{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_60229/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_60229","id":"gutenberg_60229","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60229","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Sexuality & Erotica","Catholic Church -- Clergy -- Sexual behavior -- Fiction","Homosexuality -- Fiction"],"text":"THE PRIEST AND THE ACOLYTE\n\n\n\n\n  THE\n  PRIEST\n  AND\n  THE\n  ACOLYTE\n\n\n              WITH AN\n              INTRODUCTORY\n              PROTEST BY\n              STUART MASON\n\n\n  LONDON: AT THE LOTUS PRESS\n  NINETEEN HUNDRED AND SEVEN\n\n\n\n\nSo many copies of \u201cThe Priest and the Acolyte\u201d have been sold by\nunscrupulous publishers and booksellers under the implication that it\nis the work of Oscar Wilde that it has been thought good to issue this\nedition with the object of putting an end, once and for all, to the\npossibility of purchasers being misled as to the authorship.\n\nThe story was originally published in _The Chameleon_, the first and\nonly number of which appeared in December, 1894. The author of the\nstory was an undergraduate at Oxford, \u201can insufficiently birched\nschoolboy,\u201d as he has recently been described, and he alone was\nresponsible for the contents of the magazine which he edited. At the\ntime of the trial of Lord Queensberry for libel a few months later it\nwas attempted to show that Oscar Wilde not only approved of the theme\nof the story, but that he was actually a party to the publication of\nit, on the grounds that he sent to the editor a number of aphorisms\nunder the title of \u201cPhrases and Philosophies for the Use of the\nYoung.\u201d\n\nThe simplest way of showing what Oscar Wilde really thought of the\nstory is to quote what he said when examined in Court on the subject.\n\nJohn Sholto Douglas, Eighth Marquis of Queensberry, was arrested on\na warrant on March\u00a01, 1895, on a charge of uttering a criminal libel\nagainst Oscar Wilde. On the following morning he was brought up before\nMr.\u00a0Newton at Marlborough Street Police Court, and after some formal\nevidence had been taken was remanded on bail for a week, and on the\nsecond hearing was formally committed to take his trial at the Central\nCriminal Court a few weeks later.\n\nThe trial began at the Old Bailey on Wednesday, April\u00a03, before\nMr.\u00a0Justice Henn Collins. Sir\u00a0Edward Clarke, Q.C., M.P., Mr.\u00a0Charles\nMathews and Mr.\u00a0Travers Humphreys appeared for the prosecution;\nMr.\u00a0Carson, Q.C., M.P., Mr.\u00a0C.\u00a0F. Gill and Mr.\u00a0A. Gill being for the\ndefence.\n\nThe court was crowded. The Marquis was the first to arrive. He came in\nalone, and stood, hat in hand, in front of the dock. He spoke to no\none, and no one spoke to him. There was little that was aristocratic\nin the Marquis\u2019s appearance. He was of short stature, with a round\nface, and clean shaven except for a streak of red whisker. His lower\nlip drooped considerably. A few minutes before half-past ten,\nMr.\u00a0Oscar Wilde entered the court and took a seat immediately in\nfront of his Counsel, with whom he at once joined in an animated\nconversation.\n\nThe Judge was ten minutes late, but (the Marquis having entered the\ndock) the preliminary proceedings were soon got through, and at a\nquarter to eleven, Sir\u00a0Edward Clarke began his speech for the\nprosecution. Everybody listened attentively to the story, as set\nforth by Counsel, of the prosecutor\u2019s achievements at college, his\nsubsequent success as a litt\u00e9rateur, and the circumstances under\nwhich he became acquainted with the defendant\u2019s family. \u201cPhrases and\nPhilosophies for the Use of the Young,\u201d which Oscar Wilde contributed\nto _The Chameleon_, was mentioned in the plea of the defence as\n\u201cimmoral and obscene,\u201d and Sir\u00a0Edward Clarke occupied some time in\nan endeavour to prove the contrary. With regard to _The Chameleon_,\nCounsel admitted that it contained a story entitled \u201cThe Priest and\nthe Acolyte,\u201d which could not be justified, but he declared his client\ncould not be held responsible for the publication as a whole, he being\nbut a contributor to its pages. As a matter of fact, Mr.\u00a0Wilde urged\nupon the editor that the book should be withdrawn.\n\nSoon after Mr.\u00a0Carson began his cross-examination, it became apparent\nthat the line he was adopting would result in a conflict between\nCounsel. Mr.\u00a0Wilde was being questioned as to his opinion on certain\nextracts from \u201cThe Priest and the Acolyte,\u201d when Sir\u00a0Edward Clarke\njumped to his feet and appealed to the Judge whether the questions\nwere relevant, inasmuch as Mr.