly remember any pleasure so keen\nas the pleasure of coming into this glorious country air out of the\nsmoke and noise of London\u2013\u2013or of lying awake at night with the rustle of\nthe pines outside my window instead of the ceaseless human tumult of the\ntown.\n\n\u201cWell, I came down here once, suddenly, on a summer evening, bearing\nheavy news. I need not go into details; it would be useless to do\nthat\u2013\u2013but it will be enough to say that the news did not personally\naffect me or my family. It was a curious series of circumstances that\nled me to be the bearer of such news at all\u2013\u2013but it was to a lady who\nhappened by the merest chance to be staying with my family. I scarcely\nknew her at all\u2013\u2013in fact I had only seen her once before. The news had\ncome to my ears in London, and I had heard that the one whom it most\nconcerned did not know it\u2013\u2013and that they dared not write or telegraph. I\nvolunteered of course to take the news myself.\n\n\u201cIt was with a very heavy heart that I walked up from the station\u2013\u2013the\nroad seemed intolerably short. I may say that I knew that the news would\nbe heart-breaking to her who had to hear it. I came in by the gate at\nthe end of the avenue\u201d (he waved his hand round to the right) \u201cand\npassed right down to the back of the house, behind us. This door at\nwhich we are sitting had been the front door, but the drive had just\nbeen turfed over, and we used the door at the back instead, and this\nlawn here was very much as you see it now, only the drive still showed\nplainly like a long narrow grave across the grass.\n\n\u201cAs I came in through the door at the back, she was coming out, with a\nbook and a basket-chair to sit in the garden. My heart gave a terrible\nthrob of pain\u2013\u2013for I knew that by the time my business was done there\nwould be no thought of a quiet evening in the garden, and that look of\nserene happiness would be wiped out of her face\u2013\u2013and all through what I\nhad to say. For a moment she did not recognise me in the dark entry and\nstood back as I came in, and then\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013\n\n\u201c\u2018Why it is you,\u2019 she said; \u2018you have come home. I did not know you were\nexpected.\u2019\n\n\u201cI breathed a moment steadily to recover myself.\n\n\u201c\u2018I was not expected,\u2019 I said; and then, after a moment: \u2018May I speak to\nyou?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Speak to me? Why, certainly. In the garden or here?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018In here,\u2019 I answered, and went past her and pushed open the door into\nthis room.\n\n\u201cShe came past me, and stood here by the door still holding the book,\nwith her finger between the leaves.\n\n\u201cNow you are wondering, I expect, why I did not get some other woman to\nbreak the news to her. Well, I had debated that ever since I had\nvolunteered to be the bearer of these tidings: and partly because I was\nafraid of being cowardly\u2013\u2013call it pride if you will\u2013\u2013and partly for\nother reasons which I need not mention, I felt I was bound to fulfil my\npromise literally. It might be, I thought too, that she would prefer the\nnews to be known by as few people as possible. At least, whether I\njudged rightly or wrongly, here was my task before me.\n\n\u201cShe stood there,\u201d the old man went on, pointing to the doorpost on the\nright, \u201cand I here,\u201d and he pointed a yard further back, \u201cand the door\nwas wide open as it is now, and the fragrant evening air poured past us\ninto the room. Her face would be partly in shadow; but in her eyes there\nwas just a dawning wonder at my abruptness, with perhaps the faintest\ntinge of anxiety, but no more.\n\n\u201c\u2018I have come,\u2019 I said slowly, looking out into the garden, \u2018on a very\nhard errand.\u2019 I could not go on. I turned and looked at her. Ah! the\nanxiety had deepened a little. \u2018And\u2013\u2013and it concerns you and your\nhappiness.\u2019 I looked again, and I remember how her face had changed. Her\nlips were a little open, and her eyes shone wide open, half in shadow\nand half in light, and there were new and terrible little lines on her\nforehead. And then I told her.\n\n\u201cIt was done in a sentence or two, and when I looked again her lips had\nclosed and her hand had clenched itself into the moulding of the\ndoorpost. I can see her rings now blazing in the light that poured over\nthe chestnut tree (it was lower then) into the room. Then her lips moved\nonce or twice\u2013\u2013her hand unclenched itself hesitatingly\u2013\u2013and she went\nsteadily across the room. There was a great sofa there then, and when\nshe reached it she threw herself face downwards across the arm and back.\n\n\u201cAnd I waited at the doorway, looking out at the iron gate. Sorrow was\nnew to me then. I had not learnt to understand it then, or to be quiet\nunder it. And as I looked I knew only that there was a terrible struggle\ngoing on in the room behind. There in front of me was a garden full of\npeace and sweetness and the soft glow of sunset light; and there behind\nme was something very like hell\u2013\u2013and I stood between the living and the\ndead.\n\n\u201cThen I remembered that I was a priest, and ought to be able to say\nsomething\u2013\u2013just a word of the Divine message that the Saviour\nbrought\u2013\u2013but I could not. I felt I was in deep waters. Even God seemed\nfar away, intolerably serene and aloof; and I longed with all my power\nfor a human person to pray and to bear a little of that strife behind\nme, from which I felt separated by so wide a gulf. And then God gave me\nthe clear vision again.\n\n\u201cYou see the iron gate,\u201d the old man went on, pointing. \u201cWell, right\nbetween those posts, but a little above them, outlined clearly against\nthe chestnut tree, beyond, was the figure of a man.\n\n\u201cNow I do not know how to explain myself, but I was conscious that\nacross this material world of light and colour there cut a plane of the\nspiritual world, and that where the planes crossed I could look through\nand see what was beyond. It was like smoke cutting across a sunbeam.\nEach made the other visible.\n\n\u201cWell, this figure of a man, then, was kneeling in the air, that is the\nonly way I can describe it\u2013\u2013his face was turned towards me, but upwards.\nNow the most curious thing that struck me at the time was that he was,\nas it were, leaning at a sharp angle to one side; but it did not appear\nto be grotesque. Instead the world seemed tilted; the chestnut tree was\nout of the perpendicular; the wall out of the horizontal. The true level\nwas that of the man.\n\n\u201cI know this sounds foolish, but it showed me how the world of spirits\nwas the real world, and the world of sense comparatively unreal, just as\nthe sorrow of the woman behind me was more real than the beams overhead.\n\n\u201cAnd again, compared with the kneeling figure, the chestnut tree and the\ngate seemed unsubstantial and shadowy. I know that men who see visions\ntell us that it is usually the other way. All I can say is that it was\nnot so with me. This figure was kneeling, as I have said; his robe\nstreamed away behind him\u2013\u2013a great cloak\u2013\u2013drawn tightly back from the\nshoulders, as if he were battling with a strong wind\u2013\u2013the Wind of Grace,\nI suppose, that always blows from the Throne. His arms were stretched\nout in front of him, but opened sufficiently to let me see his face; and\nhis face will be with me till I die, and please God afterwards. It was\nbeardless, and bore the unmistakable character of a priest\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cNow you know how close the intensest pain and the intensest joy lie\ntogether. Their lines so nearly meet. In this man\u2019s face they did meet.\nAnguish and ecstasy were one. His eyes were open, his lips parted. I\ncould not tell whether he was old or young. His face was ageless, as the\nfaces of all are who look upon Him who inhabits eternity. He was\npraying. I can say no more than that. He had opened his heart to this\nwoman\u2019s sorrow. He had made it his own: and it met there, in petition if\nyou wish to call it so, or in resignation if you prefer that name for\nit, or in adoration\u2013\u2013you may call it what you will\u2013\u2013all that is true,\nbut each is inadequate\u2013\u2013but that sorrow met there with his own purified\nwill, which itself had become one with the eternal will of God. I tell\nyou I know it.\n\n\u201cI looked at him, and in my ears was a sobbing from the room behind; but\nas I looked the glory of anguish deepened on his face, and the sobbing\nbehind me slackened and ceased, and I heard a whispering and the name of\nGod and of His Son, and then the sight before me had passed; and there\nstood the chestnut tree again as real and as beautiful as before; and\nwhen I turned the woman was standing up, and the light of conquest was\nin her eyes.\n\n\u201cShe held out her hand to me, and I stooped and kissed it, but I dared\nnot take it in my own, for she had been in heavenly places. I had seen\nher sorrow carried and laid before the throne of God by one greater than\neither of us, and something of his glory rested upon her.\u201d\n\nThe old man\u2019s voice ceased. When I turned to look at him he was looking\nsteadily again at the iron gate in the wall, and his eyes were shining\nlike the radiant air outside. \u201cI do not know,\u201d he said in a moment,\n\u201cwhether she is alive or dead, but I offered the Holy Sacrifice this\nmorning for her peace in either state.\u201d\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nPoena Damni\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n   \u201cAll their sins stand before them, and produce in their essences\n    remorse, eternal despair and a hostile will against God. For such a\n    soul there is no remedy. It cannot come into the light of God....\n    Even if St. Peter had left many thousand keys upon earth, not a\n    single one of them could open Heaven for it.\u201d\n\n                                                      _A German Mystic._\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                              Poena Damni\n\n\nWE were sitting at dinner one evening when the priest, who had been\ntalkative, seemed to fall into a painful train of thought that silenced\nhim. He grew more and more ill at ease, and was obviously relieved when\nI threw my cigarette away and he was able to propose a move to the next\nroom. Presently his distress seemed to pass; and then, as we sat near\nthe fireplace, he explained himself.\n\n\u201cI must ask your pardon,\u201d he said, \u201cbut somehow I fell into a very\ndreadful train of thought. It was suggested to me, I think, by the red\nlamp on the table and the evening light through the windows, and the\nsilver and glass. (You know the power of association!) I went through\none of the most fearful moments of my life under just those\ncircumstances.\u201d\n\nI was silent, as the priest seemed to have more to say.\n\n\u201cIt has affected my nerves,\u201d he said, \u201cand it would be rather a relief\nto tell you. Would you mind if I did so?\u201d\n\nOn my assurance that it would greatly interest me, he began.\n\n\u201cIt is a fashion among those who do not really accept Revelation as\nrevelation to believe in a kind of Universalism. Quite apart from\nauthority, this doctrine contravenes, as you of course know, the reality\nof man\u2019s free will. The incident of which I wish to tell you concerns\nthe way in which I first caught a glimpse of that for myself.\n\n\u201cA good many years ago I made the acquaintance of a man in the West of\nEngland, under circumstances that I need not describe further than\nsaying that he seemed to have confidence in me. He asked me to stay with\nhim in his country house, and I went down from London for the inside of\na week. I found him living the usual country life, fishing and so forth;\nfor it was summer when I visited him. It was a fine old house that he\nlived in, surrounded by coverts. He had a charming wife and two or three\nchildren, and at first I thought him extremely happy and contented.\n\n\u201cThen I thought that I noticed that things were not so well with him.\nThe cottages on his estate were ill-cared for, and that is always a bad\nsign. From one or two small signs, such as you can guess, I found that\nthe tone among his servants was not what it should be; and one or two\nhorrid pieces of cruelty came under my notice. I know this sounds as if\nI were a sort of spy, greedy for information; but all that I can say is,\nthat these signs were unmistakable and obvious, and came to me, of\ncourse, unsought and unexpected. Then I saw that his domestic relations\nwere not right. I do not know how else to describe all this than by\nsaying that there seemed a kind of blight upon his surroundings. Nothing\nwas absolutely wrong, and yet all was just wrong.\n\n\u201cAt first I thought that I myself was depressed or jaundiced in some\nway; but at last I could not continue to believe that; and on the Friday\nof my stay, the last day, I became finally certain that something was\nhorribly wrong with the man himself. Then that evening he opened his\nheart to me, so far as it was possible for him to do so.\n\n\u201cHis wife, with the two daughters, had left us after dessert and gone\ninto the garden, and we remained in the dining-room. The windows looked\nto the west, across a smooth sloping lawn, with the lake at the end;\nbeyond that rose up a delicate birch wood, and beyond that again a soft\ngreen sky, where the sun had set, deepening into a liquid evening blue\noverhead, in which a star or two glimmered. I could see, as I looked\nout, the white figures of his wife and daughters against the shining\nsurface of the lake at the end of the lawn.\n\n\u201cAfter he had lit his cigarette, and had a glass or two of wine,\nsuddenly he opened his heart to me, and told me an appalling story that\nI could not tell you. I sat and watched his strong sinewy hand rise and\nfall with the cigarette, under the red lamp-light; I glanced at his\nquiet well-bred face with the downcast eyes and the long moustache, and\nI wondered whether it was possible really for such a tale to be true;\nbut he spoke with a restrained conviction that left no room for doubt.\nWhat I gathered from the story was this;\u2013\u2013that he had identified\nhimself, his whole will, his whole life practically, with the cause of\nSatan. I could not detect as he talked that he had ever seriously\nattempted to detach himself from that cause. It has been said that a\nsaint is one who always chooses the better of the two courses open to\nhim at every step; so far as I could see this man had always chosen the\nworse of the two courses. When he had done things that you and I would\nthink right, he had always done them for some bad reason. He had been\ncontinuously aware, too, of what was happening. I do not think that I\nhave ever heard such a skilful self-analysis. Now and then, as I saw the\ngulf of despair towards which his talk was leading, I interrupted him,\nsuggesting alleviations of the horror\u2013\u2013suggesting that he was\npessimistic\u2013\u2013that he had acted often under misconceptions\u2013\u2013and the like;\nbut he always met me with a quiet answer that silenced me. In fact,\u201d\nsaid the priest, who was beginning to tremble a little, \u201cI have never\nthought it possible that a heart could be so corrupt and yet retain so\nmuch knowledge and feeling.\n\n\u201cWhen he had finished his story he looked at me for a moment, and then\nsaid:\n\n\u201c\u2018Lately I have seen what I have lost, and what I shall lose; and I have\ntold you this to ask if the Christian Gospel has any hope for such as I\nam.\u2019\n\n\u201cOf course I answered as a Christian priest must answer, for I honestly\nthought that here was the greatest miracle of God\u2019s grace that I had\never seen. When I had finished I lifted my eyes from the cloth and\nlooked up. His fingers, while I was speaking, had been playing with an\napostle spoon, but as I looked up he looked up too, and our eyes met.\u201d\n\nAs the priest said this, he got up, and leaned his head against the high\noak mantelpiece, and was silent a moment. Then he went on:\n\n\u201cGod forgive me if I was wrong\u2013\u2013if I am wrong now\u2013\u2013but this is what I\nthink I saw.\n\n\u201cOut of his eyes looked a lost soul. As a symbol, or a sign, too, his\neyes shone suddenly with that dull red light that you may see sometimes\nin a dog\u2019s eyes. It was the _poena damni_ of which I had read, which\nshone there. It was true, as he had said, that he was seeing clearly\nwhat he had lost and would lose; it was the gate of heaven opening to\none who could not enter in. It was the chink of light under the door to\none who cried, \u2018Lord, Lord, open to me,\u2019 but through the door there came\nthat answer, \u2018I know you not.\u2019 Ah! it was not that he had never known\nbefore what God was, and His service and love; it was just his\ncondemnation that he had known: that he had seen, not once or twice but\nagain and again, the two ways, and had, not once nor twice but again and\nagain, chosen the worse of those two; and now he was powerless.\n\n\u201cI tell you I saw this for a moment. There was this human face, so\nwell-bred, with its delicate lines, looking almost ethereal in the soft\nred light of the lamp: behind him, between the windows hung a portrait\nof an ancestor, some old Caroline divine in ruff and bands. Through the\nwindows was that sweet glory of evening\u2013\u2013with the three figures by the\nlake. Here, between us, was the delicate soothing luxury of cleanliness\nand coolness and refreshment, such as glass and silver and fruit\nsuggest: and there for one second in this frame of beauty and peace\nlooked the eyes of one who desired even a drop of living water to cool\nhis tongue, for he was tormented in a flame.\n\n\u201cAnd I saw all this; and then the room began to swim and whirl, and the\ntable to tilt and sway, and I fell, I suppose, forward, and sank down on\nto the floor. When I recovered there were the men in the room, and the\nanxious face of my host looking down on me.\n\n\u201cI had to return to town the next morning. I wrote to him a long letter\nthe following week, saying that I had been ill on the evening on which\nhe had given me his confidence: and that I had not said all that I could\nsay: and I went on, giving the lie to what I had thought I had seen,\nspeaking to him as I should speak to any soul who was weary of sin and\ndesired God.\n\n\u201cIndeed I thought it most possible, as I wrote the letter, that I had\nhad a horrible delusion; and that all could be well with him. I got an\nanswer of a few lines, saying that he must apologise for having troubled\nme with such a story; adding that he had greatly exaggerated his own\nsin; that he too had been over-excited and unwell: and that he too\ntrusted in a God of Love\u2013\u2013and begging me not to refer to the\nconversation again.\u201d\n\nThe priest sat down again.\n\n\u201cNow you may of course accept this version of it, if you will. I only\nwould to God that I could too.\u201d\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n\u201cConsolatrix Afflictorum\u201d\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n   \u201cShould it be burdensome for thee ... she will for thy sake herself\n    raise me up when I chance to fall, and console me when sorrowing.\u201d\n\n                                               _St. Leander of Seville._\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                       \u201cConsolatrix Afflictorum\u201d\n\n\nTHE following letter will explain itself.\n\nThe original was read to me by my friend on one of those days during my\nstay with him; and he allowed me, at my request, to make a copy. The\nsermon referred to in the first sentence of the letter was preached in a\nforeign watering-place on Christmas Day.