\u00a0Wilde was not responsible for the\nstory. The Judge ruled in favour of Mr.\u00a0Carson. Sir\u00a0Edward, a few\nminutes later, raised another objection, but he was again overruled.\n\nThe interval for luncheon came as a pleasant relief to all, and, on\nthe application of Mr.\u00a0Carson, the Judge consented to the defendant\nbeing allowed his freedom till the court resumed its sitting.\n\nSir\u00a0Edward Clarke, in the course of his speech for the prosecution,\nsaid that there were two extremely curious counts at the end of the\nplea. One was that in December, 1894, was \u201cpublished a certain immoral\nwork in the form of _The Chameleon_, relating to practices and\npassions of an unnatural kind,\u201d and that his client had \u201cjoined in\nprocuring the publication of _The Chameleon_, with his name upon it as\nthe principal contributor.\u201d That was a very gross allegation. Directly\nMr.\u00a0Wilde saw the magazine, he noticed there was a story in it called\n\u201cThe Priest and the Acolyte,\u201d which was a disgrace to literature,\nwhich it was amazing any body wrote, and still more amazing that any\nbody allowed to be published under his name.[1] Directly Mr.\u00a0Wilde\nsaw that story he communicated with the editor, and upon his\ninsistence the magazine was withdrawn. He had no knowledge that that\nstory was about to be published. It was strange indeed, then, to find\nthat publication put upon the particulars as justifying the charge\nagainst Mr.\u00a0Wilde.\n\n  [Footnote 1: Sir\u00a0Edward Clarke was in error. The story was\n  published anonymously, being signed \u201cX\u201d only, though the author\u2019s\n  real name was more or less an open secret in Oxford at the time.]\n\nIn his examination in chief, Sir\u00a0Edward Clarke said: It is suggested\nthat you are responsible for the publication of _The Chameleon_ on the\nfront page of which some aphorisms of yours appear. Beyond sending\nthat contribution had you any thing to do with the preparation or\nownership, editorship or publication of that magazine?\n\nWitness\u2014No; nothing whatever.\n\nUntil you saw this number of _The Chameleon_ did you know any thing\nabout the story, \u201cThe Priest and the Acolyte\u201d?\n\nNothing at all.\n\nUpon seeing the story in print, did you communicate with the editor?\n\nThe editor came to see me at the Caf\u00e9 Royal to speak to me about it.\n\nDid you approve of the story of \u201cThe Priest and the Acolyte\u201d?\n\nI thought it bad and indecent, and I strongly disapproved of it.\n\nWas that disapproval expressed to the editor?\n\nYes.\n\nOscar Wilde was then cross-examined by Mr.\u00a0Carson for the defence.\n\nYou read \u201cThe Priest and the Acolyte\u201d?\n\nYes.\n\nYou have no doubt that that was an improper story?\n\nFrom the literary point of view it was highly improper. It is\nimpossible for a man of literature to judge it otherwise, by\nliterature meaning treatment, selection of subject, and the like.\nI thought the treatment rotten and the subject rotten.\n\nYou are of opinion, I believe, that there is no such thing as an\nimmoral book?\n\nYes.\n\nMay I take it that you think \u201cThe Priest and the Acolyte\u201d was not\nimmoral?\n\nIt was worse; it was badly written.\n\nWas not the story that of a priest who fell in love with a boy who\nserved him at the altar, and the boy was discovered in the priest\u2019s\nroom, and a scandal arose?\n\nI have read it only once, in November last, and nothing will induce\nme to read it again.\n\nDid you think the story blasphemous?\n\nI think it violated every artistic canon of beauty.\n\nThat is not an answer.\n\nIt is the only one I can give.\n\nI want you to see the position you pose in.\n\nI do not think you should say that.\n\nI have said nothing out of the way. I wish to know whether you thought\nthe story blasphemous.\n\nThe story filled me with disgust.\n\nAnswer the question, sir. Did you, or did you not, consider the story\nblasphemous?\n\nI did not consider the story blasphemous.\n\nI am satisfied with that. You know that when the priest in the story\nadministers poison to the boy he uses the words of the Sacrament of\nthe Church of England?\n\nThat I entirely forgot.\n\nDo you consider that blasphemous?\n\nI think it is horrible. \u201cBlasphemous\u201d is not the word.\n\nMr.\u00a0Carson then read the words describing the administration of the\npoison in the Sacrament, and asked Mr.\u00a0Wilde whether he approved of\nthem.\n\nThe witness replied that he thought them disgusting, perfect twaddle.\n\nI think you will admit that any one who would approve of such an\narticle would pose as guilty of improper practices?\n\nI do not think so in the person of another contributor to the\nmagazine. It would show very bad literary taste. I strongly objected\nto the whole story. I took no steps to express public disapproval of\n_The Chameleon_, because I think it would have been beneath my dignity\nas a man of letters to associate myself with an Oxford undergraduate\u2019s\nproductions. I am aware that the magazine might have been circulated\namong the undergraduates of Oxford, but I do not believe that any book\nor work of art ever had any effect whatever on morality.\n\nAm I right in saying that you do not consider the effect in creating\nmorality or immorality?\n\nCertainly, I do not.\n\nSo far as your own works are concerned you pose as not being\nconcerned about morality or immorality?\n\nI do not know whether you use the word \u201cpose\u201d in any particular sense.\n\nIt is a favourite word of your own.\n\nIs it? I have no pose in this matter. In writing a play or a book I am\nconcerned entirely with literature, that is, with art. I aim not at\ndoing good or evil but in trying to make a thing that will have some\nquality of beauty.\n\nWhat would any body say would be the effect of \u201cPhrases and\nPhilosophies for the Use of the Young\u201d taken in connection with such\nan article as \u201cThe Priest and the Acolyte\u201d?\n\nUndoubtedly, it was the idea that might be formed that made me object\nso strongly to the story. I saw at once that maxims that were\nperfectly nonsensical, paradoxical or any thing you like, might be\nread in conjunction with it.\n\nOn Tuesday, April\u00a030, which was the fourth day of the first trial of\nOscar Wilde, Sir\u00a0Edward Clarke entered an emphatic protest against\nMr.\u00a0Gill having read over again the cross-examination of the accused\nupon his books and writings which he had given at the trial of Lord\nQueensberry. It was not fair to judge of a man\u2019s conduct by his books,\nbut the Prosecution had gone much further than that, and had sought to\njudge Wilde by books which he did not write, and by a story which he\nhad repudiated as horrible and disgusting. Public opinion had been\nexcited and fanned by the quotation in Court of passages of literature\nfor which he was not responsible.\n\nThe subject then dropped, and the next reference to it was made by\nMr.\u00a0Justice Charles in his summing up on the last day of Oscar Wilde\u2019s\nfirst trial (May\u00a01) when the Jury disagreed and was unable to return\na verdict. His lordship said that he did not propose to deal at any\nlength with the incidents of the Queensberry trial, but that it must\nbe remembered that the evidence of Wilde at that trial was given on\noath and must not be lost sight of in considering that which he had\ngiven the previous day or two in that Court. A very large portion of\nthe evidence of Wilde at the Queensberry trial was devoted to what\nSir\u00a0Edward Clarke had called \u201cthe literary part of the case,\u201d and it\nhad been attempted to show by cross-examination that Wilde was a man\nof most unprincipled character with regard to the relation of men to\nboys. In regard to a magazine called _The Chameleon_, published in the\nautumn of 1894, it was alleged that Wilde had given the sanction of\nhis name to the most abominable doctrines, but the only connection\nproved between that magazine and the defendant was that it was\nprefaced by two or three pages of aphorisms by the accused, of which\nit was sufficient to say that some were amusing, some cynical, some,\nif his lordship might be allowed to criticize, silly; but wicked, no.\n\nThe learned Counsel who represented Lord Queensberry, the Judge\ncontinued, had called attention to a story, a filthy narrative of a\nmost disgusting character, called \u201cThe Priest and the Acolyte,\u201d of\nwhich the author, who signed himself \u201cX,\u201d should be thoroughly\nashamed. With that story Wilde had had nothing whatever to do, and\nto impute to him any thing in it was quite absurd. To judge him by\nanother man\u2019s works which he had never seen would be highly unjust.\n\nIn the second trial of Oscar Wilde, which was heard before Mr.\u00a0Justice\nWillis on the following May\u00a022 to 25, no mention was made of _The\nChameleon_ or of \u201cThe Priest and the Acolyte.\u201d\n\nWhat is stated above ought to be sufficient, once and for all, to\ndissociate the name of the author of \u201cSalom\u00e9\u201d and \u201cLady Windermere\u2019s\nFan\u201d from the story reprinted in the following pages.