\n\n                                                              \u201cVILLA\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013\n                                                    \u201c_December 29, 18\u2013\u2013_\n\n    \u201cReverend and Dear Sir,\n\n    \u201cI listened with great attention to your sermon on Christmas Day; I\n    am getting on in years, and I am an invalid; so you will understand\n    that I have few friends\u2013\u2013and I think none who would not think me mad\n    if I told them the story that I am proposing to tell you. For many\n    years I have been silent on this subject; since it always used to be\n    received with incredulity. But I fancy that you will not be\n    incredulous. As I watched you and listened to you on Christmas Day,\n    I thought I saw in you one to whom the supernatural was more than a\n    beautiful and symbolical fairy-story, and one who held it not\n    impossible that this unseen should sometimes manifest itself. As you\n    reminded us, the Religion of the Incarnation rests on the fact that\n    the Infinite and the Eternal expresses Himself in terms of space and\n    time; and that it is in this that the greatness of the Love of God\n    consists. Since then, as you said, the Creation, the Incarnation,\n    and the Sacramental System alike, in various degree, are the\n    manifestation of God under these conditions, surely it cannot be\n    \u2018materialistic\u2019 (whatever that exactly means), to believe that the\n    \u2018spiritual\u2019 world and the personages that inhabit it sometimes\n    express themselves in the same manner as their Maker. However, will\n    you have patience with me while I tell you this story? I cannot\n    believe that such a grace should be kept in darkness.\n\n    \u201cI was about seven years old when my mother died, and my father left\n    me chiefly to the care of servants. Either I must have been a\n    difficult child, or my nurse must have been a hard woman: but I\n    never gave her my confidence. I had clung to my mother as a saint\n    clings to God: and when I lost her, it nearly broke my heart. Night\n    after night I used to lie awake, with the firelight in the room,\n    remembering how she would look in on her way to bed; when at last I\n    slept it seems to me now as if I never did anything but dream of\n    her; and it was only to wake again to that desolate emptiness. I\n    would torture myself by closing my eyes, and fancying she was there;\n    and then opening them and seeing the room empty. I would turn and\n    toss and sob without a sound. I suppose that I was as near the limit\n    that divides sanity from madness as it is possible to be. During the\n    day I would sit on the stairs when I could get away from my nurse,\n    and pretend that my mother\u2019s footsteps were moving overhead, that\n    her door opened, that I heard her dress on the carpet: again I would\n    open my eyes, and in self-cruelty compel myself to understand that\n    she was gone. Then again I would tell myself that it was all right:\n    that she was away for the day, but would come back at night. In the\n    evenings I would be happier, as the time for her return drew nearer;\n    even when I said my prayers I would look forward to the moment, into\n    which I had cheated myself in believing, when the door would open,\n    after I was in bed, and my mother look in. Then as the time passed,\n    my false faith would break down, and I would sob myself to sleep,\n    dream of her, and sob myself awake again. As I look back it appears\n    to me as if this went on for months: I suppose, however, in reality,\n    it could not have been more than a very few weeks, or my reason\n    would have given way. And at last I was caught on the edge of the\n    precipice, and drawn lovingly back to safety and peace.\n\n    \u201cI used to sleep alone in the night-nursery at this time, and my\n    nurse occupied a room opening out of it. The night-nursery had two\n    doors, one at the foot of my bed, and one at the further end of the\n    room, in the corner diagonally opposite to that in which the head of\n    my bed stood. The first opened upon the landing, and the second into\n    my nurse\u2019s room, and this latter was generally kept a few inches\n    open. There was no light in my room, but a night-light was kept\n    burning in the nurse\u2019s room, so that even without the firelight my\n    room was not in total darkness.\n\n    \u201cI was lying awake one night (I suppose it would be about eleven\n    o\u2019clock), having gone through a dreadful hour or two of misery,\n    half-waking and half-sleeping. I had been crying quietly, for fear\n    my nurse should hear through the partly opened door, burying my hot\n    face in the pillow. I was feeling really exhausted, listening to my\n    own heart, and cheating myself into the half-faith that its throbs\n    were the footsteps of my mother coming towards my room; I had raised\n    my face and was staring at the door at the foot of my bed, when it\n    opened suddenly without a sound; and there, as I thought, my mother\n    stood, with the light from the oil-lamp outside shining upon her.\n    She was dressed, it seemed, as once before I had seen her in London,\n    when she came into my room to bid me good-night before she went out\n    to an evening party. Her head shone with jewels that flashed as the\n    firelight rose and sank in the room, a dark cloak shrouded her neck\n    and shoulders, one hand held the edge of the door, and a great jewel\n    gleamed on one of her fingers. She seemed to be looking at me.\n\n    \u201cI sat up in bed in a moment, amazed but not frightened, for was it\n    not what I had so often fancied? and I called out to her:\n\n    \u201c\u2018Mother, mother!\u2019\n\n    \u201cAt the word she turned and looked on to the landing, and gave a\n    slight movement with her head, as if to some one waiting there,\n    either of assent or dismissal, and then turned to me again. The door\n    closed silently, and I could see in the firelight, and in the faint\n    glimmer that came through the other door, that she held out her arms\n    to me. I threw off the bedclothes in a moment, and scrambled down to\n    the end of the bed, and she lifted me gently in her arms, but said\n    no word. I too said nothing, but she raised the cloak a little and\n    wrapped it round me, and I lay there in bliss, my head on her\n    shoulder, and my arm round her neck. She walked smoothly and\n    noiselessly to a rocking-chair that stood beside the fire and sat\n    down, and then began to rock gently to and fro. Now it may be\n    difficult to believe, but I tell you that I neither said anything,\n    nor desired to say anything. It was enough that she was there. After\n    a little while I suppose I fell asleep, for I found myself in an\n    agony of tears and trembling again, but those arms held me firmly,\n    and I was soon at peace; still she spoke no word, and I did not see\n    her face.\n\n    \u201cWhen I woke again she was gone, and it was morning, and I was in\n    bed, and the nurse was drawing up the blind, and the winter sunshine\n    lay on the wall. That day was the happiest I had known since my\n    mother\u2019s death; for I knew she would come again.\n\n    \u201cAfter I was in bed that evening I lay awake waiting, so full of\n    happy content and certainty that I fell asleep. When I awoke the\n    fire was out, and there was no light but a narrow streak that came\n    through the door from my nurse\u2019s room. I lay there a minute or two\n    waiting, expecting every moment to see the door open at the foot of\n    my bed; but the minutes passed, and then the clock in the hall below\n    beat three. Then I fell into a passion of tears; the night was\n    nearly gone, and she had not come to me. Then, as I tossed to and\n    fro, trying to stifle my crying, through my tears there came the\n    misty flash of light as the door opened, and there she stood again.\n    Once again I was in her arms, and my face on her shoulder. And again\n    I fell asleep there.\n\n    \u201cNow this went on night after night, but not every night, and never\n    unless I awoke and cried. It seemed that if I needed her desperately\n    she came, but only then.\n\n    \u201cBut there were two curious incidents that occurred in the order in\n    which I will write them down. The second I understand now, at any\n    rate; the first I have never altogether understood, or rather there\n    are several possible explanations.\n\n    \u201cOne night as I lay in her arms by the fire, a large coal suddenly\n    slipped from the grate and fell with a crash, awaking the nurse in\n    the other room. I suppose she thought something was wrong, for she\n    appeared at the door with a shawl over her shoulders, holding the\n    night-light in one hand and shading it with the other. I was going\n    to speak, when my mother laid her hand across my mouth. The nurse\n    advanced into the room, passed close beside us, apparently without\n    seeing us, went straight to the empty bed, looked down on the\n    tumbled clothes, and then turned away as if satisfied, and went back\n    to her room. The next day I managed to elicit from her, by\n    questioning, the fact that she had been disturbed in the night, and\n    had come into my room, but had seen me sleeping quietly in bed.\n\n    \u201cThe other incident was as follows. One night I was lying half\n    dozing against my mother\u2019s breast, my head against her heart, and\n    not, as I usually lay, with my head on her shoulder. As I lay there\n    it seemed to me as if I heard a strange sound like the noise of the\n    sea in a shell, but more melodious. It is difficult to describe it,\n    but it was like the murmuring of a far-off crowd, overlaid with\n    musical pulsations. I nestled closer to her and listened; and then I\n    could distinguish, I thought, innumerable ripples of church bells\n    pealing, as if from another world. Then I listened more intently to\n    the other sound; there were words, but I could not distinguish them.\n    Again and again a voice seemed to rise above the others, but I could\n    hear no intelligible words. The voices cried in every sort of\n    tone\u2013\u2013passion, content, despair, monotony. And then as I listened I\n    fell asleep. As I look back now, I have no doubt what voices those\n    were that I heard.\n\n    \u201cAnd now comes the end of the story. My health began to improve so\n    remarkably that those about me noticed it. I never gave way, during\n    the day at any rate, to those old piteous imaginings; and at night,\n    when, I suppose, the will partly relaxes its control, whenever my\n    distress reached a certain point, she was there to comfort me. But\n    her visits grew more and more rare, as I needed her less, and at\n    last ceased. But it is of her last visit, which took place in the\n    spring of the following year, that I wish to speak.\n\n    \u201cI had slept well all night, but had awakened in the dark just\n    before the dawn from some dream which I forget, but which left my\n    nerves shaken. When in my terror I cried out, again the door opened,\n    and she was there. She stood with the jewels in her hair, and the\n    cloak across her shoulders, and the light from the landing lay\n    partly on her face. I scrambled at once down the bed, and was lifted\n    and carried to the chair, and presently fell asleep. When I awoke\n    the dawn had come, and the birds were stirring and chirping, and a\n    pleasant green light was in the room; and I was still in her arms.\n    It was the first time, except in the instance I have mentioned, that\n    I had awakened except in bed, and it was a great joy to find her\n    there. As I turned a little I saw the cloak which sheltered us\n    both\u2013\u2013of a deep blue, with an intricate pattern of flowers and\n    leaves and birds among branches. Then I turned still more to see her\n    face, which was so near me, but it was turned away; and even as I\n    moved she rose and carried me towards the bed. Still holding me on\n    her left arm she lifted and smoothed the bedclothes, and then laid\n    me gently in bed, with my head on the pillow. And then for the first\n    time I saw her face plainly. She bent over me, with one hand on my\n    breast as if to prevent me from rising, and looked straight into my\n    eyes; and it was not my mother.\n\n    \u201cThere was one moment of blinding shock and sorrow, and I gave a\n    great sob, and would have risen in bed, but her hand held me down,\n    and I seized it with both my own, and still looked in her eyes. It\n    was not my mother, and yet was there ever such a mother\u2019s face as\n    that? I seemed to be looking into depths of indescribable tenderness\n    and strength, and I leaned on that strength in those moments of\n    misery. I gave another sob or two as I looked, but I was quieter,\n    and at last peace came to me, and I had learnt my lesson.\n\n    \u201cI did not at the time know who she was, but my little soul dimly\n    saw that my own mother for some reason could not at that time come\n    to me who needed her so sorely, and that another great Mother had\n    taken her place; yet, after the first moment or so, I felt no anger\n    or jealousy, for one who had looked into that kindly face could have\n    no such unworthy thought.\n\n    \u201cThen I lifted my head a little, I remember, and kissed the hand\n    that I held in my own, reverently and slowly. I do not know why I\n    did it, except that it was the natural thing to do. The hand was\n    strong and white, and delicately fragrant. Then it was withdrawn,\n    and she was standing by the door, and the door was open; and then\n    she was gone, and the door was closed.\n\n    \u201cI have never seen her since, but I have never needed to see her,\n    for I know who she is; and, please God, I shall see her again; and\n    next time I hope my mother and I will be together; and perhaps it\n    will not be very long; and perhaps she will allow me to kiss her\n    hand again.\n\n    \u201cNow, my dear sir, I do not know how all this will appear to you; it\n    may seem to you, though I do not think it will, merely childish.\n    Yet, in a sense, I desire nothing more than that, for our Saviour\n    Himself told us to be like children, and our Saviour too once lay on\n    His Mother\u2019s breast. I know that I am getting an old man, and that\n    old men are sometimes very foolish; but it more and more seems to me\n    that experience, as well as His words, tells me that the great\n    Kingdom of Heaven has a low and narrow door that only little\n    children can enter, and that we must become little again, and drop\n    all our bundles, if we would go through.\n\n    \u201cThat, dear and Reverend Sir, is my story. And may I ask you to\n    remember me sometimes at the altar and in your prayers? for surely\n    God will ask much from one to whom He has given so much, and as yet\n    I have nothing to show for it; and my time must be nearly at an end,\n    even if His infinite patience is not.\n\n        \u201cBelieve me,\n\n            \u201cYours faithfully,\n\n                \u201c\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013 \u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013.\u201d\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nThe Bridge over the Stream\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n             \u201cLo, I am free! I choose the pain thou bearest:\n                Thou art the messenger of one who waits;\n              Thou wilt reveal the hidden face thou wearest\n                When my feet falter at the Eternal Gates.\u201d\n                                                 _Old Foes._\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                       The Bridge over the Stream\n\n\nWE were at tea one afternoon on the little low, tiled platform that\nmarked the site of an old summer-house. Tall hurdles covered with\nbriar-roses on the further side of the path fenced off the rest of the\ngarden from us, and the sun had just sunk below the level of the house,\nthrowing both ourselves and the garden into cool shadow. The servant had\nbrought out the tea-things, but he presently returned with something of\nhorror on his face. The old man looked up and saw him.\n\n\u201cWhat is it, Parker?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s been an accident, sir. Tom Awcock at the home farm has been\ndrawn into some machine, and they say he must lose both arms, and maybe\nhis life.\u201d\n\nThe old man turned quite white, and his eyes grew larger and brighter.\n\n\u201cIs the doctor with him?\u201d he asked, in a perfectly steady voice.\n\n\u201cYes, sir, and they\u2019ve sent a message, Would you be good enough to step\ndown? The rector\u2019s away, and Tom\u2019s mother\u2019s crying terrible. But not\nyet, sir. About seven o\u2019clock, they say. It won\u2019t be over till then, and\nthere\u2019s no immediate danger.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell them I will be there at seven,\u201d said the clergyman.\n\nParker went back to the house, and presently we heard the footsteps of a\nchild running down the drive towards the farm.\n\n\u201cHow shocking it is!\u201d I said in a moment or two.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d said the old man, smiling, \u201cI have learnt my lesson. It is not\nreally so shocking as you think. Does that sound very hard?\u201d\n\nI said nothing, for it seemed to me that all the consolations of\nreligion could not soften the horror of such things. If such agonies are\nnecessary as remedies or atonements, at least they are terrible.\n\n\u201cI learnt my lesson,\u201d the old man went on, \u201cdown the road there outside\nthe hedge\u2013\u2013down by the bridge. Would you like to hear it? Or are you\ntired of an old dreamer\u2019s stories?\u201d and he smiled at me.\n\n\u201cNow I know you think that I am hard\u2013\u2013that I am a little apart maybe\nfrom human life\u2013\u2013that I cannot understand the blind misery of those who\nsuffer in ignorance; yet you would be the first, I believe, to think\nthat Mrs. Awcock\u2019s consolations are unreal, and that when she tells me\nthat she knows there is a wise purpose behind, she is only repeating\nwhat is proper to say to a clergyman. But that is not so; that old\nthreadbare sentence is intensely real to these people, and, I hope, to\nmyself too. For there is nothing that I desire more than to be a child\nlike them. It is the apparent purposelessness that distresses you: it is\nthe certainty of a deliberate purpose that comforts me. Well, shall I\ntell you what I saw?\u201d\n\nI was a little distressed at what looked like callousness, but I told\nhim I would like to hear the story.\n\n\u201cI was standing one evening\u2013\u2013it would be about five years ago\u2013\u2013in the\nfield down there near the stream. You remember the bridge there, over\nwhich the road goes, just outside the hedge. I love running water, and I\nwent slowly up and down by the side of the beck. There were children on\nthe road, coming back from school, and they stopped on the bridge to\nlook at the water, as children and old men will. They did not see me, as\nthe field is a little below the road, and besides their backs were\nturned to me. I could see a pink frock or two, and a pair of stout bare\nlegs. Two girls were taking their brother home\u2013\u2013he was between them, a\nhand clasped by each of the sisters. I suppose the eldest girl would be\nabout nine, and the boy five. They were talking solemnly, and I could\nhear every word.\n\n\u201cWhy are children always supposed to be gay? There is no solemnity in\nthe world to be compared to the solemnity of a little boy, or of his\nsister who has charge of him.\n\n\u201cOne of the girls said, \u2018Look, Johnny, there are little fishes down\nthere.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018When I am a man\u2019\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013Johnny began, very slowly.\n\n\u201c\u2018Look, Johnny,\u2019 said the other girl, \u2018there\u2019s a blue flower.\u2019\n\n\u201cUp to this I remember every word. But then I began to watch Johnny.\n\n\u201cThe girls went on talking, but they leaned over more, and I could not\nhear them plainly. Johnny stealthily withdrew a hand from each of his\nsisters, and began to look for a stone to throw at the fishes or the\nblue flower, I suppose; for man is lord of Creation. I could see him\npresently through the hedge digging patiently with his fingers and\nloosening a stone that was firm in the road. And at that moment I heard\na far-away shout and the distant bark of a dog.\n\n\u201cThe evening was wonderfully still: every leaf hung quiet: and there\nwere far-off clouds heaping themselves up in the west, tower over tower.\nWe had a thunderstorm that night, I remember. The brook was quiet, just\nslipping noiselessly from pool to pool.\n\n\u201cStill Johnny was digging and the girls were talking. Then out of the\nvillage above us came again far-off noises. I could hear a rumble and\nthe clatter of hoofs, then a cry or two more, and the nearer terrified\nyelp of a dog. But the girls were intent on the brook\u2013\u2013and Johnny on the\nstone.