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRIEST AND THE ACOLYTE\n\n_Honi soit qui mal y pense_\n\n\nPART I\n\n\u201cPray, father, give me thy blessing, for I have sinned.\u201d\n\nThe priest started; he was tired in mind and body; his soul was\nsad and his heart heavy as he sat in the terrible solitude of the\nconfessional ever listening to the same dull round of oft-repeated\nsins. He was weary of the conventional tones and matter-of-fact\nexpressions. Would the world always be the same? For nearly twenty\ncenturies the Christian priests had sat in the confessional and\nlistened to the same old tale. The world seemed to him no better;\nalways the same, the same. The young priest sighed to himself, and\nfor a moment almost wished people would be worse. Why could they not\nescape from these old wearily-made paths and be a little original in\ntheir vices, if sin they must? But the voice he now listened to\naroused him from his reverie. It was so soft and gentle, so diffident\nand shy.\n\nHe gave the blessing, and listened. Ah, yes! he recognized the voice\nnow. It was the voice he had heard for the first time only that very\nmorning: the voice of the little acolyte that had served his Mass.\n\nHe turned his head and peered through the grating at the little bowed\nhead beyond. There was no mistaking those long soft curls. Suddenly,\nfor one moment, the face was raised, and the large moist blue eyes\nmet his; he saw the little oval face flushed with shame at the simple\nboyish sins he was confessing, and a thrill shot through him, for he\nfelt that here at least was something in the world that was beautiful,\nsomething that was really true. Would the day come when those soft\nscarlet lips would have grown hard and false? when the soft shy treble\nwould have become careless and conventional? His eyes filled with\ntears, and in a voice that had lost its firmness he gave the\nabsolution.\n\nAfter a pause, he heard the boy rise to his feet, and watched him wend\nhis way across the little chapel and kneel before the altar while he\nsaid his penance. The priest hid his thin tired face in his hands and\nsighed wearily. The next morning, as he knelt before the altar and\nturned to say the words of confession to the little acolyte whose head\nwas bent so reverently towards him, he bowed low till his hair just\ntouched the golden halo that surrounded the little face, and he felt\nhis veins burn and tingle with a strange new fascination.\n\nWhen that most wonderful thing in the whole world, complete\nsoul-absorbing love for another, suddenly strikes a man, that man\nknows what heaven means, and he understands hell: but if the man be\nan ascetic, a priest whose whole heart is given to ecstatic devotion,\nit were better for that man if he had never been born.\n\nWhen they reached the vestry and the boy stood before him reverently\nreceiving the sacred vestments, he knew that henceforth the entire\ndevotion of his religion, the whole ecstatic fervour of his prayers,\nwould be connected with, nay, inspired by, one object alone. With the\nsame reverence and humility as he would have felt in touching the\nconsecrated elements he laid his hands on the curl-crowned head, he\ntouched the small pale face, and, raising it slightly, he bent forward\nand gently touched the smooth white brow with his lips.\n\nWhen the child felt the caress of his fingers, for one moment every\nthing swam before his eyes; but when he felt the light touch of the\ntall priest\u2019s lips, a wonderful assurance took possession of him: he\nunderstood. He raised his little arms, and, clasping his slim white\nfingers around the priest\u2019s neck kissed him on the lips. With a sharp\ncry the priest fell upon his knees, and, clasping the little figure\nclad in scarlet and lace to his heart, he covered the tender flushing\nface with burning kisses. Then suddenly there came upon them both a\nquick sense of fear; they parted hastily, with hot trembling fingers\nfolded the sacred vestments, and separated in silent shyness.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe priest returned to his poor rooms and tried to sit down and think,\nbut all in vain: he tried to eat, but could only thrust away his plate\nin disgust: he tried to pray, but instead of the calm figure on the\ncross, the calm, cold figure with the weary, weary face, he saw\ncontinually before him the flushed face of a lovely boy, the wide\nstar-like eyes of his new-found love.\n\nAll that day the young priest went through the round of his various\nduties mechanically, but he could not eat nor sit quiet, for when\nalone, strange shrill bursts of song kept thrilling through his brain,\nand he felt that he must flee out into the open air or go mad.\n\nAt length, when night came, and the long, hot day had left him\nexhausted and worn out, he threw himself on his knees before his\ncrucifix and compelled himself to think.\n\nHe called to mind his boyhood and his early youth; there returned to\nhim the thought of the terrible struggles of the last five years.\nHere he knelt, Ronald Heatherington, priest of Holy Church, aged\ntwenty-eight: what he had endured during these five years of fierce\nbattling with those terrible passions he had fostered in his boyhood,\nwas it all to be in vain? For the last year he had really felt that\nall passion was subdued, all those terrible outbursts of passionate\nlove he had really believed to be stamped out for ever. He had worked\nso hard, so unceasingly, through all these five years since his\nordination\u2014he had given himself up solely and entirely to his sacred\noffice; all the intensity of his nature had been concentrated,\ncompletely absorbed, in the beautiful mysteries of his religion. He\nhad avoided all that could affect him, all that might call up any\nrecollection of his early life. Then he had accepted this curacy, with\nsole charge of the little chapel that stood close beside the cottage\nwhere he was now living, the little mission-chapel that was the\nmost distant of the several grouped round the old Parish Church of\nSt.\u00a0Anselm. He had arrived only two or three days before, and, going\nto call on the old couple who lived in the cottage, the back of which\nformed the boundary of his own little garden, had been offered the\nservices of their grandson as acolyte.\n\n\u201cMy son was an artist fellow, sir,\u201d the old man had said: \u201che never\nwas satisfied here, so we sent him off to London; he was made a lot of\nthere, sir, and married a lady, but the cold weather carried him off\none winter, and his poor young wife was left with the baby. She\nbrought him up and taught him herself, sir, but last winter she was\ntaken too, so the poor lad came to live with us\u2014so delicate he is,\nsir, and not one of the likes of us; he\u2019s a gentleman born and bred,\nis Wilfred. His poor mother used to like him to go and serve at the\nchurch near them in London, and the boy was so fond of it himself that\nwe thought, supposing you did not mind, sir, that it would be a treat\nfor him to do the same here.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow old is the boy?\u201d asked the young priest.\n\n\u201cFourteen, sir,\u201d replied the grandmother.\n\n\u201cVery well, let him come to the chapel to-morrow morning,\u201d Ronald had\nagreed.\n\nEntirely absorbed in his devotions, the young man had scarcely\nnoticed the little acolyte who was serving for him, and it was not\ntill he was hearing his confession later in the day that he had\nrealized his wonderful loveliness.\n\n\u201cAh God! help me! pity me! After all this weary labour and toil, just\nwhen I am beginning to hope, is every thing to be undone? am I to lose\nevery thing? Help me, help me, O God!\u201d\n\nEven while he prayed; even while his hands were stretched out in\nagonized supplication towards the feet of that crucifix before which\nhis hardest battles had been fought and won; even while the tears of\nbitter contrition and miserable self-mistrust were dimming his\neyes\u2014there came a soft tap on the glass of the window beside him. He\nrose to his feet, and wonderingly drew back the dingy curtain. There\nin the moonlight, before the open window, stood a small white\nfigure\u2014there, with his bare feet on the moon-blanched turf, dressed\nonly in his long white night-shirt, stood his little acolyte, the boy\nwho held his whole future in his small childish hands.\n\n\u201cWilfred, what are you doing here?\u201d he asked in a trembling voice.\n\n\u201cI could not sleep, father, for thinking of you, and I saw a light in\nyour room, so I got out through the window and came to see you. Are\nyou angry with me, father?\u201d he asked, his voice faltering as he saw\nthe almost fierce expression in the thin ascetic face.\n\n\u201cWhy did you come to see me?\u201d The priest hardly dared recognize the\nsituation, and scarcely heard what the boy said.\n\n\u201cBecause I love you, I love you\u2014oh, so much! but you\u2014you are angry\nwith me\u2014oh, why did I ever come! why did I ever come!\u2014I never\nthought you would be angry!\u201d and the little fellow sank on the grass\nand burst into tears.\n\nThe priest sprang through the open window, and seizing the slim little\nfigure in his arms, he carried him into the room. He drew the curtain,\nand, sinking into the deep arm-chair, laid the little fair head upon\nhis breast, kissing his curls again and again.