\n\n\u201cEven now I did not understand what was happening: but I grew\nuneasy\u2013\u2013and with great difficulty, for I was an old man even then, tried\nto scramble up the high bank by the bridge. As I reached the top I saw\nthat one of the girls had gone. She had run, I suppose, off the bridge\ndown by the side of the road. The other girl was still standing\u2013\u2013but\nlooking in a frightened way up the hill. Down the hill came the loud\nrumble of a cart and the clatter of hoofs, terribly near.\n\n\u201cThe girl by the side of the road began to scream to her sister, who\ndarted off, and then remembered Johnny and turned. Johnny got up too and\nran to the parapet and stood against it.\n\n\u201cI was shouting too by now, through the hedge: but I could do nothing\nmore, nothing more, because the hedge was high and thick, and I was an\nold man. Then in a moment I remembered that shouting would only distract\nthem, and I stopped. It was useless. I could do absolutely nothing. But\nit was very hard.\n\n\u201cThen I saw the galloping body of a horse through the branches, with a\nbutcher\u2019s cart that rocked behind him. There was no one on the cart.\n\n\u201cNow there was room for the cart to pass the boy safely. By the\nwheelmarks, which I looked at afterwards, there were three clear\nfeet\u2013\u2013if only the boy had stood still.\n\n\u201cThe girls seemed petrified as they stood, one in act to run, the other\ncrouching and hiding her face against the hedge. The cart was now within\nten yards, as I could see, though I was still staring at Johnny. Then\nthis is what I saw.\n\n\u201cSomewhere behind him over the parapet of the bridge there was a figure.\nI remember nothing about it except the face and the hands. The face was,\nI think, the tenderest I have ever seen. The eyes were downcast, looking\nupon the boy\u2019s head with indescribable love, the lips were smiling. One\nhand was over the boy\u2019s eyes, the other against his shoulder behind. In\na moment the memory of other stories I had heard came to mind\u2013\u2013and I\ngave a sob of relief that the boy was safe in such care.\n\n\u201cBut as the iron hoofs and rocking wheels came up, the hand on the boy\u2019s\nshoulder suddenly pushed him to meet them; and yet those tender eyes and\nmouth never flinched, and the child took a step forward in front of the\nhorse, and was beaten down without a cry: and the cart lurched heavily,\nrighted itself, and dashed on out of sight.\n\n\u201cWhen the cloud of dust had passed, the little body lay quiet on the\nroad, and the two girls were clinging to one another, screaming and\nsobbing, but there was nothing else.\n\n\u201cI was as angry at first as an old man could be. I nearly (may He\nforgive me for it now!) cursed God and died. But the memory of that\ntender face did its work. It was as the face of a mother who nurses her\nfirst-born child, as the face of a child who kisses a wounded creature,\nit was as I think the Father\u2019s Face itself must have been, which those\nangels always behold, as He looked down upon the Sacrifice of His only\nSon.\n\n\u201cWill you forgive me now if I seemed hard a few minutes ago? Perhaps you\nstill think it was hardness that made me speak as I did. But, for\nmyself, I hope I may call it by a better name than that.\u201d\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nIn the Convent Chapel\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                 \u201cIn her all longings mix and meet;\n                    Dumb souls through her are eloquent;\n                  She feels the earth beneath her feet\n                    Vibrate in passionate intent;\n                  Through her our tides of feeling roll\n                  And find their God within her soul.\u201d\n                               _The Contemplative Soul._\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                         In the Convent Chapel\n\n\nONE evening about this time, on coming indoors for tea, I found the old\nman seated at the open door that looked on to the lawn, with a book on\nhis knees, and his finger between the pages. He held the book towards me\nas I came near him, and showed me the title, \u201cThe Interior Castle.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have just been reading,\u201d he said, \u201cSaint Teresa\u2019s description of the\ndifference between the intellectual and the imaginative vision. It is\ncurious how she fails really to express it, except to any one who\nhappens to have had a glimpse already for himself of what she means. I\nsuppose it is one of the signs of reality in the spiritual world that no\none can ever describe so much as he knows.\u201d\n\nI sat down.\n\n\u201cI am afraid I don\u2019t understand a word you are saying,\u201d I answered\nsmiling.\n\nFor answer he opened the book and read Saint Teresa\u2019s curious gasping\nincoherent sentences\u2013\u2013at least so I thought them.\n\n\u201cStill,\u201d I said, \u201cI am afraid\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013\u201d\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d he said almost impatiently, \u201csurely you know now; indeed you know\nit, but do not recognise it.\u201d\n\n\u201cCan you give me any sort of instance?\u201d I asked.\n\nHe thought for a moment or two in silence; and then\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013\n\n\u201cI think I can,\u201d he said, \u201cif you are sure it will not bore you.\u201d\n\nHe poured out tea for us both, and then began:\n\n\u201cMost of the tales I have told you are of the imaginative vision, by\nwhich I do not mean that the vision is in any way unreal or untrue,\nwhich is what most people mean by \u2018imaginative,\u2019 but only that it\npresents itself in the form of a visible picture. It seems chiefly the\nfunction of the imagination to visualise facts, and it is an abuse of\nthat faculty to employ it chiefly in visualising fancies. But it is\npossible for spiritual facts to represent themselves vividly and clearly\nto the intellect instead, so that the person to whom the intellectual\nvision is given does not, so to speak, \u2018see\u2019 anything, but only\n\u2018apprehends\u2019 something to be true. However, this will become more clear\npresently.\n\n\u201cSome years ago I took my annual holiday in the form of a solitary\nwalking tour. I will not tell you where I went, as there are others\nconcerned in this story who would dislike intensely to be publicly\nspoken of in the way that I shall have to speak of them; but it is\nenough to say that I came at last to a little town towards sunset. My\nobject in coming to this place was to visit a convent of enclosed nuns\nwhose reputation for holiness was very great. I carried with me a letter\nof introduction to the Reverend Mother, which I knew would admit me to\nthe chapel. I left my bag at the inn, and then walked down to the\nconvent, which stood a little way out of the town.\n\n\u201cThe lay sister who opened the door to me asked me to come into the\nparlour while she told the Reverend Mother; and after waiting a few\nminutes in the prim room with its bees-waxed floor and its religious\nengravings and objects, a wonderfully dignified little old lady, with a\nquiet wrinkled face, came in with my letter open in her hand. We talked\na few minutes about various things, and I had a glass of cowslip wine in\na thick-lipped wineglass.\n\n\u201cShe told me that the convent was a very ancient foundation, that it had\nbeen a country house ever since the Dissolution of the Religious Houses,\nuntil about twenty years ago, when it had been acquired for the\ncommunity. There still remained of the old buildings part of the\ncloisters, with the south transept of the old church, which was now the\nchapel; the whole, with a wall or two, forming the courtyard through\nwhich I had come. Behind the house lay the garden, on to which the\nwindow of the parlour looked; and as I sat I could see a black cross or\ntwo marking the nuns\u2019 graveyard. I made inquiries as to the way the time\nof the community was spent.\n\n\u201c\u2018Our object,\u2019 said the old lady, \u2018is perpetual intercession for\nsinners. We have the great joy of the Blessed Sacrament amongst us in\nthe chapel, and, except during the choir offices and Mass, there is\nalways a nun kneeling before It. We look after one or two ladies\nincurably ill, who have come to end their days with us, and we make our\nliving by embroidery.\u2019\n\n\u201cI asked how it was that she could receive strangers if the order was an\nenclosed one.\n\n\u201c\u2018The lay sisters and myself alone can receive strangers. We find that\nnecessary.\u2019\n\n\u201cAfter a little more talk I asked whether I might see the chapel, and\nshe took me out into the courtyard immediately.\n\n\u201cAs we walked across the grass she pointed out to me the cloisters, now\nbuilt up into a corridor, and the long ruined wall of the old nave which\nformed one side of the quadrangle. A grave-faced and stout collie dog\nhad joined us at the door, and we three went together slowly towards the\ndoor in the centre of the west wall of the restored transept. The\nevening sun lay golden on the wall before us and on the ruined base of\nthe central tower of the old church, round which jackdaws wheeled and\ncroaked.\u201d\n\nThe old priest broke off and turned to me, with his eyes burning:\n\n\u201cWhat a marvellous thing the Religious Life is,\u201d he said, \u201cand above all\nthe Contemplative Life! Here were these nuns as no doubt they and their\nyounger sisters are still, without one single thing that in the world\u2019s\nopinion makes life worth living. There is practically perpetual silence,\nthere are hours to be spent in the chapel, no luxuries, no amusements,\nno power of choice, they are always rather hungry and rather tired, at\nthe very least. And yet they are not sacrificing present happiness to\nfuture happiness, as the world always supposes, but they are intensely\nand radiantly happy \u2018now in this present time.\u2019 I don\u2019t know what\nfurther proof any one wants of Who our Lord is than that men and women\nfind the keenest, and in fact their only joy, in serving Him and\nbelonging to Him.\n\n\u201cWell, I remember that something of this sort was in my mind as I went\nacross the courtyard beside this motherly old lady with her happy quiet\nface. She had been over fifty years in Religion, my friend had told me.\n\n\u201cAt the door she stopped.\n\n\u201c\u2018I will not come in,\u2019 she said, \u2018but you will find me in the parlour\nwhen you come out.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd she turned and went back, with the collie walking slowly beside\nher, his golden plumed tail raised high against her black habit.\n\n\u201cThe door was partly open, but a thick curtain hung beyond. I pushed it\nquietly aside and stepped in. It seemed very dark at first, in contrast\nto the brilliant sunshine outside; but I presently saw that I was\nkneeling before a high iron-barred screen, in which was no door. On the\nleft, in the further corner of the chapel, glimmered a blue light in a\nsilver lamp before a statue of our Lady.\n\n\u201cOpposite me rose up the steps before the high altar; but not far away,\nbecause, as you remember, the chapel had once been the transept of a\nchurch, and the east wall, in the centre of which the high altar stood,\nwas longer than both the south wall where a second altar stood, and the\nmodern brick wall that closed it on the north. A slender crucifix in\nblack and white and six thin tapers rose above the altar, and high above\nstood the Tabernacle closed by a white silk curtain, before which\nflickered a tiny red spark.\n\n\u201cI said a prayer or two, and then I noticed for the first time a dark\noutline rising in the centre of the space before the altar. For a moment\nI was perplexed, and then I saw that it was the nun whose hour it was\nfor intercession. Her back was turned to me as she knelt at the\nfaldstool, and her black veil fell in rigid lines on to her shoulders,\nand mingled with her black serge habit below. There she knelt perfectly\nmotionless, praying. I had not, and have not, a notion as to her age.\nShe might have been twenty-five or seventy.\n\n\u201cAs I knelt there I thought deeply, wondering as to the nun\u2019s age, how\nlong she had been professed, when she would die, whether she was happy;\nand, I am afraid, I thought more of her than of Him Who was so near.\nThen a kind of anger seized me, as I compared in my mind the life of a\nhappy good woman in the world with that of this poor creature. I\npictured the life, as one so often sees it in homes, of a mother with\nher children growing up about her, her hands busy with healthy home\nwork, her life glorified by a good man\u2019s love; as she grows older,\npassing from happy stage to happy stage, comforting, helping, sweetening\nevery soul she meets. Was it not for this that women\u2013\u2013and men too, I\nthought, rebuking myself\u2013\u2013were made? Then think of the sour life of the\ncloister\u2013\u2013as loveless and desolate as the cold walls themselves! And\neven, I thought, even if there is a strange peculiar joy in the\nReligious Life\u2013\u2013even if there is an absence of sorrows and anxieties\nsuch as spoil the happiness of many lives in the world\u2013\u2013yet, after all,\nsurely the Contemplative Life is useless and barren. The Active Life may\nbe well enough, if the prayers and the discipline issue in greater\nefficiency, if the priest is more fervent when he ministers outside, and\nthe sister of charity more charitable. Yes, I thought, the active\nReligious Life is reasonable enough; but the Contemplative\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013! After\nall it is essentially selfish, it is a sin against society. Possibly it\nwas necessary when the wickedness of the world was more fierce, to\nprotest against it by this retirement; but not now, not now! How can the\nlump be leavened if the leaven be withdrawn? How can a soul serve God by\nforsaking the world which He made and loves?\u201d...\n\n\u201cAnd so,\u201d said the priest, turning to me again, \u201cI went on\u2013\u2013poor\nignorant fool!\u2013\u2013thinking that the woman who knelt in front of me was\nless useful than myself, and that my words and actions and sermons and\nlife did more to advance God\u2019s kingdom than her prayers! And\nthen\u2013\u2013then\u2013\u2013at the moment when I reached that climax of folly and pride,\nGod was good to me and gave me a little light.\n\n\u201cNow, I do not know how to put it\u2013\u2013I have never put it into words\nbefore, except to myself\u2013\u2013but I became aware, in my intellect alone, of\none or two clear facts. In order to tell you what those facts were I\nmust use picture language; but remember they are only translations or\nparaphrases of what I perceived.\n\n\u201cFirst I became aware suddenly that there ran a vital connection from\nthe Tabernacle to the woman. You may think of it as one of those bands\nyou see in machinery connecting two wheels, so that when either wheel\nmoves the other moves too. Or you may think of it as an electric wire,\njoining the instrument the telegraph operator uses with the pointer at\nthe other end. At any rate there was this vital band or wire of life.\n\nNow in the Tabernacle I became aware that there was a mighty stirring\nand movement. Something within it beat like a vast Heart, and the\nvibrations of each pulse seemed to quiver through all the ground. Or you\nmay picture it as the movement of a clear deep pool when the basin that\ncontains it is jarred\u2013\u2013it seemed like the movement of circular ripples\ncrossing and recrossing in swift thrills. Or you may think of it as that\nfaint movement of light and shade that may be seen in the heart of a\nwhite-hot furnace. Or again you may picture it as sound\u2013\u2013as the sound of\na high ship-mast with the rigging, in a steady wind; or the sound of\ndeep woods in a July noon.\n\nThe priest\u2019s face was working, and his hands moved nervously.\n\n\u201cHow hopeless it is,\u201d he said, \u201cto express all this! Remember that all\nthese pictures are not in the least what I perceived. They are only\ngrotesque paraphrases of a spiritual fact that was shown me.\n\n\u201cNow I was aware that there was something of the same activity in the\nheart of the woman, but I did not know which was the controlling power.\nI did not know whether the initiative sprang from the Tabernacle and\ncommunicated itself to the nun\u2019s will; or whether she, by bending\nherself upon the Tabernacle, set in motion a huge dormant power. It\nappeared to me possible that the solution lay in the fact that two wills\nco-operated, each reacting upon the other. This, in a kind of way,\nappears to me now true as regards the whole mystery of free-will and\nprayer and grace.\n\n\u201cAt any rate the union of these two represented itself to me, as I have\nsaid, as forming a kind of engine that radiated an immense light or\nsound or movement. And then I perceived something else too.\n\n\u201cI once fell asleep in one of those fast trains from the north, and did\nnot awake until we had reached the terminus. The last thing I had seen\nbefore falling asleep had been the quiet darkening woods and fields\nthrough which we were sliding, and it was a shock to awake in the bright\nhumming terminus and to drive through the crowded streets, under the\nelectric glare from the lamps and windows. Now I felt something of that\nsort now. A moment ago I had fancied myself apart from movement and\nactivity in this quiet convent; but I seemed somehow to have stepped\ninto a centre of busy, rushing life. I can scarcely put the sensation\nmore clearly than that. I was aware that the atmosphere was charged with\nenergy; great powers seemed to be astir, and I to be close to the\nwhirling centre of it all.\n\n\u201cOr think of it like this. Have you ever had to wait in a City office?\nIf you have done that you will know how intense quiet can coexist with\nintense activity. There are quiet figures here and there round the room.\nOr it may be there is only one such figure\u2013\u2013a great financier\u2013\u2013and he\nsitting there almost motionless. Yet you know that every movement\ntingles, as it were, out from that still room all over the world. You\ncan picture to yourself how people leap to obey or to resist\u2013\u2013how lives\nrise and fall, and fortunes are made and lost, at the gentle movements\nof this lonely quiet man in his office. Well, so it was here. I\nperceived that this black figure knelt at the centre of reality and\nforce, and with the movements of her will and lips controlled spiritual\ndestinies for eternity. There ran out from this peaceful chapel lines of\nspiritual power that lost themselves in the distance, bewildering in\ntheir profusion and terrible in the intensity of their hidden fire.\nSouls leaped up and renewed the conflict as this tense will strove for\nthem. Souls even at that moment leaving the body struggled from death\ninto spiritual life, and fell panting and saved at the feet of the\nRedeemer on the other side of death. Others, acquiescent and swooning in\nsin, woke and snarled at the merciful stab of this poor nun\u2019s prayers.\u201d\n\nThe priest was trembling now with excitement.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said; \u201cyes, and I in my stupid arrogance had thought that my\nlife was more active in God\u2019s world than hers. So a small provincial\nshopkeeper, bustling to and fro behind the counter, might think, if only\nhe were mad enough, that his life was more active and alive than the\nlife of a director who sits at his table in the City. Yes, that is a\nvulgar simile; but the only one that I can think of which in the least\nexpresses what I knew to be true. There lay my little foolish narrow\nlife behind me, made up of spiritless prayers and efforts and feeble\ndealings with souls; and how complacent I had been with it all, how\nself-centred, how out of the real tide of spiritual movement! And\nmeanwhile, for years probably, this nun had toiled behind these walls in\nthe silence of grace, with the hum of the world coming faintly to her\nears, and the cries of peoples and nations, and of persons whom the\nworld accounts important, sounding like the voices of children at play\nin the muddy street outside; and indeed that is all that they are,\ncompared to her\u2013\u2013children making mud-pies or playing at shop outside the\nfinancier\u2019s office.\u201d\n\nThe priest was silent, and his face became quieter again. Then in a\nmoment he spoke again.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d he said, \u201cthat is what I believe to have been an intellectual\nvision. There was no form or appearance or sound; but I can only express\nwhat was shown to me to be true, under those images. It almost seems to\nme as I look back now as if the air in the chapel were full of a\nmurmurous sound and a luminous mist as the currents of need and grace\nwent to and fro. But I know really that the silence was deep and the air\ndim.\u201d\n\nThen I made a foolish remark.\n\n\u201cIf you feel like that about the Contemplative Life, I wonder you did\nnot try to enter it yourself.\u201d\n\nThe priest looked at me for a moment.\n\n\u201cIt would be rash, surely, for a little shopkeeper of no particular\nability to compete with Rothschild.\u201d\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nUnder Which King?\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n   \u201cAll such knowledge as this, whether it comes from God or not, can be\n    but of little profit to the soul in the way of perfection, if it\n    trusts to it: yea, rather, if it is not careful to reject it, ... it\n    will bring upon it great evil; ... for all the dangers and\n    inconveniences of the supernatural apprehensions, and many more, are\n    to be found here.\u201d\n\n                                           _The Ascent of Mount Carmel_.\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                           Under Which King?\n\n\nWITHIN a day or two of our conversation on St. Teresa, I asked the old\npriest about what is called \u201cQuietism.\u201d A friend had given me an old\ncopy of Molinos\u2019 _Spiritual Guide_, and I knew that the writer had been\ncondemned and imprisoned for life, and yet I could not understand in\nwhat lay his crime.\n\n\u201cIt is difficult to put into words,\u201d said the priest, \u201cor even to\nunderstand, why certain sentences are condemned, since it is probably\npossible to parallel them from other Catholic mystics whose names are\nhonoured. Yet the fact remains that the result of Molinos\u2019 teaching was\nneglect of the Sacraments and of external means of grace, which was not\nso in the case of the schools of other mystics.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I will tell you a story,\u201d he went on, \u201cto illustrate the effect of\ncertain kinds of mysticism; and I must leave you to judge whether my\nfriend was right or wrong in what he decided, for I must tell you first\nthat the incident did not happen to me. On the whole I may say that I\nhave my own opinion on the subject, but I will not tell you what it is,\nas sometimes I am strongly inclined to change it. However, you shall\nhear the story. Shall we take a stroll on the terrace?\u201d\n\nAnd when we had reached it, he began:\n\n\u201cMy friend was a priest of about thirty years of age (this happened some\nforty years ago). He was working in the country at the time, and had a\ngreat deal of leisure for reading, and this he chiefly occupied in the\nstudy of various mystics, and most of them of the Quietistic school. You\nknow, too, that one of their characteristic lines of thought lies in the\nabandonment of all effort save that of adhering to God, and even that is\nto be a passive rather than an active effort. The soul must lie still,\nsays one of them, and be drawn as if by a rope up the Mount of\nPerfection. The slightest movement will check or divert that swift and\nsteady approach towards God.\n\n\u201cBut my friend not only studied writers of this school intellectually,\nbut he put himself more or less under their spiritual direction. He told\nme afterwards that it seemed to him that if he used the Sacraments\nfaithfully, and if he found that his devotion towards them did not cool,\nhe would be sufficiently protected against possible extravagances or\nheresies in his spiritual reading. His daily meditation, too, he told\nme, began to mean more to him than ever in his lifetime: the presence of\nGod seemed more real and accessible, and, above all, the guidance of God\nin his daily life more apparent. The time that really matters, as he\nsaid to me once, is the time between our religious exercises; and in\nthis time, too, God manifested Himself. In fact, from all that he said\nto me, I have very little doubt that his character and spiritual life\nwere both deepened and purified, at any rate at first, by his devotional\nstudy of these mystics.\n\n\u201cOne word more before I begin the actual story.\n\n\u201cI said just now that the guidance of God began to be more apparent in\nhis daily life. There are two main ways of settling questions that come\nup for decision, and both ways are possible to a religious man. One way\nis to lay stress on the intellectual side, to weigh the arguments\ncarefully, and decide, as it were, by reasoning alone: the other is to\nlay comparatively little stress on the arguments and the intellectual\nside generally, and to make the main effort lie in the aspiration of the\nwill towards God for guidance. We may call them, roughly, the\nintellectual and the intuitive. Now of course my friend\u2019s mystical\nstudies inclined him more and more towards the latter. He told me, in\nfact, that in the most ordinary questions\u2013\u2013in his visiting his\npeople\u2013\u2013in his preaching\u2013\u2013in his dealings with souls\u2013\u2013he began more and\nmore to refuse intellectual light, and to trust instead to the immediate\ninterior guidance of the Holy Ghost. More than once, for example, he\nlaid aside the sermon he had prepared, as he entered the pulpit, and\npreached from a text that had seemed to be suggested to him. Of course\nit was not so good from the literary point of view; but that, as he very\njustly said, is not the most important question in judging of a sermon.\nHe seemed to find, he told me, that his spiritual power in every way\ndeveloped, both in his interior life and in his dealings with others.\n\n\u201cIn his conversations, too, he would allow long silences to come, if it\ndid not seem to him that God moved him to speak; at other times he would\ndrop conventional modes of speech and say things that, humanly judged,\nwere calculated to do the very opposite of what he personally desired.\nSometimes in such a case his wish was attained, and sometimes not; but\nin both cases he forced himself to regard it as if he had succeeded. In\nshort, he acted and spoke in obedience to this interior drawing, and\ndisregarded consequences entirely. And this, I need hardly say, is one\nroad to interior peace.\n\n\u201cAnd then at last a startling thing happened.\n\n\u201cThere had been some crime committed: I have not an idea what it was.\nTwo men were involved in the consequences. One, whom we will call A.,\nhad committed the crime: but he could only be prosecuted if B., whom he\nhad seriously injured, consented to take action. Now my friend was\ndeeply interested in A., and he thought he knew that the one chance of\nA.\u2019s salvation lay in his being allowed to go unpunished. But Lord B.,\nwho, by the way, was an Irish peer, of no importance himself, though his\nfather had been well known, was a hard, vindictive man, and had publicly\nannounced his intention of ruining A. In this state of affairs my friend\nwas asked to intercede by A. and his friends.\n\n\u201cLord B. lived in a large country-house some four or five miles from my\nfriend\u2019s house. He was an unmarried man, but generally had his house\nfairly full of his friends, who did not bear the best possible\nreputation.\n\n\u201cMy friend arrived at the house by appointment with B., whom he did not\npersonally know, towards the close of a rainy autumn afternoon. In spite\nof his anxiety he had resolved to be guided as usual by the interior\nmonitor whom he had learnt to trust, and he had hardly thought of a\nsingle argument which he could use. Yet he felt confident that he was\nright in coming, and equally confident that he would know what to say\nwhen the time came. As he got near the house this confident sense of\nguidance increased to an extent that almost terrified him. It seemed to\nhim, as he walked under the dripping yellow branches, that a strong,\nalmost physical, oppression carried him forward. As if in a dream he saw\nthe manservant appear in answer to his ring, and heard, as from a great\ndistance, the man tell him that Lord B. had come in a little while\nbefore, and was now expecting him in the smoking-room.\n\n\u201cOn entering the house these curious sensations, which he hardly\nattempted to describe to me, seemed to diminish a little, and he felt\ncool and confident. He told me that the sense of oppression resting on\nhim was dispelled, as if by a breeze, as he passed along the corridor on\nthe ground floor on his way to the smoking-room in the west wing of the\nhouse.\n\n\u201cThe servant threw open the door and announced him, and my friend went\nthrough, and the door closed behind him: but the moment he had crossed\nthe threshold he felt that something was wrong.\n\n\u201cThere was a circle of men, some in shooting costume, and some as if\nthey had not been out all day, sitting in easy chairs round the fire,\nwhich was to the right of the door. My friend could see most of their\nfaces, and Lord B.\u2019s face among them, as he paused at the door; but not\none offered to move, though all looked curiously at him.\n\n\u201cThere was silence for a moment, and then Lord B. said suddenly and\nloudly:\n\n\u201c\u2018Well, here\u2019s the parson at last, sermon and all.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd then two or three of the men laughed.\n\n\u201cMy friend saw of course that Lord B. had arranged the interview in this\nway simply in order to insult him, and that he would not be able to\nspeak to him in private at all, as he had hoped. There was, he told me,\njust one great heave of anger in his heart at this offensive behaviour;\nbut he did his best to crush it down, and still stood without speaking.\nHe had not, he said, an idea what to say or do, so he stood and waited.\n\n\u201cLord B. got up in a moment and lit a cigarette with his back to my\nfriend; and then turned and faced him, leaning against the mantelpiece.\n\n\u201c\u2018Well,\u2019 he said, \u2018we\u2019re all waiting.\u2019\n\n\u201cStill there was silence. One of the men beyond the fire suddenly\nlaughed.\n\n\u201c\u2018Now then,\u2019 said Lord B. impatiently, \u2018for God\u2019s sake say what you came\nto say, and go.\u2019\n\n\u201cAs this sentence ended my friend felt a curious sensation run over him,\nlike those he had experienced in the park, but far stronger. He could\nnever give me any description of it, except by saying that it seemed as\nif a force were laying hold of him in every remote fibre of his bodily\nand spiritual being. His own will seemed to give up the control into\nsome stronger hand, and he felt a sense of being steadied and quieted.\n\n\u201cThen he was aware that his own voice said a single sentence of some\nhalf-dozen words; but though he heard each word, it was instantly\nobliterated from his mind. In his description of it all to me\nafterwards, he said it was like words that we hear immediately before we\nfall asleep in a lecture-room or a railway carriage: each word is\nEnglish and intelligible, but the sentence conveys no impression.\n\n\u201cWhile his voice spoke for perhaps two or three seconds, his eyes were\nfixed on Lord B.\u2019s face, and in that momentary interval he saw a\nterrible fear and astonishment suddenly stamped upon it. The mouth\nopened in loose lines and the cigarette fell out, and B.\u2019s hands rose\ninstinctively as if to keep my friend off. One of the men, too, at the\nfurther end of the circle suddenly sprang erect, with the same kind of\nimploring horror on his face.\n\n\u201cThat was all that my friend had time to see; for the same power that\nhad laid hold of him turned him immediately to the door, and he opened\nit and went out and down the corridor. As he went the strange sensation\npassed, but he felt the sweat prick to his skin and then pour down his\nface. He heard, too, as he reached the end of the corridor, a bell peal\nviolently somewhere. He passed out into the hall, and even as he opened\nthe front door a servant dashed past him through the hall and down the\ncorridor, up which he had just come.\n\n\u201cHe went straight home, feeling terribly tired and overwrought, and had\nto go to bed on reaching his house, tortured by neuralgia.\n\n\u201cTwo hours later a note was brought by a groom from Lord B., written in\na shaking hand, with an abject apology for his reception in the\nafternoon; an entreaty to him not to mention the subject again which he\nhad spoken of in the sitting-room, with a scarcely veiled offer of a\nbribe, and an emphatic promise to withdraw all proceedings against A.\n\n\u201cOn the following day he was told that Lord B. was supposed to be\nunwell, and that the house-party had been hurriedly broken up the night\nbefore.\n\n\u201cFrom that day to this he has never had an idea of what the sentence was\nthat his voice spoke that worked such a miracle.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is a most curious story,\u201d I said. \u201cWhat do you make of it?\u201d\n\nThe priest smiled.\n\n\u201cI will tell you what my friend made of it. He gave up his study of\nmysticism, yet without in any sense condemning that line of thought of\nwhich I have spoken. His reasons, which he explained to me after coming\nto a decision, were that such a visitation might or might not be from\nGod. If it were not from God, then that proved that he had been meddling\nwith high things, and had somehow slipped under some other control. If\nit were from God, it might be that it was just for that very purpose\nthat he had been brought so far, but that he dared not pursue that path\nwithout some distinct further sign. \u2018In any case,\u2019 he said, \u2018no soul can\nbe lost by following the simple and well-beaten path of ordinary\ndevotion and prayer.\u2019 And so he returned to intellectual forms of\nmeditation, such as most Christians use. He died a few years ago, full\nof holiness and good works.\n\n\u201cBut for you there are several opinions open. Either that it was an\nintensely strong case of hypnotic thought-transference from Lord B. to\nmy friend, and that the latter only spoke mechanically of something that\nlay in the former\u2019s mind; or you may decide that the whole affair was of\nthe Evil One, and that A. would have been all the better for\nprosecution, and that an evil being somehow found entrance into the\nstrained nature of my friend, and used it for his own purposes; or that\nthe prophetic gift was bestowed on him, but that the ordeal was too\nfierce and he too cowardly to claim it. And there are other solutions as\nwell, no doubt possible.\n\n\u201cFor myself I think I have formed my opinion; but I would prefer, as\nHerodotus says, to keep it to myself.\u201d\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nWith Dyed Garments\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                  \u201cJesu, well ought I love Thee,\n                  For Thou me shewest Thy rood-tree,\n                  Thy crown of thorns, and nails three,\n                  The sharp spear that pierc\u00e9d Thee.\u201d\n                         _Swete Jhesu now wil I Synge._\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                           With Dyed Garments\n\n\nWHEN the second post came in one morning I saw a letter addressed to the\npriest, in the trembling large characters of an old man\u2019s hand, lying\nupon the slab in the hall. When I came in to lunch I found the old\nclergyman with an open letter in his hand, and his face full of almost\nchildish happiness.\n\n\u201cI have heard from my oldest friend,\u201d he said, making a little movement\nwith the letter. \u201cIt is months since he has written. I have known him\never since we were boys.\u201d\n\nWe sat down to lunch, but he kept on referring to his friend, and to the\npleasure the letter gave him.\n\n\u201cWe are always planning to meet,\u201d he said to me presently. \u201cBut we never\ncan manage it. We are both so old. He is much more active than I am,\nhowever. He is full of good works, while I, as you know, lead an idle\nlife. I could not take charge of a church. It is all I can do now to\nserve my own little chapel upstairs.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere is he working?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cI think perhaps you fancy he is in Holy Orders, but he is not. He has\nbeen on the Stock Exchange till a few years ago, and now he is living in\nthe country, getting ready to die, as he tells me. But he is full of\ngood works; his letter here has news about the village, and of a man\nwhose acquaintance he has made in the reading-room there, which he\nhimself built a year ago; but he is full of plans too, and asks my\nadvice.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is not often you come across a business man like that,\u201d I said.\n\n\u201cNo, he is wonderful, but he has been like that for years. He has done a\ngreat deal all his life among poor people in London. For years he never\nmissed his two or three nights a week in some club, or on some\ncommittee, or visiting sick people.\u201d\n\nI began to think that it might have been through the friendship of the\npriest that this man had been such a worker. But presently he began\nagain.\n\n\u201cPerhaps the most wonderful thing was the way he first began to do such\nwork. Let me see, have I mentioned his name? No? Then I can tell you,\notherwise it would not be discreet; that is\u2013\u2013\u201d he added, \u201cif you would\ncare to hear.\u201d\n\nI told him I should be very much interested.\n\n\u201cThen after lunch we will have coffee in the garden, and I will tell\nyou.\u201d\n\nWhen we had sat down under the shade of a wall, with the tall avenue of\npines opposite us making a dark tangled frieze against the delicate sky,\nhe began.\n\n\u201cWhat I am going to tell you now has been gathered partly from\nconversations with my friend: and partly from letters he has written to\nme. Years ago I jotted down the order of events, with names and dates,\nbut that, of course, I fear I cannot show even to you. However, I know\nthe story well, and you may rely on the main facts.\n\n\u201cI must tell you first that many years ago now, my friend, who was about\nforty years old, had lately become a partner in his father\u2019s firm: and\nof course was greatly occupied with all the details of business. It was\na broker\u2019s firm, well established and did a good steady business. My\nfriend at that time had no idea of doing any work outside his\noccupation. I heard him say in fact, about this time, that his work\nseemed to absorb all his energies and capacity. Then the first event of\nthe series took place.\n\n\u201cHe was coming home one frosty afternoon in December, between three and\nfour o\u2019clock, on the top of an omnibus. He was sitting in front and\nlooking about him. He noticed a poorly-dressed man standing on the\npavement on the right-hand side, as if he wished to cross. Then he began\nto cross, and came at last right up to the omnibus on which my friend\nwas sitting, and paused a moment to let it pass. As he stood there, my\nfriend watching him with that listless interest with which a tired man\nwill observe details, a hansom cab moving quickly came in the opposite\ndirection. It seemed as if the horse would run the man down. It was too\nsudden to warn him, but the man saw it, and to avoid the horse sprang\nquickly forward, his head half turned away, and his feet came between\nthe front and back wheels of the omnibus. There was a jolt and a\nterrible scream, and my friend horrified leant far over the side to see.\nWhen the omnibus had passed the man stood for a moment on his crushed\nfeet, and then swayed forward and fell on his face. My friend started up\nand made a movement to go to him, but several others had seen the\naccident and ran to the man, and a policeman was crossing quickly from\nthe other side, so he sat down again and the omnibus carried him on.\n\n\u201cNow this horrible thing remained in my friend\u2019s mind, haunted him,\nshocked him profoundly. He could not forget the terrible face of pain\nthat he had seen upturned for an instant, and his imagination carried\nhim on in spite of himself to dwell on the details of those crushed\nfeet. He wrote me a long letter a week or two afterwards, minutely\ndescribing all that I have told you.\n\n\u201cThe following summer he was going down to the Kennington Oval one\nSaturday afternoon to see the close of some famous cricket match. He\ntravelled by the Underground Railway as far as Westminster, and from\nthere determined to walk at least across the Bridge. He walked on the\nright-hand side, and had reached the steps of St. Thomas\u2019 Hospital. He\nwaited here a moment undecided whether to walk on or drive.