\n\n\u201cO my darling! my own beautiful darling!\u201d he whispered, \u201chow could\nI ever be angry with you? You are more to me than all the world.\nAh, God! how I love you, my darling! my own sweet darling!\u201d\n\nFor nearly an hour the boy nestled there in his arms, pressing his\nsoft cheek against his; then the priest told him he must go. For one\nlong last kiss their lips met, and then the small white-clad figure\nslipped through the window, sped across the little moonlit garden,\nand vanished through the opposite window.\n\nWhen they met in the vestry next morning, the lad raised his beautiful\nflower-like face, and the priest, gently putting his arms round him,\nkissed him tenderly on the lips.\n\n\u201cMy darling! my darling!\u201d was all he said; but the lad returned his\nkiss with a smile of wonderful almost heavenly love, in a silence that\nseemed to whisper something more than words.\n\n\u201cI wonder what was the matter with the father this morning?\u201d said one\nold woman to another, as they were returning from the chapel; \u201che\ndidn\u2019t seem himself at all; he made more mistakes this morning than\nFather Thomas made in all the year he was here.\u201d\n\n\u201cSeemed as if he had never said a Mass before!\u201d replied her friend,\nwith something of contempt.\n\nAnd that night, and for many nights after, the priest, with the pale\ntired-looking face, drew the curtain over his crucifix and waited at\nthe window for the glimmer of the pale summer moonlight on a crown\nof golden curls, for the sight of slim boyish limbs clad in the long\nwhite night-shirt, that only emphasized the grace of every movement,\nand the beautiful pallor of the little feet speeding across the grass.\nThere at the window, night after night, he waited to feel tender\nloving arms thrown round his neck, and to feel the intoxicating\ndelight of beautiful boyish lips raining kisses on his own.\n\nRonald Heatherington made no mistakes in the Mass now. He said the\nsolemn words with a reverence and devotion that made the few poor\npeople who happened to be there speak of him afterwards almost with\nawe; while the face of the little acolyte at his side shone with a\nfervour which made them ask each other what this strange light could\nmean. Surely the young priest must be a saint indeed, while the boy\nbeside him looked more like an angel from heaven than any child of\nhuman birth.\n\n\nPART II\n\nThe world is very stern with those that thwart her. She lays down\nher precepts, and woe to those who dare to think for themselves, who\nventure to exercise their own discretion as to whether they shall\nallow their individuality and natural characteristics to be stamped\nout, to be obliterated under the leaden fingers of convention.\n\nTruly, convention is the stone that has become head of the corner in\nthe jerry-built temple of our superficial, self-assertive\ncivilization.\n\n\u201c_And whosoever shall fall on this stone shall be broken: but on\nwhomsoever it shall fall, it will grind him to powder._\u201d\n\nIf the world sees any thing she cannot understand, she assigns the\nbasest motives to all concerned, supposing the presence of some secret\nshame, the idea of which, at least, her narrow-minded intelligence is\nable to grasp.\n\nThe people no longer regarded their priest as a saint, and his acolyte\nas an angel. They still spoke of them with bated breath and with their\nfingers on their lips; they still drew back out of the way when they\nmet either of them; but now they gathered together in groups of twos\nand threes and shook their heads.\n\nThe priest and his acolyte heeded not; they never even noticed the\nsuspicious glances and half-suppressed murmurs. Each had found in the\nother perfect sympathy and perfect love: what could the outside world\nmatter to them now? Each was to the other the perfect fulfilment of a\nscarcely preconceived ideal; neither heaven nor hell could offer more.\nBut the stone of convention had been undermined; the time could not be\nfar distant when it must fall.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe moonlight was very clear and very beautiful; the cool night air\nwas heavy with the perfume of the old-fashioned flowers that bloomed\nso profusely in the little garden. But in the priest\u2019s little room\nthe closely drawn curtains shut out all the beauty of the night.\nEntirely forgetful of all the world, absolutely oblivious of every\nthing but one another, wrapped in the beautiful visions of a love that\nfar outshone all the splendour of the summer night, the priest and the\nlittle acolyte were together.