\n\n\u201cAs he waited, he half turned and saw a beggar sitting in the angle\nbetween the steps and the wall. There was a white dog beside him. The\nbeggar\u2019s face was partly bandaged; but what caught my friend\u2019s attention\nmost were his two hands. They were lying palms downwards on the beggar\u2019s\nknees, bandaged like his face, but in the centre of each was a dark\nspot, showing through the wrapping, as if there were a festering wound\nthat soaked through from underneath. My friend looked at him in disgust\nfor a moment: but terribly fascinated by those quiet suffering hands;\nand then he passed on. But during all that afternoon he could not forget\nthose hands. I daresay he was overwrought and nervous. But his memory\ntoo went back to the accident by the Marble Arch. That night too, as he\ntold me in a conversation afterwards, as he tossed about, his windows\nwide open to catch the night air, half waking visions kept moving before\nhim of a man with crushed feet and bandaged hands, who moaned and lifted\na drawn face to the sky.\n\n\u201cEarly that autumn he was alone, except for the servants, in his\nfather\u2019s house in London. A maid was taken ill. I forget the nature of\nthe illness, but perhaps you will be able to identify it when I have\nfinished. At any rate the girl grew quickly worse. One morning just\nbefore he started to the City the doctor, who had called early that\nmorning, asked to have a word with him, and told him he thought he ought\nto operate immediately, and asked for his sanction.\n\n\u201c\u2018Well,\u2019 said my friend, \u2018of course I must speak to the girl about it.\nHave you told her yet?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018No,\u2019 said the doctor, \u2018I thought I should mention it to you first. I\nunderstand that the girl has no relations in the world.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Can you tell me the nature of the operation?\u2019 asked my friend.\n\n\u201c\u2018It is not really serious. It is an incision in the right side,\u2019 and he\nadded a few details explaining the case.\n\n\u201c\u2018Well,\u2019 said my friend, \u2018we had better go upstairs together.\u2019\n\n\u201cThey went up and found the girl perfectly conscious and reasonable. She\nconsented to the operation, which was fixed for that evening.\n\n\u201cBut all that day the picture floated before his eyes of the quiet room\nat the top of the house, and the girl lying there waiting. And then the\nscene would shift a little. And he would see the girl after it was over,\nwith a bandage against her side, and the knowledge of the little wound\nbeneath. When he reached home, late in the evening, the doctor was\nwaiting for him.\n\n\u201c\u2018It has been perfectly successful,\u2019 he said, \u2018and I think she will\nrecover.\u2019\n\n\u201cNow, that evening, as my friend sat at the dinner-table alone, smoking\nand thinking, his old experiences came to his mind again. In less than a\nyear he had seen three things, none of which seemed to have any very\nclose relation to him, but each of which had deeply affected him. He\ntold me afterwards that he began to suspect a design underlying them;\nbut he had not a glimmer of light, strange as it may seem to you and me,\nas to the nature of that design. Within a month, however, I received a\nletter from him, from some place in the country where he was staying,\ndescribing the following incident.\n\n\u201cHe had gone down from a Saturday to Monday to a friend\u2019s house in\nSurrey. On the Sunday afternoon he and his friend went for a walk\nthrough some woods. Autumn was in full glory, and the trees were blazing\nin red and gold: and the bramble branches were weighed down with purple\nfruit. As they walked together along a grass ride they heard shouts and\nlaughter of children in the woods on one side. They could hear footsteps\npattering through dry leaves, and the tearing and trampling of\nbrushwood; and in a moment more a boy burst out of the thin hedge,\ntripped in a bramble, and rolled into the grass walk. He was up again in\na moment laughing and flushed, but my friend saw across his forehead a\nlittle thin red dotted line where a thorn had scratched him. As the boy\nlaughed up into their faces, he lifted his hand to his forehead.\n\n\u201c\u2018Why it\u2019s wet,\u2019 he said, and then, looking at his fingers: \u2018Why, it\u2019s\nblood! I\u2019ve scratched myself.\u2019\n\n\u201cOther footsteps came running through the undergrowth, and the boy\nhimself ran off down the road, and the footsteps in the wood stopped,\nretraced themselves and died away in faint rustlings up the hill. But as\nmy friend had looked he had seen in his memory those other experiences\nof the last year. And all seemed to concentrate themselves on one\nFigure\u2013\u2013with wounded feet and hands and side\u2013\u2013and a torn forehead.\n\n\u2018My friend stood quiet so long that his companion spoke to him and\ntouched his arm.\n\n\u201c\u2018Yes, I am ready,\u2019 he said; \u2018let us go home.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe end of the letter I cannot quote to you. It is too intimate and\npersonal. But it ended with a request to myself to give him an\nintroduction to some friend who would give him work to do in some poor\ndistrict. And work of that kind he has carried on ever since.\u201d\n\nThe old priest\u2019s voice ceased.\n\n\u201cThere is one thing my friend did not know,\u201d he said after a moment.\n\u201cWhen that particular operation on the side is performed, of which I\nhave spoken, there comes out blood and water. A doctor will tell you\nso.\u201d\n\nAnd then:\n\n\u201cThat is my friend\u2019s story,\u201d he said, \u201cDo you not think it remarkable?\u201d\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nUnto Babes\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n   \u201cSaint Bernard speaks of the words of Job that he says: \u2018_Abscondit\n    lucem in manibus_\u2019 (that is to say, \u2018God has light hid in His\n    hands\u2019)\u2013\u2013\u2018Thou wot well, he that has a candle a-light between his\n    hands, he may hide it and shew it at his own will. So does our Lord\n    to His chosen.\u2019\u201d\n\n                                          _The Abbey of the Holy Ghost._\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                               Unto Babes\n\n\nA FEW days after the conversation I have described my visit to the old\nman came to an end, and my work drew me back to London; but I left\nbehind me a promise to return and spend Christmas at his house. He in\nthe meantime would, he promised me, try to put together some other\nstories for me against the time that I should return. There were many\nothers, he said, that he had come across in his life which he hoped\nwould interest me, besides a few more personal experiences of his own.\n\nAnd so I left him smiling and waving to me from his bedroom window that\noverlooked the drive (for I had to go by an early train), with the\nclean-shaven face of his old servant looking at me discreetly and\ngravely from the clear-glass chapel window next to the priest\u2019s room,\nwhere he had been setting things ready before his master was dressed.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was a dark winter afternoon when I returned, a week or so before\nChristmas.\n\nThe coachman told me on my inquiry that his master seemed very much aged\nduring the autumn and winter, that he had scarcely left the house since\nthe leaves had fallen, except to sit for an hour or two in sunshiny\nweather in the sheltered angle of the wall where was the tiled platform\nthat I have spoken of; and that he was afraid he had been suffering from\ndepression. There had been days of almost complete silence, at least so\nParker had told him, when the master had sat all day turning over\nletters and books and old drawers.\n\nI reproached myself with having troubled the old man with demands for\nmore stories; and feared that it had been in the attempt to please me\nthat he had fallen brooding over the past, perhaps dwelling too much on\nsorrows of which I knew nothing.\n\nAs we passed under the pines that tossed their sombre plumes in the\nwind, the sun, breaking through clouds in an angry glory on my right,\nblazed on the little square-paned windows of the house on my left. The\nchapel-window on the top story seemed especially full of red light\nstreaming from within, but the flame swept across the upper story as we\ndrove past, and left the windows blank and colourless just before we\nturned the corner at the back of the house.\n\nThe old man met me in the hall, and I was startled to see the change\nthat had come to him. His eyes seemed larger than ever, and there was a\nsorrow in them that I had not seen before. They had been the eyes of a\nstainless child, wide and smiling; now they were the eyes of one who was\nunder some burden almost too heavy to be borne. In the stronger light of\nthe sitting-room as the candles shone on his face, I saw that my\nimpression had only been caused by a drooping of the eyelids, that now\nhung down a little further. But it looked a tired face.\n\nHe welcomed me, and said several charming things to me that I should be\nashamed to quote, but he made me feel that he was glad that I had come;\nand so I was glad too. But he said among other things this:\n\n\u201cI am glad you have come now, because I think I shall have something\nfurther to tell you. I have had indications during this autumn that the\nend is coming, and I think that if I have to pass through a dark\nvalley,\u2013\u2013and I feel that I am at its entrance even now,\u2013\u2013I think that He\nwill give me His staff as well as His rod. But I am an old man and full\nof fancies, so please do not question me. But I am very glad,\u201d and he\ntook my hand and stroked it for a moment, \u201cvery glad that you are here,\nbecause I do not think that you will be afraid.\u201d\n\nDuring the following days he told me many stories, bringing out the old\nbooks and letters of which the coachman had spoken, and spelling out\nnotes through his tortoiseshell glass, as he sat by the open fireplace\nin the central sitting-room, with the logs crackling and overrun with\nswift sparks as they rested on their bed of ashes. The door into the\ngarden where the old drive had once been was now kept closed, and a\nheavy curtain hung over it.\n\nWe did not go out very much together\u2013\u2013only in the early afternoons we\nwould walk for an hour or so, he leaning on my arm and on a stick, up\nand down the terraced walk that lay next the drive under the pines, as\nthe sunset burned across the hills like a far-away judgment. Some day\nperhaps I will write out some of the stories that he told me, although\nnot all. I have the notes by me.\n\nHere is one of them.\n\nWe were walking on one of these dark winter afternoons very slowly\nuphill towards the village that the priest might get a change from the\ngarden. The morning had been gusty and wet, with sleet showers and even\na sprinkle of pure snow as the sky cleared after lunch-time; and now the\nweather was settling down for a frost, and the snow lay thinly here and\nthere on the rapidly hardening ground.\n\n\u201cIt is remarkable,\u201d the old man was saying to me, \u201chow in spite of our\nLord\u2019s words people still think that faith is a matter more or less of\nintellect. Such a phrase as \u2018intelligent faith\u2019 is, of course, strictly\nmost incorrect.\u201d\n\nHe stopped and looked at me as he said this, as if prepared for dispute.\nI did not disappoint him.\n\n\u201cYou are very puzzling;\u201d I said. \u201cI cannot believe that you do not value\nintellect. Surely it is a gift of God, and therefore may adorn faith, as\nany other gift may do.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said, walking on, \u201cit may adorn it; but it has nothing more to\ndo with it really than jewels have to do with a beautiful woman. In\nfact, sometimes faith is far more beautiful unadorned, and it is quite\npossible to crush a delicate and growing faith with a weight of learned\narguments intended to adorn and perfect it. Christian apologetics, it\nseems to me, are only really useful in the mouth of one who realises\ntheir entire inadequacy. You can demonstrate nothing of God. You can, by\narguments, draw a number of lines that converge towards God, and render\nHis existence and His attributes probable; but you cannot reach Him\nalong those lines. Faith depends not on intellectual but on moral\nconditions. \u2018Blessed are the pure in heart,\u2019 said our Saviour, not\n\u2018Blessed are the profound or acute of intellect\u2019\u2013\u2013\u2018for they shall see\nGod.\u2019 It is certainly true of intellectual as of all other riches that\nthey who possess them shall find difficulty in entering into the kingdom\nof God.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd so,\u201d I said, \u201cyou think that intellectual powers are not things to\ncovet, and that education is not a very important question after all?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo more than wealth,\u201d he answered, \u201cat least so far as you mean by\neducation instruction in demonstrable facts or exact sciences. The point\nof our existence here is to know God. Well, you know for yourself how\nthe race for wealth is ruining millions of souls to-day. No less surely\nis keen intellectual competition ruining souls. Mr. \u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013, for instance,\u201d\nhe said, naming a well-known critic and poet; \u201cwas there ever a man of\nkeener and finer intellect, or of more unerring instinct in matters of\nliterary taste? Well, once I talked with that man most of a day on all\nhis own subjects; in fact, he did nearly all the talking, and I was\nastonished, I must confess, at the perfection of the training of his\nalready brilliant powers. So much I could perceive, though of course I\ncould not follow him. And of course there were many delicate shades of\nbeauty, if not much more, invisible to me in his talk and criticism. His\nscale of intellectual beauty ran up out of my sight altogether. But what\nastonished me more was the coarseness and dulness of his spiritual\ninstinct. I will not call him a child in matters of faith, because that\nwould be high praise; but he was just an ill-bred boor. I have known\nmany a Sussex villager of far purer and finer spiritual fibre. No, no;\nfaith can and does exist quite apart from intellect; and to increase or\ndevelop the one often means the decrease and incoherence of the other.\n_Seigneur, donnez-moi la foi du charbonnier!_\u201d\n\nI must confess that this was a new point of view for me; and I am not\nsure now whether I do not still think it exaggerated and dangerous; but\nI said nothing, because it did seem to open up difficult questions, and\nalso to throw light on other difficult questions. The priest turned to\nme again as he walked.\n\n\u201cWhy, it must be so,\u201d he said; \u201cif it were not, clever people would have\na better hope of salvation than stupid people; and that is absurd\u2013\u2013as\nabsurd as if rich people should be nearer God than poor people. No, no;\ntalents are distributed unevenly, it is true: to one ten and to another\nfive; but each has one pound, all alike.\u201d\n\nWe had reached the top of the slope, and the towering hedges had\ngradually fallen away, so that we could now see far and wide over the\ncountry. Away behind us, as we paused for breath, we could see the misty\nBrighton downs, while in the middle distance lay tumbled wooded hills,\nwith smoke beginning to curl up here and there from the evening fires of\nhidden villages. The sky was clear overhead, but in the west, where the\nsunset was beginning to smoulder, a few heavy clouds still lingered.\n\n\u201cAnd God sees all:\u201d said the priest. \u201cCan you put up with another story\nas we walk home again? I think I ought to be turning now.\u201d\n\nWe turned and began to retrace our steps downhill.\n\n\u201cThis is not an experience of my own,\u201d he said. \u201cIt was told me by a\nfriend of mine in Cornwall. He was the squire of a little village a few\nmiles out of Truro, and lived there most of the year except a few weeks\nin the spring, when he would go abroad. He was a man of great learning\nand taste, but had the faith of a little child. It was like a spring of\nclear water to hear him speak of God and heavenly things.\n\n\u201cThere was a boy in the village who was an idiot. His parents were dead,\nand he lived alone with his old grandmother, who was a strict Calvinist,\nand who regarded her grandson as hopelessly damned because his faith and\nhis expression of it were not as hers. There were evident signs, she\nsaid, that God\u2019s inscrutable decrees were against him. The local\npreachers there would have nothing to do with the boy; and the clergyman\nof the parish, after an attempt or two, had given the child up as\nhopeless. I think my friend told me that the clergyman had tried to\nteach him Old Testament history.\n\n\u201cWell, the boy was a terrible and disgusting case. I will not go into\ndetails beyond saying that the boy\u2019s head had the look of a mule about\nit; his mother, I think, had had a fright shortly before his birth, and\nthe boy used to think sometimes that he was a horse or mule, and the\nvillage children used to encourage him in it, and ride and drive him on\nthe green, for he was quite harmless. And so he grew up, neglected and\nuntaught, spending much of his time out of doors, and creeping home on\nall fours in the evening, snorting and stamping and neighing when he was\nmuch excited; and he would stable himself in a corner of the wide dark\nkitchen, and munch grass; while his grandmother sat in her high chair by\nthe fire reading in her Bible, or looking over her spectacles at the\npoor misshapen body in the corner that held a damned soul.\n\n\u201cNow my friend hated to see this child. It was the one thing that\ntroubled his faith. Those who have the faith of children have also the\ntroubles of children; and this living example before his eyes of what\nlooked like the carelessness of God, or worse, was a greater offence to\nmy friend\u2019s faith than all infidel arguments, or the mere knowledge that\nsuch things happened.\n\n\u201cOn a certain Christmas Eve my friend had been a long tramp over the\nhills with a guest who was staying with him for the shooting. They were\nreturning through his own property towards evening, and were just\ndropping down from the hill. Their path lay along the upper edge of an\nold disused stone-quarry, whose entrance lay perhaps a hundred yards\naway from the valley-road that led into the village\u2013\u2013so it was a lonely\nand unfrequented place. The evening was closing in; and my friend, as he\nled the way along the path, was trying to make out the outlines of\nstones and bushes on the floor of the quarry, which lay perhaps seventy\nfeet below them. All at once his eye was caught by the steady glimmer of\nlight somewhere in the dimness beneath, and the sound of a voice. He\nguessed at once that there were tramps below, and was angry at the\nthought that they must have wilfully disregarded the notice he had put\nup about making a fire so close to the wood: and he determined to turn\nthem out, and, if need be, to give them shelter for the night in one of\nhis own outhouses. So he stopped and explained to his friend which path\nwould take him home, while that he himself intended to make his way\nalong the lip of the quarry to the entrance, and then to go on into its\ninterior where the tramps had made their camp; and he promised to be at\nthe house five minutes after his friend.\n\n\u201cSo they separated, and he himself soon found his way down a narrow\novergrown path that brought him to the opening of the quarry.\n\n\u201cIt was a good deal darker here, as the hill shadowed it from the west,\nand high trees rose on one side; but he was able to stumble along the\nstony path which led to the interior, though it grew darker still as he\nwent. Presently he turned the corner of a tall boulder, and emerged into\nthe kind of semi-circus that formed the heart of the quarry: before him,\nabout a third way up the slope, burned the glimmer of light he had\nnoticed from above, but even as he saw it it went out: my friend stood\nin the path and called out, explaining who he was, not threatening at\nall, but offering, if it was any one who wanted shelter, to provide it\nfor the night. There was no answer, only the sound of scuffling in the\ndimness in front, and then the confused sound of footsteps scrambling:\nmy friend ran forward, calling, and made out presently an oddly shaped\nthing scrambling over the silt and stone towards a shoulder of rock that\nstood out against the sky on his left (I think he said). He tried to\nfollow, but it was too dark, and after he had stumbled once or twice, he\ngave up the pursuit. In a moment more the climbing figure stood out\nclear against the sky for an instant, and then disappeared: and the\nsquire saw with a shock of disgust the mule-like head and tangled hair\nrising from the high shoulders of the village idiot, and his hands\ndangling on each side of him; and he heard a high-screaming neighing.\nBut at least, he thought to himself, he would go and see what the boy\nhad been doing.\n\n\u201cHe made his way up the slope of silted gravel and mud that lay against\nthe face of the rock, and at last reached a little platform apparently\nstamped and cut out at the top of the skree just where it touched the\nquarry-side. It was too dark for him to distinguish anything clearly, so\nhe struck a match and held it in the still sheltered air while he looked\nabout him. This is what he saw.\n\n\u201cThere was a short halter, with a kind of rude head-stall, fastened to a\nrusty iron staple driven into the rock. There was a little pile of cut\ngrass below it. There was a kind of mud trough constructed against the\nstone, with a little straw sprinkled in it and holly berries and leaves\nin front of it; but this showed signs of having been hastily trampled\ndown, though parts of it survived: there were marks of hob-nailed boots\nin it here and there. So much my friend had noticed when the match\nburned his fingers: but just before he dropped it he noticed something\nelse which made him open his box and light another match: and then he\nsaw the end of a farthing taper sticking out of the ground into which it\nhad been pushed, and another crushed into a ball. He drew out the first\nand lighted it, and then noticed this last thing. Quite plainly marked\non the soft edge of the mud-trough, in a place which the hob-nailed\nboots had not touched, was the mark of a tiny child\u2019s naked foot, as if\na baby had stood in the trough or manger, with one foot on the floor and\nanother on the edge.\n\n\u201cNow I do not know what you think of this, but I know what my friend\nthought of it, and what I myself think of it. But before he went home he\nwent first to the cottage where the boy lived and found him as usual\ntethered in the corner, with his grandmother nodding before the fire.\nThe boy would do nothing but snort and stamp: and the grandmother could\nonly say that ten minutes ago the boy had run in and gone straight to\nhis corner as usual. The squire asked whether the boy had been trusted\nwith a child by any one; but the grandmother said it was impossible. Nor\nindeed did he ever after hear a word of a child having been missed on\nthat afternoon.\n\n\u201cThen, before he went home, he went to the little church, already\ndecorated for the festival, and there with the fragrance of the holly\nand yew in the air about him, and the glimmer of a candle near the altar\nwhere the church-cleaner was sweeping, he praised the Holy Child whose\nBirth-night it was, and who had not disdained to lie in a manger and be\nadored by the beasts of the stall.\n\n\u201cThe following morning on his way back from church he went to the quarry\nagain with his friend to show him what he had seen; but the manger and\nthe holly-berries and crumpled taper were all gone, and there was\nnothing to see but the iron staple and the platform beaten hard and\nflat.\u201d\n\nWe had reached the avenue of pines by now that led to the house, and\nturned in by the little garden-gate.\n\n\u201cThe story seems to show,\u201d the priest added, \u201cthat intellect has not\nmuch to do with the knowledge of God; and that the things which He hides\nfrom the wise and prudent He reveals to babes.\u201d\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nThe Traveller\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n   \u201cI am amazed, not that the Traveller returns from that Bourne, but\n    that he returns so seldom.\u201d\n\n                                                    _The Pilgrims\u2019 Way._\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                             The Traveller\n\n\nON one of these evenings as we sat together after dinner in front of the\nwide open fireplace in the central room of the house, we began to talk\non that old subject\u2013\u2013the relation of Science to Faith.\n\n\u201cIt is no wonder,\u201d said the priest, \u201cif their conclusions appear to\ndiffer, to shallow minds who think that the last words are being said on\nboth sides; because their standpoints are so different. The scientific\nview is that you are not justified in committing yourself one inch ahead\nof your intellectual evidence: the religious view is that in order to\nfind out anything worth knowing your faith must always be a little in\nadvance of your evidence; you must advance _en \u00e9chelon_. There is the\nprinciple of our Lord\u2019s promises. \u2018Act as if it were true, and light\nwill be given.\u2019 The scientist on the other hand says, \u2018Do not presume to\ncommit yourself until light is given.\u2019 The difference between the\nmethods lies, of course, in the fact that Religion admits the heart and\nthe whole man to the witness-box, while Science only admits the\nhead\u2013\u2013scarcely even the senses. Yet surely the evidence of experience is\non the side of Religion. Every really great achievement is inspired by\nmotives of the heart, and not of the head; by feeling and passion, not\nby a calculation of probabilities. And so are the mysteries of God\nunveiled by those who carry them first by assault; \u2018The Kingdom of\nHeaven suffereth violence; and the violent take it by force.\u2019\n\n\u201cFor example,\u201d he continued after a moment, \u201cthe scientific view of\nhaunted houses is that there is no evidence for them beyond that which\nmay be accounted for by telepathy, a kind of thought-reading. Yet if you\ncan penetrate that veneer of scientific thought that is so common now,\nyou find that by far the larger part of mankind still believes in them.\nPractically not one of us really accepts the scientific view as an\nadequate one.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you ever had an experience of that kind yourself?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the priest, smiling, \u201cyou are sure you will not laugh at\nit? There is nothing commoner than to think such things a subject for\nhumour; and that I cannot bear. Each such story is sacred to one person\nat the very least, and therefore should be to all reverent people.\u201d\n\nI assured him that I would not treat his story with disrespect.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d he answered, \u201cI do not think you will, and I will tell you. It\nonly happened a very few years ago. This was how it began:\n\n\u201cA friend of mine was, and is still, in charge of a church in Kent,\nwhich I will not name; but it is within twenty miles of Canterbury. The\ndistrict fell into Catholic hands a good many years ago. I received a\ntelegram, in this house, a day or two before Christmas, from my friend,\nsaying that he had been suddenly seized with a very bad attack of\ninfluenza, which was devastating Kent at that time; and asking me to\ncome down, if possible at once, and take his place over Christmas. I had\nonly lately given up active work, owing to growing infirmity, but it was\nimpossible to resist this appeal; so Parker packed my things and we went\ntogether by the next train.\n\n\u201cI found my friend really ill, and quite incapable of doing anything; so\nI assured him that I could manage perfectly, and that he need not be\nanxious.\n\n\u201cOn the next day, a Wednesday, and Christmas Eve, I went down to the\nlittle church to hear confessions. It was a beautiful old church, though\ntiny, and full of interesting things: the old altar had been set up\nagain; there was a rood-loft with a staircase leading on to it; and an\nawmbry on the north of the sanctuary had been fitted up as a receptacle\nfor the Most Holy Sacrament, instead of the old hanging pyx. One of the\nmost interesting discoveries made in the church was that of the old\nconfessional. In the lower half of the rood-screen, on the south side, a\nsquare hole had been found, filled up with an insertion of oak; but an\nantiquarian of the Alcuin Club, whom my friend had asked to examine the\nchurch, declared that this without doubt was the place where in the\npre-Reformation times confessions were heard. So it had been restored,\nand put to its ancient use; and now on this Christmas Eve I sat within\nthe chancel in the dim fragrant light, while penitents came and knelt\noutside the screen on the single step, and made their confessions\nthrough the old opening.\n\n\u201cI know this is a great platitude, but I never can look at a piece of\nold furniture without a curious thrill at a thing that has been so much\nsaturated with human emotion; but, above all that I have ever seen, I\nthink that this old confessional moved me. Through that little opening\nhad come so many thousands of sins, great and little, weighted with\nsorrow; and back again, in Divine exchange for those burdens, had\nreturned the balm of the Saviour\u2019s blood. \u2018Behold! a door opened in\nheaven,\u2019 through which that strange commerce of sin and grace may be\ncarried on\u2013\u2013grace pressed down and running over, given into the bosom in\nexchange for sin! _O bonum commercium!_\u201d\n\nThe priest was silent for a moment, his eyes glowing. Then he went on.\n\n\u201cWell, Christmas Day and the three following festivals passed away very\nhappily. On the Sunday night after service, as I came out of the vestry,\nI saw a child waiting. She told me, when I asked her if she wanted me,\nthat her father and others of her family wished to make their\nconfessions on the following evening about six o\u2019clock. They had had\ninfluenza in the house, and had not been able to come out before; but\nthe father was going to work next day, as he was so much better, and\nwould come, if it pleased me, and some of his children to make their\nconfessions in the evening and their communions the following morning.\n\n\u201cMonday dawned, and I offered the Holy Sacrifice as usual, and spent the\nmorning chiefly with my friend, who was now able to sit up and talk a\ngood deal, though he was not yet allowed to leave his bed.\n\n\u201cIn the afternoon I went for a walk.\n\n\u201cAll the morning there had rested a depression on my soul such as I have\nnot often felt; it was of a peculiar quality. Every soul that tries,\nhowever poorly, to serve God, knows by experience those heavinesses by\nwhich our Lord tests and confirms His own: but it was not like that. An\nelement of terror mingled with it, as of impending evil.\n\n\u201cAs I started for my walk along the high road this depression deepened.\nThere seemed no physical reason for it that I could perceive. I was well\nmyself, and the weather was fair; yet air and exercise did not affect\nit. I turned at last, about half-past three o\u2019clock, at a milestone that\nmarked sixteen miles to Canterbury.\n\n\u201cI rested there for a moment, looking to the south-east, and saw that\nfar on the horizon heavy clouds were gathering; and then I started\nhomewards. As I went I heard a far-away boom, as of distant guns, and I\nthought at first that there was some sea-fort to the south where\nartillery practice was being held; but presently I noticed that it was\ntoo irregular and prolonged for the report of a gun; and then it was\nwith a sense of relief that I came to the conclusion it was a far-away\nthunderstorm, for I felt that the state of the atmosphere might explain\naway this depression that so troubled me. The thunder seemed to come\nnearer, pealed more loudly three or four times and ceased.\n\n\u201cBut I felt no relief. When I reached home a little after four Parker\nbrought me in some tea, and I fell asleep afterwards in a chair before\nthe fire. I was wakened after a troubled and unhappy dream by Parker\nbringing in my coat and telling me it was time to keep my appointment at\nthe church. I could not remember what my dream was, but it was sinister\nand suggestive of evil, and, with the shreds of it still clinging to me,\nI looked at Parker with something of fear as he stood silently by my\nchair holding the coat.\n\n\u201cThe church stood only a few steps away, for the garden and churchyard\nadjoined one another. As I went down carrying the lantern that Parker\nhad lighted for me, I remember hearing far away to the south, beyond the\nvillage, the beat of a horse\u2019s hoofs. The horse seemed to be in a\ngallop, but presently the noise died away behind a ridge.\n\n\u201cWhen I entered the church I found that the sacristan had lighted a\ncandle or two as I had asked him, and I could just make out the kneeling\nfigures of three or four people in the north aisle.\n\n\u201cWhen I was ready I took my seat in the chair set beyond the screen, at\nthe place I have described; and then, one by one, the labourer and his\nchildren came up and made their confessions. I remember feeling again,\nas on Christmas Eve, the strange charm of this old place of penitence,\nso redolent of God and man, each in his tenderest character of Saviour\nand penitent; with the red light burning like a luminous flower in the\ndark before me, to remind me how God was indeed tabernacling with men,\nand was their God.\n\n\u201cNow I do not know how long I had been there, when again I heard the\nbeat of a horse\u2019s hoofs, but this time in the village just below the\nchurchyard; then again there fell a sudden silence. Then presently a\ngust of wind flung the door wide, and the candles began to gutter and\nflare in the draught. One of the girls went and closed the door.\n\n\u201cPresently the boy who was kneeling by me at that time finished his\nconfession, received absolution and went down the church, and I waited\nfor the next, not knowing how many there were.\n\n\u201cAfter waiting a minute or two I turned in my seat, and was about to get\nup, thinking there was no one else, when a voice whispered sharply\nthrough the hole a single sentence. I could not catch the words, but I\nsupposed they were the usual formula for asking a blessing, so I gave\nthe blessing and waited, a little astonished at not having heard the\npenitent come up.\n\n\u201cThen the voice began again.\u201d\n\nThe priest stopped a moment and looked round, and I could see that he\nwas trembling a little.\n\n\u201cWould you rather not go on?\u201d I said. \u201cI think it disturbs you to tell\nme.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d he said; \u201cit is all right, but it was very dreadful\u2013\u2013very\ndreadful.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, the voice began again in a loud quick whisper, but the odd thing\nwas that I could hardly understand a word; there were just phrases here\nand there, like the name of God and of our Lady, that I could catch.\nThen there were a few old French words that I knew; \u2018_le roy_\u2019 came over\nand over again. Just at first I thought it must be some extreme form of\ndialect unknown to me; then I thought it must be a very old man who was\ndeaf, because when I tried, after a few sentences, to explain that I\ncould not understand, the penitent paid no attention, but whispered on\nquickly without a pause. Presently I could perceive that he was in a\nterrible state of mind; the voice broke and sobbed, and then almost\ncried out, but still in this loud whisper; then on the other side of the\nscreen I could hear fingers working and moving uneasily, as if\nentreating admittance at some barred door. Then at last there was\nsilence for a moment, and then plainly some closing formula was\nrepeated, which gradually grew lower and ceased. Then, as I rose,\nmeaning to come round and explain that I had not been able to hear, a\nloud moan or two came from the penitent. I stood up quickly and looked\nthrough the upper part of the screen, and there was no one there.\n\n\u201cI can give you no idea of what a shock that was to me. I stood there\nglaring, I suppose, through the screen down at the empty step for a\nmoment or two, and perhaps I said something aloud, for I heard a voice\nfrom the end of the church.\n\n\u201c\u2018Did you call, sir?\u2019\u201d And there stood the sacristan, with his keys and\nlantern, ready to lock up.\n\n\u201cI still stood without answering for a moment, and then I spoke; my\nvoice sounded oddly in my ears.\n\n\u201c\u2018Is there any one else, Williams? Are they all gone?\u2019 or something like\nthat.\n\n\u201cWilliams lifted his lantern and looked round the dusky church.\n\n\u201c\u2018No, sir; there is no one.\u2019\n\n\u201cI crossed the chancel to go to the vestry, but as I was half-way,\nsuddenly again in the quiet village there broke out the desperate gallop\nof a horse.\n\n\u201c\u2018There! there!\u2019 I cried, \u2018do you hear that?\u2019\n\n\u201cWilliams came up the church towards me.\n\n\u201c\u2018Are you ill, sir?\u2019 he said. \u2018Shall I fetch your servant?\u2019\n\n\u201cI made an effort and told him it was nothing; but he insisted on seeing\nme home: I did not like to ask him whether he had heard the gallop of\nthe horse; for, after all, I thought, perhaps there was no connection\nbetween that and the voice that whispered.\n\n\u201cI felt very much shaken and disturbed; and after dinner, which I took\nalone of course, I thought I would go to bed very soon. On my way up,\nhowever, I looked into my friend\u2019s room for a few minutes. He seemed\nvery bright and eager to talk, and I stayed very much longer than I had\nintended. I said nothing of what had happened in the church; but\nlistened to him while he talked about the village and the neighbourhood.\nFinally, as I was on the point of bidding him good-night, he said\nsomething like this:\n\n\u201c\u2018Well, I mustn\u2019t keep you, but I\u2019ve been thinking while you\u2019ve been in\nchurch of an old story that is told by antiquarians about this place.\nThey say that one of St. Thomas \u00e0 Becket\u2019s murderers came here on the\nvery evening of the murder. It is his day, to-day, you know, and that is\nwhat put me in mind of it, I suppose.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhile my friend said this, my old heart began to beat furiously; but,\nwith a strong effort of self-control, I told him I should like to hear\nthe story.\n\n\u201c\u2018Oh! there\u2019s nothing much to tell,\u2019 said my friend; \u2018and they don\u2019t\nknow who it\u2019s supposed to have been; but it is said to have been either\none of the four knights, or one of the men-at-arms.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018But how did he come here?\u2019 I asked, \u2018and what for?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Oh! he\u2019s supposed to have been in terror for his soul, and that he\nrushed here to get absolution, which, of course, was impossible.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018But tell me,\u2019 I said. \u2018Did he come here alone, or how?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Well, you know, after the murder they ransacked the Archbishop\u2019s house\nand stables: and it is said that this man got one of the fastest horses\nand rode like a madman, not knowing where he was going; and that he\ndashed into the village, and into the church where the priest was: and\nthen afterwards, mounted again and rode off. The priest, too, is buried\nin the chancel, somewhere, I believe. You see it\u2019s a very vague and\nimprobable story. At the Gatehouse at Malling, too, you know, they say\nthat one of the knights slept there the night after the murder.\u2019\n\n\u201cI said nothing more; but I suppose I looked strange, because my friend\nbegan to look at me with some anxiety, and then ordered me off to bed:\nso I took my candle and went.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the priest, turning to me, \u201cthat is the story. I need not\nsay that I have thought about it a great deal ever since: and there are\nonly two theories which appear to me credible, and two others, which\nwould no doubt be suggested, which appear to me incredible.\n\n\u201cFirst, you may say that I was obviously unwell: my previous depression\nand dreaming showed that, and therefore that I dreamt the whole thing.\nIf you wish to think that\u2013\u2013well, you must think it.\n\n\u201cSecondly, you may say, with the Psychical Research Society, that the\nwhole thing was transmitted from my friend\u2019s brain to mine; that his was\nin an energetic, and mine in a passive state, or something of the kind.\n\n\u201cThese two theories would be called \u2018scientific,\u2019 which term means that\nthey are not a hair\u2019s-breadth in advance of the facts with which the\nintellect, a poor instrument at the best, is capable of dealing. And\nthese two \u2018scientific\u2019 theories create in their turn a new brood of\ninsoluble difficulties.\n\n\u201cOr you may take your stand upon the spiritual world, and use the\nfaculties which God has given you for dealing with it, and then you will\nno longer be helplessly puzzled, and your intellect will no longer\noverstrain itself at a task for which it was never made. And you may\nsay, I think, that you prefer one of two theories.