\n\nThe little lad sat on his knees with his arms closely pressed round\nhis neck and his golden curls laid against the priest\u2019s close-cut\nhair; his white night-shirt contrasting strangely and beautifully with\nthe dull black of the other\u2019s long cassock.\n\nThere was a step on the road outside\u2014a step drawing nearer and\nnearer; a knock at the door. They heard it not; completely absorbed in\neach other, intoxicated with the sweetly poisonous draught that is the\ngift of love, they sat in silence. But the end had come: the blow had\nfallen at last. The door opened, and there before them in the doorway\nstood the tall figure of the rector.\n\nNeither said any thing; only the little boy clung closer to his\nbeloved, and his eyes grew large with fear. Then the young priest rose\nslowly to his feet and put the lad from him.\n\n\u201cYou had better go, Wilfred,\u201d was all he said.\n\nThe two priests stood in silence watching the child as he slipped\nthrough the window, stole across the grass, and vanished into the\nopposite cottage.\n\nThen the two turned and faced each other.\n\nThe young priest sank into his chair and clasped his hands, waiting\nfor the other to speak.\n\n\u201cSo it has come to this!\u201d he said: \u201cthe people were only too right in\nwhat they told me! Ah, God! that such a thing should have happened\nhere! that it has fallen on me to expose your shame\u2014our shame! that\nit is I who must give you up to justice, and see that you suffer the\nfull penalty of your sin! Have you nothing to say?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing\u2014nothing,\u201d he replied softly. \u201cI cannot ask for pity: I\ncannot explain: you would never understand. I do not ask you any\nthing for myself, I do not ask you to spare me; but think of the\nterrible scandal to our dear Church.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is better to expose these terrible scandals and see that they are\ncured. It is folly to conceal a sore: better show all our shame than\nlet it fester.\u201d\n\n\u201cThink of the child.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat was for you to do: you should have thought of him before. What\nhas his shame to do with me? it was your business. Besides, I would\nnot spare him if I could: what pity can I feel for such as he\u2014\u2014?\u201d\n\nBut the young man had risen, pale to the lips.\n\n\u201cHush!\u201d he said in a low voice; \u201cI forbid you to speak of him before\nme with any thing but respect\u201d; then softly to himself, \u201cwith any\nthing but reverence; with any thing but devotion.\u201d\n\nThe other was silent, awed for the moment. Then his anger rose.\n\n\u201cDare you speak openly like that? Where is your penitence, your shame?\nhave you no sense of the horror of your sin?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is no sin for which I should feel shame,\u201d he answered very\nquietly. \u201cGod gave me my love for him, and He gave him also his love\nfor me. Who is there that shall withstand God and the love that is His\ngift?\u201d\n\n\u201cDare you profane the name by calling such a passion as this \u2018love\u2019?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was love, perfect love: it _is_ perfect love.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can say no more now; to-morrow all shall be known. Thank God, you\nshall pay dearly for all this disgrace,\u201d he added, in a sudden\noutburst of wrath.\n\n\u201cI am sorry you have no mercy;\u2014not that I fear exposure and\npunishment for myself. But mercy can seldom be found from a\nChristian,\u201d he added, as one that speaks from without.\n\nThe rector turned towards him suddenly, and stretched out his hands.\n\n\u201cHeaven forgive me my hardness of heart,\u201d he said. \u201cI have been cruel;\nI have spoken cruelly in my distress. Ah, can you say nothing to\ndefend your crime?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo: I do not think I can do any good by that. If I attempted to deny\nall guilt, you would only think I lied: though I should prove my\ninnocence, yet my reputation, my career, my whole future, are ruined\nfor ever. But will you listen to me for a little? I will tell you a\nlittle about myself.\u201d\n\nThe rector sat down while his curate told him the story of his life,\nsitting by the empty grate with his chin resting on his clasped hands.