\n\n\u201cFirst, that human emotion has a power of influencing or saturating\ninanimate nature. Of course this is only the old familiar sacramental\nprinciple of all creation. The expressions of your face, for instance,\ncaused by the shifting of the chemical particles of which it is\ncomposed, vary with your varying emotions. Thus we might say that the\nviolent passions of hatred, anger, terror, remorse, of this poor\nmurderer, seven hundred years ago, combined to make a potent spiritual\nfluid that bit so deep into the very place where it was all poured out,\nthat under certain circumstances it is reproduced. A phonograph, for\nexample, is a very coarse parallel, in which the vibrations of sound\ntranslate themselves first into terms of wax, and then re-emerge again\nas vibrations when certain conditions are fulfilled.\n\n\u201cOr, secondly, you may be old-fashioned and simple, and say that by some\nlaw, vast and inexorable, beyond our perception, the personal spirit of\nthe very man is chained to the place, and forced to expiate his sin\nagain and again, year by year, by attempting to express his grief and to\nseek forgiveness, without the possibility of receiving it. Of course we\ndo not know who he was; whether one of the knights who afterwards did\nreceive absolution, which possibly was not ratified by God; or one of\nthe men-at-arms who assisted, and who, as an anonymous chronicle says,\n\u2018_sine confessione et viatico subito rapti sunt_.\u2019\n\n\u201cThere is nothing materialistic, I think, in believing that spiritual\nbeings may be bound to express themselves within limits of time and\nspace; and that inanimate nature, as well as animate, may be the\nvehicles of the unseen. Arguments against such possibilities have\nsurely, once for all, been silenced, for Christians at any rate, by the\nIncarnation and the Sacramental system, of which the whole principle is\nthat the Infinite and Eternal did once, and does still, express Itself\nunder forms of inanimate nature, in terms of time and space.\n\n\u201cWith regard to another point, perhaps I need not remind you that a\nthunderstorm broke over Canterbury on the day and hour of the actual\nmurder of the Archbishop.\u201d\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nThe Sorrows of the World\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n            \u201c... quell\u2019 ombre orando, andavan sotto il pondo\n               simile a quel che talvolta si sogna,\n             disparmente angosciate tutte a tondo\n               e lasse su per la prima cornice,\n               purgando le caligine del mondo.\u201d\n                                            _Il Purgatorio._\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                        The Sorrows of the World\n\n\nAS the days went on I became more reassured about my friend. Parker told\nme there was an improvement since I had come: and the shadow in his eyes\nseemed a little lightened. On Christmas Eve the Rector called, and they\nwere shut up together in the chapel for an hour after tea; and the old\nman, I suppose, made his confession. He seemed brighter than ever that\nevening, and told me story after story after dinner, old tales of when\nhe was a child.\n\nOn Christmas morning he celebrated the Holy Mysteries as usual in the\nchapel, and I received the Communion at his hands. We went to church in\nthe brougham, and that was the last time the old priest was seen in\npublic. There was intense curiosity about him in the village, as well as\nthe greatest reverence and love for him, and I noticed a ripple of\ninterest along the benches as we passed up to the Hall pew.\n\nOn the evening of Christmas Day he had provided a Christmas tree in the\nservants\u2019 hall; but we only looked in for a moment when the shouting was\nat its loudest, and he nodded at a child or two who caught sight of him,\nand I saw his whole face kindle with joy and tenderness, and then we\nwent back to the fire in the sitting-room.\n\nThe morning of St. John\u2019s Day broke dark and heavy. We had to have\ncandles at breakfast, and the old man seemed curiously changed and\ndepressed again. He hardly spoke at all, and looked at me almost\nresentfully, like an overwrought child, when I failed to blow out the\nspirit lamp at the first attempt.\n\nAll day long the gloom outside seemed to gather, the sun went down in a\npale sky barred with indigo, and the wind began to rise.\n\nThe old man, after a word or two, went to his room soon after dinner,\nand I understood from Parker, who presently came in, that the master was\nexceedingly sorry for his discourtesy, but that he did not feel equal to\nconversation, and intended to go to bed early, and that he would be\nobliged if I could manage to amuse myself alone that evening. But I too\nwent upstairs early, feeling a little uneasy.\n\nOn the top landing of the north end of the house there are three doors:\nthe central one is the chapel door; that on the right, approached by two\nlittle steep steps of its own, was the priest\u2019s room; that on the left\nopposite was my own room. As I went in, I noticed that a light shone\nfrom under the chapel door, and that his own door was wide open, showing\nthe flickering light of the fire within. As I paused I saw Parker pass\nacross the doorway, and called to him in a low voice.\n\n\u201cYes, sir; he\u2019s fairly well, I think,\u201d he answered to my inquiry. \u201cHe is\nin the chapel just now, and is coming to bed directly. He told me just\nnow, sir, too, to ask whether you would serve him to-morrow morning.\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly,\u201d I said; \u201cbut are you sure he ought to get up? He has not\nbeen well all day.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, sir,\u201d said Parker; \u201cI will do my best to persuade him to stay in\nbed, and will let you know if I succeed, but I doubt whether the master\nwill be persuaded.\u201d\n\nAs I crossed outside the chapel door to go to my own room I heard a\nmurmur from within, with a word or two which I cannot write down.\n\nBefore I was in bed I heard the chapel door open, and footsteps go up\nthe little steps opposite, and the door close. Presently it opened\nagain; and then a tap at my door.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s only me, sir,\u201d said Parker\u2019s voice. \u201cMay I speak to you a moment?\u201d\nand then he came in with a candle in his hand.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not easy about him, sir,\u201d he said. \u201cBut he won\u2019t let me sleep in\nhis room, as I asked. I\u2019ve come to ask you whether you will let me lie\ndown on your sofa. I don\u2019t like to leave him. My own room is at the\nother end of the house. Excuse me, sir, if I\u2019ve asked what I shouldn\u2019t.\nBut I don\u2019t like to sleep on the landing for fear he should look out and\nsee me, and be displeased.\u201d\n\nOf course I assented, almost eagerly, for I felt a strange discomfort\nand loneliness myself.\n\nParker went noiselessly downstairs and got a rug or two and a pillow,\nand then, with many apologies, lay down on the sofa near the window. My\nbed stood at the other end of the long narrow room under the sloping\nside of the roof. I blew the candles out presently, and the room was in\ndarkness.\n\nI could not sleep at first. I was anxious for my friend, and I lay and\nlistened for the slightest sound from the landing. But Parker\u2019s face, as\nI had seen it as he had stood with the candle in his hand, reassured me\nthat he too would be on the watch. The wind had half died down again.\nOnly there came gusts from time to time that shook the leaded windows.\nGradually I began to doze, then I suppose I dropped off to sleep, and I\ndreamed.\n\nIn my dream I knew that I was still in my room, lying on my bed, but the\nroom seemed illuminated with a light whose source I could not imagine.\nThe curtains, I thought, were no longer drawn over the windows, but\nlooped back, and the light from my room fell distinctly upon the panes.\nI thought I was sitting up in bed watching for something at the window,\nsomething which would terrify me when it came. And then as I watched\nthere came a gust of wind, and lashed, to judge by the sound, a big\nspray of ivy across the outside. Then again it came, and again, but the\nsound grew more distinct. I could see nothing at the window, but there\ncame that ceaseless patter and tap, like a thousand fingers. Then a dead\nleaf or two was whirled up, stuck for a moment on the glass, and whirled\naway again. It seemed to me that the ivy-spray and the leaves were\nclamouring to be admitted into shelter from that wild wind outside. I\ngrew terrified at their insistence, and tried in my dream to call to\nParker, whom I fancied to be still in the room, and in the struggle\nawoke, and the room was dark. No; as I looked about me it was not quite\ndark. There lay across the floor an oblong patch of light from the door.\nI gradually realised that the door was open; there came a draught round\nthe corner at the foot of my bed. I sat up and called gently to Parker.\nBut there was no answer. I got out of bed noiselessly, and went across\nthe floor to where I saw the dim outlines of the sofa. As I drew near I\nstumbled over a rug, and then felt the pillow, also on the floor. I put\nmy hands almost instinctively down, and felt that the sofa was still\nwarm, but Parker was gone. Then I looked out of the door. The landing\nwas lit by an oil-lamp, and its light fell upon the priest\u2019s door. It\nwas almost closed, but I could hear a faint murmur of voices.\n\nI put on my dressing-gown and slippers and went out. Almost\nsimultaneously the door opposite opened a little wider, and Parker\u2019s\nface looked out, white and scared. When he saw me, he came swiftly out\nand down the stairs, beckoning to me; but as we met, a loud high voice\ncame from the priest\u2019s room.\n\n\u201cParker, Parker! tell him to come in\u2013\u2013at once\u2013\u2013at once. Don\u2019t leave me.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo in, sir: go in,\u201d Parker said, in a loud whisper to me, pushing me\ntowards the door. I went quickly up the two steep steps and entered,\nParker close behind me, and I heard him close the door softly.\n\nThere was a tall screen on my left, and behind it was the bed, with the\nhead in the corner of the room: a fire was burning near the bed. I came\nround the screen quickly, and saw the priest sitting up in bed. He wore\na tippet over his shoulders and a small skull-cap on his head. His eyes\nwere large and bright, and looked at me almost unintelligently. His\nhands were hidden by the bedclothes. There was a little round table by\nthe head of the bed, on which stood two burning candles in silver\ncandlesticks. I drew up a chair by the table and sat down.\n\n\u201cMy old friend,\u201d I said, \u201cwhat is it? Cannot you sleep?\u201d\n\nHe made no answer to me directly, but stared past me round the room, and\nthen fixed his eyes at the foot of the bed.\n\n\u201cThe sorrows of the world,\u201d he said, \u201cand the sorrows under the earth.\nThey come to me now, because I have not understood them, nor wept for\nthem.\u201d\n\nAnd then he drew out his old, thin, knotted hands, and clasped them\noutside the rug that lay on the outside of the bed. I laid my own hand\nupon them.\n\n\u201cYou have had a greater gift than that,\u201d I said. \u201cYou have known instead\nthe joys of the world.\u201d\n\nHe paid no attention to me, but stared mournfully before him, but he did\nnot withdraw his hands.\n\nThere came a sudden gust of wind outside; and even in that corner away\nfrom the window the candle flames leant over to one side, and then the\nchimney behind me sighed suddenly.\n\nThe priest unclasped his hands, and my own hand fell suddenly on the\ncoverlet. He stretched out his left hand to the window as it still\nshook, and pointed at it in silence, glaring over my head as he did so.\n\nAlmost instinctively I turned to the long low window and looked. But the\ncurtains were drawn over it: they were just stirring and heaving in the\ndraught, but there was nothing to be seen. I could hear the pines\ntossing and sighing like a troubled sea outside.\n\nThen he broke out into a long wild talk, now in a whisper, and now\nbreaking into something like a scream.\n\nParker came quickly round from the doorway, where he had been waiting\nout of sight, and stood behind me, anxious and scared. Sometimes I could\nnot hear what the priest said: he muttered to himself: much of it I\ncould not understand: and some of it I cannot bring myself to write\ndown\u2013\u2013so sacred was it\u2013\u2013so revealing of his soul\u2019s inner life hidden\nwith Christ in God.\n\n\u201cThe sorrows of the world,\u201d he cried again; \u201cthey are crying at my\nwindow, at the window of a hard old man and a traitorous priest ...\nbetrayed them with a kiss.... Ah! the Holy Innocents who have suffered!\nInnocents of man and bird and beast and flower; and I went my way or sat\nat home in the sunshine; and now they come crying to me to pray for\nthem. How little I have prayed!\u201d Then he broke into a torrent of tender\nprayer for all suffering things. It seemed to me as he prayed as if the\nwind and the pines were silent. Then he began again:\n\n\u201cTheir pale faces look through the glass; no curtains can shut them out.\nTheir thin fingers tap and entreat.... And I have closed my heart at\nthat door and cannot open it to let them in.... There is the face of a\ndog who has suffered\u2013\u2013his teeth are white, but his eyes are glazed and\nhis tongue hangs out.... There is a rose with drenched petals\u2013\u2013a rose\nwhom I forgot. See how the wind has battered it.... The sorrows of the\nworld!... There come the souls from under the earth, crying for one to\nrelease them and let them go\u2013\u2013souls that all men have forgotten, and I,\nthe chief of sinners.... I have lived too much in the sweetness of God\nand forgotten His sorrows.\u201d\n\nThen he turned to a crucifix of ebony and silver that hung on the wall\nat his side, and looked on it silently. And then again he broke into\ncompassionate prayer to the Saviour of the world, entreating Him by His\nAgony and Bloody Sweat, by His Cross and Passion, to remember all\nsuffering things. That prayer that I heard gave me a glimpse into\nmysteries of which I had not dreamed; mysteries of the unity of Christ\nand His members, a unity of pain. These great facts, which I thank God I\nknow more of now, stood out in fiery lines against the dark sorrow that\nseemed to have filled the room from this old man\u2019s heart.\n\nThen suddenly he turned to me, and his eyes so searched my own that I\nlooked down, while his words lashed me.\n\n\u201cYou, my son,\u201d he said, \u201cwhat have you done to help our Lord and His\nchildren? Have you watched or slept? Couldst thou not watch with me one\nhour? What share have you borne in the Incarnation? Have you believed\nfor those who could not believe, hoped for the despairing, loved and\nadored for the cold? And if you could not understand nor do this, have\nyou at least welcomed pain that would have made you one with them? Have\nyou even pitied them? Or have you hidden your face for fear you should\ngrieve too much? But what am I that I should find fault?\u201d Then he broke\noff again into self-reproach.\n\nAt this point Parker bent over me and whispered:\n\n\u201cHe will die, sir, I think, unless you can get him to be quiet.\u201d\n\nThe old man overheard, and turned almost fiercely.\n\n\u201cQuiet?\u201d he cried, \u201cwhen the world is so unquiet! Can I rest, do you\nthink, with those at my window?\u201d Then, with a loud cry, \u201cAh! they are in\nthe room! They look at me from the air! I cannot bear it.\u201d And he\ncovered his face with his old thin hands, and shrank back against the\nwall.\n\nI got up from my seat, and looked round as I did so. It seemed to my\nfancy as if there were some strange Presence filling the room. It seemed\nas I turned as if crowding faces swiftly withdrew themselves over and\nbehind the screen. A picture on the wall overhead lifted and dropped\nagain like a door as if to let something escape. The coverlet, which was\na little disarranged by the old man\u2019s movement, rippled gently as if\nsome one who had been seated on the bed had risen. I heard Parker, too,\nbehind me draw his breath quickly through his teeth. All this I noticed\nin a moment; the next I had bent over the bed towards the priest and put\nmy hand on his shoulder. Either he or I was trembling, I felt as I\ntouched him.\n\n\u201cMy dear old friend,\u201d I said, \u201ccannot you lie down quietly a little? You\ncannot think how you are distressing us both.\u201d\n\nThen I added a word or two, presumptuously, I felt, in the presence of\nthis old man, who knew so much about the Love of God and the Compassion\nof our Saviour.\n\nPresently he withdrew his hands and looked at me.\n\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d he said; \u201cbut you do not understand. I am a priest.\u201d\n\nI sat down again. I tried hard to control a great trembling that had\nseized me. Still he watched me. Then he said more quietly:\n\n\u201cIs it nearly morning?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is not yet twelve o\u2019clock, sir,\u201d said Parker\u2019s voice steadily behind\nme.\n\n\u201cThen I must watch and pray a little longer,\u201d said the old man. \u201cJoy\ncometh in the morning.\u201d\n\nThen quite quietly he turned and lifted the crucifix from its nail,\nkissed it and replaced it. Then he put his hands over his face again and\nremained still.\n\nThe wind outside seemed quieter. But whenever it sighed in the chimney\nor at the window the priest winced a little, as if a sudden pain had\ntouched him.\n\nHe was supported by pillows behind his back and head, against which he\nleaned easily. After a few minutes of silence his hands dropped and\nclasped themselves on his lap. His eyes were closed, and he seemed\nbreathing steadily. I hoped that he would fall asleep so. But as I\nturned to whisper to Parker, I suppose I must have made a slight noise,\nfor when I looked at the servant he paid no attention to me, but was\nlooking at his master. I turned back again, and saw the old man\u2019s eyes\ngazing straight at me.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said; \u201cgo and sleep; why are you here? Parker, why did you\nallow him to come?\u201d\n\n\u201cI woke up and came myself,\u201d I said. \u201cParker did not disturb me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, go back to bed now. You will serve me in the morning?\u201d\n\nI tried to say something about his not being fit to get up, but he waved\nit aside.\n\n\u201cYou cannot understand,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cThat is my one hope and\nescape. Joy cometh in the morning. There are many souls here and\nelsewhere that are waiting for that joy, and I must not disappoint them.\nAnd I too,\u201d he added softly, \u201cI too look for that joy. Go now, and we\nwill meet in the morning.\u201d And he smiled at me so gently that I got up\nand went, feeling comforted.\n\nAfter I had been in bed a little while, I heard the priest\u2019s door open\nand close again, and then Parker tapped at my open door and came in.\n\n\u201cI have left him quiet, sir. I do not think he will sleep, but he would\nnot let me stay.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you ever seen him like this before?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cNever quite like this, sir,\u201d he said; and as I looked at the old\nservant I saw that his eyes were bright with tears, and his lips\ntwitching.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d I said, \u201cwe have both heard strange things to-night. Your master\nwhom you love is in the hands of God.\u201d\n\nThe old servant\u2019s face broke into lines of sorrow; and then the tears\nran down his face.\n\n\u201cExcuse me, sir,\u201d he said, \u201cI am not quite myself. Shall I put the\ncandle out, sir?\u201d Then he lay down on the sofa.\n\n\u201cOne word more, Parker. You will wake me if you hear anything more. And\nanyhow you will call me at seven if I should be asleep.\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly, sir,\u201d answered Parker\u2019s voice from the darkness.\n\nI slept and woke often that night. Each time I woke I went quietly to\nthe door and looked across the landing and listened. Each time I was not\nso quiet but that Parker heard me and was by me as I looked, and each\ntime there was a line of light under the priest\u2019s door; and once or\ntwice a murmur of one voice at least from the room.\n\nTowards morning I fell into a sound sleep, and awoke to find Parker\narranging my clothes and setting ready my bath. The rugs and the pillow\nwere gone from the sofa, and there was no sign on the servant\u2019s face\nthat anything unusual had happened during the night.\n\n\u201cHow is he?\u201d I asked quickly. \u201cHave you seen him?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d said Parker; \u201che is dressing now, and will be ready at\nhalf-past seven. It is a little before seven now, sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut how is he?\u201d I asked again.\n\n\u201cI scarcely know, sir,\u201d answered Parker. \u201cHe does not seem ill, but he\nis very silent again this morning, sir.\u201d\n\nThen, after a pause, \u201cIs there anything I can do for you, sir?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is nothing more, thank you,\u201d I said, and he left the room.\n\nI got up presently and dressed. The morning was still dark, and I\ndressed by candlelight. When I drew the curtains back the sky had just\nbegun to glimmer in the reflected dawn from the other side of the house;\nbut it was too dark to see to read except by artificial light.\n\nI went out on to the landing, paused a moment, and heard a footstep in\nthe priest\u2019s room. Then I opened the door of the oratory and went in.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nIn the Morning\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n   \u201cAt the end of woe suddenly our eyes shall be opened, and in\n    clearness of light our sight shall be full: which light is God, our\n    Maker and Holy Ghost, in Christ Jesus our Saviour.\u201d\n\n                                                        _Mother Julian._\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                             In the Morning\n\n\nTHE oratory is a little room, white-washed, crossed by oaken beams on\nthe walls. The window is opposite the door; and the altar stands to the\nleft. There is a bench or two on the right.\n\nWhen I entered on this morning the tapers were lighted, the vestments\nlaid out upon the altar, and all prepared. I went across and knelt by\nthe window. Presently I heard the priest\u2019s door open, and in a moment\nmore he came in, followed by Parker, who closed the door behind him and\ncame and knelt at the bench. I looked eagerly at the old man\u2019s face; it\nwas white and tired-looking, and the eyebrows seemed to droop more than\never, but it was a quiet face. It was only for an instant that I saw it,\nfor he turned to the altar and began to vest: and then when he was ready\nhe began.\n\nIt was strange to hear that voice, which had rung with such intensity of\npain so few hours before, now subdued and controlled; and to watch the\norderly movements of those hands that had twisted and gesticulated with\nsuch terrible appeal. I felt that Parker too was watching with a close\nand awful interest what we both half feared would be a shocking climax\nto the scenes of the night before, but which we half hoped too would\nrecall and quiet that troubled spirit.\n\nDawn was now beginning to shine on the western sky. There was a tall\nholly tree that rose nearly to the level of the window. As I looked out\nfor a moment my eye was caught by the outline of a bird, faintly seen,\nsitting among the upper branches.\n\nNow I will only mention one incident that took place. I was in such a\nstrange and disordered state of mind that I scarcely now can remember\ncertainly anything but this. As the Priest\u2019s Communion drew near there\ncame a sudden soft blow against the window panes....\n\nWhen the priest began to unvest, I left the chapel and went downstairs\nto await him in the breakfast room. But as he did not come, I went\noutside the house for a few minutes, and presently found myself below\nthe chapel window. It seemed to me that I was in a dream\u2013\u2013the very earth\nI trod on seemed unreal. I was unable to think connectedly. The scene in\nthe chapel seemed to stand out vividly. It seemed to me as if in some\nsense it were a climax, but of what nature, whether triumphant or full\nof doom, I could not tell.\n\nAs I stood there, perplexed, downcast, in the growing glimmer of the\nday, my eyes fell upon a small rumpled heap at my feet, and looking\ncloser I saw it was the body of a thrush; it was still limp and warm,\nand as I lifted it I remembered the sudden blow against the window\npanes. But as I still stood, utterly distracted, the chapel window was\nthrown open, and Parker\u2019s face looked out as I gazed up. He beckoned to\nme furiously and withdrew, leaving the window swinging.\n\nI laid the thrush under a bush at the corner of the house as I ran\nround, and came in quickly and up the stairs. Parker met me on the\nlanding.\n\n\u201cHe just reeled and fell, sir,\u201d he said, \u201cup the stairs into his room.\nI\u2019ve laid him on the bed, and must get down to the stables to send for\nthe doctor. Will you stay with him, sir, till I come back?\u201d And without\nwaiting for an answer he was gone.\n\nThat evening I was still sitting by my friend\u2019s side. I had food brought\nup to my room during the day, but except for those short intervals was\nwith him continually. The doctor had come and gone. All that he could\ntell us was that the old man had had a seizure of some kind, and he had\nlooked grave when I told him of the events of the night before.\n\n\u201cHis age is against him, too,\u201d the doctor had said; \u201cI cannot say what\nwill happen.\u201d\n\nAnd then he had given directions, and had left, promising to return\nagain, at any rate the next morning.\n\nI had been trying to read with a shaded lamp, looking from time to time\nat the figure of the old man on the bed, as he lay white and quiet, with\nhis eyes closed, as he had lain all day.\n\nAt about six o\u2019clock, I had just glanced at my watch, when a slight\nmovement made me turn to the bed again, and I could see in the dim light\nthat his eyes were open and fixed upon me, but all the pain was gone out\nof them, and they were a child\u2019s eyes again. I rose and went to his\nside, and sat down in the same chair that I had occupied the night\nbefore. Immediately I had sat down he put out his hand, and I took it\nand held it. His eyes smiled at me, and then he spoke, very slowly, with\nlong pauses.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d he said, \u201cyou have been with me and have seen and heard, last\nnight and this morning; but it is all ended, and the valley is\nlightening again at its eastern end where the sun rises. So it was not\nall dreams and fancies\u2013\u2013those old stories that you bore with so\npatiently to please me. Now tell me what you heard and saw. Did you see\nthem all in the room last night? and\u2013\u2013and\u201d\u2013\u2013his eyes grew wide and\ninsistent\u2013\u2013\u201cwhat did you see this morning?\u201d\n\nNow the doctor had told me that he must not be over-excited, but\nsoothed; and honestly enough, though some who may read this may not\nagree with me, I thought it was better to speak plainly of those things\nso strange to you and me, but so dear and familiar to him. And so I told\nhim all I had heard and seen.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d he said when I had finished, \u201cthen we were not quite as one. But\nstill you saw and heard more than most men. Now will you hear one more\nstory? I will not tell you all I saw last night, because the Lord has\nbeen gracious to me, and is rising with healing in His wings on me and\non many other poor creatures. But the wounds are aching still, and if\nyou will spare me, I will not speak much of the shadows of last night,\nbut only of the joys that came in the morning. Will you hear it?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear old friend,\u201d I said, \u201care you sure it will not be too much for\nyou?\u201d\n\nHe shook his head; and then, still holding my hand in his, his fingers\ntightening and relaxing as he told his tale, with many pauses and\nefforts, he began:\n\n\u201cLast night the sorrows of death came to me,\u201d he said, \u201cand all the\nblood and agony and desolation of the whole world seemed to be round me.\nAnd I have had so little sorrow in my life that I was ill prepared to\nmeet them. Our Lord has always shown me such grace and given me so much\njoy. But He warned me again and again this autumn. That was why I spoke\nto you as I did when you came before Christmas.\n\n\u201cWell, last night, all this came to me. And it seemed as if I were\npartly responsible. Years ago I was set apart as a priest to stand\nbetween the dead and the living. It was meant that I should be the\nmeeting-place, as every priest must be, of creation\u2019s need and God\u2019s\ngrace\u2013\u2013as every Christian must be in his station. That is what\nintercession and the Holy Sacrifice both signify and effect. The two\ntides of need and fulfilment must meet in a priest\u2019s heart. But all my\nlife I have known much of fulfilment and little of need. Last night the\nfirst was almost withdrawn, and the second deepened almost beyond\nbearing. But I knew, as I told you last night, that with the morning\nwould come peace\u2013\u2013that I should be able to carry up the burden laid on\nme, and make it one with Him on Whom the iniquities of us all are laid.\nBut I need not say more of that now. This morning when I went to the\naltar a lull had come in the storm. But it was all in my heart still. I\nfelt sure that I should have the clear vision once more: and as I lifted\nup the Body of our Lord, it came.\n\n\u201cAs I lifted It up It disappeared; as those tell us who look in\ncrystals. And this is what I saw. I do not know how long I saw it, it\nseemed as if time stood still, but you told me there was no perceptible\npause. Well\u201d\u2013\u2013and the old man raised himself slightly in the\nbed\u2013\u2013\u201cbetween my hands I saw a long slope running as it seemed from me\ndownhill. On the nearer higher end of the slope were men going to and\nfro, and I knew they needed something\u2013\u2013and yet many of them did not seem\nto know it themselves\u2013\u2013but they were all in need. One there was who\nwalked quickly, clenching and unclenching his hands, and I knew he\nfought with sin. And there was a woman with a dead child across her\nknees; and there was a blind child crying in a corner.\n\n\u201cThen further down the slope were wounded creatures of all kinds, and\nlonely beasts seeking a place to die, and the very grass of the field\nseemed to be in sorrow, and there were blind sea-creatures gasping. They\nwere not small, as you might think, but I saw them as if I looked\nthrough a hole in a wall.\n\n\u201cAnd they stretched down, rank on rank, heaving and striving, men and\nbeasts warring and trampling down the flowers. There was a thrush I saw,\ntoo, shivering in a tree; and the thought of the story I have told you\ncame to my mind, and there were a thousand things that I forget.\n\n\u201cNow when I saw all this my hands trembled, but what I saw did not\ntremble, so I knew that it was real. And then very far away and faint at\nthe foot of the slope was a level silvery mist, like a sea-fog, with\ndelicate currents and lines, now swift and piercing, now slow; and in\nthe mist moved faces; but I could not distinguish the features. And\nthese were the souls that waited until their sins should be done away.\n\n\u201cAnd then with something like terror I remembered that I held in my\nhands the Body of the Lord. And I was puzzled and distracted, but I\nknelt to adore, and as I lowered the Holy Thing, the clouds closed and\nthe light died out. And it may be that I was cowardly\u2013\u2013and I think God\nwill pardon an old man for whom the light was too strong\u2013\u2013but when I\nconsecrated the chalice, I dared not look at it. At the Communion, too,\nI closed my eyes again.\u201d The old man paused a moment and then continued.\n\u201cI heard no sound such as you describe. As I unvested and went to my\nroom I was still perplexed at what I had seen, and could not understand\nit, and then on a sudden I understood it, and it was then I suppose that\nI fell down.\u201d\n\nThere was a silence for a moment: then I answered.\n\n\u201cI cannot understand even now.\u201d\n\nThe priest smiled at me, and his hand closed again on mine.\n\n\u201cI think there is no need for me to tell you that. It will be plain to\nyou soon. Remember what it was that I saw, and where I saw it, and all\nwill be easy.\n\n\u201cYou can leave me now for a little,\u201d he went on. \u201cI am perfectly free\nfrom pain, and I wish to think. Would you send Parker to me in about an\nhour\u2019s time?\u201d And then, as I went towards the door, he added:\n\n\u201cOne word more. I had forgotten something. I have yet one more clear\nvision to see before I die. I have seen, you remember, what you too have\nseen, how all things need God; but there is yet one more thing to see\nwhich will make all plain, and I think you can guess what that is. And I\npray that you will be with me when I see it.\u201d\n\nThen I turned and went quietly out.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nThe Expected Guest\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n\u201cJhesu! Jhesu! Esto michi, Jhesu!\u201d\n\n                                                            _Old Prayer_\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                           The Expected Guest\n\n\nAS day after day went by and the old man seemed no worse, I began to\nhave hopes that he might recover, but the doctor discouraged me.\n\n\u201cAt the best,\u201d he said, \u201che may just linger on. But I do not think the\nend is far off. You must remember he is an old man.\u201d And so at last the\nend came.\n\nDuring these days, since Parker was of course too much occupied with his\nmaster, a boy waited on me. On the last evening, as the boy came in for\nthe second time at dinner, he looked white and frightened.\n\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cWe don\u2019t like it, sir, in the servants\u2019 hall. Two children ran in just\nnow and said they had seen something, and we are all upset, sir. The\nmaids are crying.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat was it the children thought they saw?\u201d I asked. The boy hesitated.\n\n\u201cTell me,\u201d I repeated.\n\nThe boy put down the dish he held and came closer to me.\n\n\u201cThey say they saw the master himself, sir, on the front lawn, at the\ngate.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere were the children?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cPassing round from the house, sir, in front, under the chestnut. They\nhad been sent by the Rector to inquire.\u201d\n\nI got up from the table.\n\n\u201cWhere are they?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cIn the servants\u2019 hall, sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cBring them into the sitting-room.\u201d And I followed him out and waited.\nPresently the swing-door opened and the children looked in. Behind them\nwere the pale faces of the servants, whispering and staring.\n\n\u201cCome in,\u201d I said to the children, \u201cand sit down. Don\u2019t be afraid.\u201d\n\nThey came timidly in, evidently very much frightened. The door closed\nbehind them.\n\nThis was their story.\n\nThey had been to the house to inquire how the old man was, and were\nreturning to the Rectory. But they had hardly started, in fact had only\njust reached the chestnut-tree in front of the house, when both of them,\nwho were looking towards the lighted windows, had seen quite plainly the\nfigure of the old priest standing just inside the gate. He was\nbareheaded, they said, dressed in black, but they could only see his\nhead and shoulders over the bank, as the road is a little lower than the\ngrass which borders on it and runs up to the gate. He seemed, they said,\nto be looking out for some one. When I asked them how they could\npossibly see any one at that distance on such a dark night, they had no\nsort of explanation; they could only repeat that they did see him quite\nplainly. At last I took them out myself, and made them point out to me\nthe place where they had seen it; but, as I expected, all was dark, and\nwe could not even make out the white balls on the pedestals. I took them\non to the end of the drive, as they still seemed upset; and they told me\nthere that they would not be frightened to go the rest of the way alone.\nFortunately, however, as we waited a man passed in the direction of the\nvillage, and he consented to see them as far as the Rectory gate.\n\nWhen I entered the house again the maids with the boy were standing in\nthe hall. They looked eagerly towards the door as I opened it, and one\nof them cried out.\n\n\u201cWhat is it now?\u201d I asked. One of the elder servants answered:\n\n\u201cOh sir, the master\u2019s worse. Parker\u2019s afraid he\u2019s going. He\u2019s just run\ndownstairs for you, sir; and now he\u2019s gone back.\u201d\n\nI did not wait to hear any more, but pushed past them, through the\nsitting-room, and ran upstairs.\n\nThe door of the old man\u2019s room was open, and I heard faint sounds from\nwithin. I went straight in without knocking, and turned the corner of\nthe screen.\n\nParker, who was kneeling by the bed, supporting his master in his arms,\nturned his head as I came in sight, and made a gesture with it. I came\nclose up.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s going fast, sir, I\u2019m afraid,\u201d he whispered.\n\nThe old man was sitting up in bed looking quite straight before him. His\nlips were slightly parted; and his eyes were full of expectancy. He kept\nlifting his hands gently, half opening them with a welcoming movement,\nand then letting them fall. Now he leaned gently forward, as if to meet\nsomething with his hands extended, then sinking a little back upon\nParker\u2019s arm. He paid no attention to me, and it seemed as if his eyes\nwere focused to an almost infinite distance.\n\nI too knelt down by the bed and waited watching him. Then there came\nsoft footsteps at the door, but it was not for that he waited. Then a\nwhispering and a sobbing: and I knew that the servants were gathering\noutside.\n\nStill he waited for that which he knew would come before he died. And\nthe expectancy deepened in his eyes to an almost terrible intensity; and\nit was the expectancy that feared no disappointment. It was perfectly\nstill outside, the servants were quiet now, and the old man\u2019s breathing\nwas inaudible. Once I heard the far-off bark of a dog away somewhere in\nthe village.\n\nAs I watched his face I saw how wrinkles covered it, the corners of his\neyes and his forehead were deeply furrowed, and the lines deepened and\nshifted as his face worked. And then suddenly he cried out: \u201cHe is\ncoming, my son, He is coming far away.\u201d And then silence.\n\nI heard a sudden movement outside and then stillness again. Then a maid\nbroke out into sobbing: and I heard footsteps, and then the door of my\nroom across the landing open and shut: and the sobbing ceased. But the\nold man paid no heed. Then suddenly he cried out again:\n\n\u201cBehold He stands at the door and knocks.\u201d\n\nHe made an indescribable gesture with his hands. Then I was startled,\nfor there came a loud pealing at the bell downstairs.\n\nParker whispered to me to send one of the servants downstairs: and I\nwent to the door for an instant and told the boy to go: then I came\nback. The boy\u2019s footsteps died away down the staircase. I knelt down\nagain by the bed.\n\nThen once more the old man cried out:\n\n\u201cHe is coming, my son. He is here:\u201d and then, \u201cLook!\u201d\n\nAs he said this across his face there came an extraordinary smile; for\none moment, as I started up and looked, his face was that of a child,\nthe wrinkles seemed suddenly erased, and a great rosy flush swept from\nforehead to mouth, and his eyes shone like stars. I noticed too, even at\nthis moment, for I was almost facing him as I sprang up, that the focus\nof his eyes was contracted to a point at the foot of his bed where the\nscreen stood.\n\nThen he fell back; and Parker laid him gently down.\n\nA moment after footsteps came up the stairs: and the boy whispered from\nthe doorway that the Rector had come.\n\n\n\n\n                                THE END\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n \u25cf Transcribe\u2019s Notes:\n    \u25cb Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.\n    \u25cb Typographical errors were silently corrected.\n    \u25cb Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only\n      when a predominant form was found in this book.\n    \u25cb Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).","title":"The Light Invisible","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":36958}