\n\n\u201cI was at a big public school, as you know. I was always different\nfrom other boys. I never cared much for games. I took little interest\nin those things for which boys usually care so much. I was not very\nhappy in my boyhood, I think. My one ambition was to find the ideal\nfor which I longed. It has always been thus: I have always had an\nindefinite longing for something, a vague something that never quite\ntook shape, that I could never quite understand. My great desire has\nalways been to find something that would satisfy me. I was attracted\nat once by sin: my whole early life is stained and polluted with the\ntaint of sin. Sometimes even now I think that there are sins more\nbeautiful than any thing else in the world. There are vices that are\nbound to attract almost irresistibly any one who loves beauty above\nevery thing. I have always sought for love: again and again I have\nbeen the victim of fits of passionate affection: time after time I\nhave seemed to have found my ideal at last: the whole object of my\nlife has been, times without number, to gain the love of some\nparticular person. Several times my efforts were successful; each time\nI woke to find that the success I had obtained was worthless after\nall. As I grasped the prize, it lost all its attraction\u2014I no longer\ncared for what I had once desired with my whole heart. In vain I\nendeavoured to drown the yearnings of my heart with the ordinary\npleasures and vices that usually attract the young. I had to choose a\nprofession. I became a priest. The whole \u00e6sthetic tendency of my soul\nwas intensely attracted by the wonderful mysteries of Christianity,\nthe artistic beauty of our services. Ever since my ordination I have\nbeen striving to cheat myself into the belief that peace had come at\nlast\u2014at last my yearning was satisfied: but all in vain. Unceasingly\nI have struggled with the old cravings for excitement, and, above all,\nthe weary, incessant thirst for a perfect love. I have found, and\nstill find, an exquisite delight in religion: not in the regular\nduties of a religious life, not in the ordinary round of parish\norganizations;\u2014against these I chafe incessantly;\u2014no, my delight is\nin the \u00e6sthetic beauty of the services, the ecstasy of devotion, the\npassionate fervour that comes with long fasting and meditation.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you found no comfort in prayer?\u201d asked the rector.\n\n\u201cComfort?\u2014no. But I have found in prayer pleasure, excitement, almost\na fierce delight of sin.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou should have married. I think that would have saved you.\u201d\n\nRonald Heatherington rose to his feet and laid his hand on the\nrector\u2019s arm.\n\n\u201cYou do not understand me. I have never been attracted by a woman in\nmy life. Can you not see that people are different, totally different,\nfrom one another? To think that we are all the same is impossible;\nour natures, our temperaments, are utterly unlike. But this is what\npeople will never see; they found all their opinions on a wrong basis.\nHow can their deductions be just if their premisses are wrong? One law\nlaid down by the majority, who happen to be of one disposition, is\nonly binding on the minority _legally_, not _morally_. What right have\nyou, or any one, to tell me that such and such a thing is sinful for\nme? Oh, why can I not explain to you and force you to see?\u201d and his\ngrasp tightened on the other\u2019s arm. Then he continued, speaking fast\nand earnestly:\u2014\n\n\u201cFor me, with my nature, to have married would have been sinful: it\nwould have been a crime, a gross immorality, and my conscience would\nhave revolted.\u201d Then he added, bitterly: \u201cConscience should be that\ndivine instinct which bids us seek after that our natural disposition\nneeds\u2014we have forgotten that; to most of us, to the world, nay, even\nto Christians in general, conscience is merely another name for the\ncowardice that dreads to offend against convention. Ah, what a cursed\nthing convention is! I have committed no moral offence in this matter;\nin the sight of God my soul is blameless; but to you and to the world\nI am guilty of an abominable crime\u2014abominable, because it is a sin\nagainst convention, forsooth! I met this boy: I loved him as I had\nnever loved any one or any thing before: I had no need to labour to\nwin his affection\u2014he was mine by right: he loved me, even as I loved\nhim, from the first: he was the necessary complement to my soul. How\ndare the world presume to judge us? What is convention to us?\nNevertheless, although I really knew that such a love was beautiful\nand blameless, although from the bottom of my heart I despised the\nnarrow judgment of the world, yet for his sake and for the sake of our\nChurch, I tried at first to resist. I struggled against the\nfascination he possessed for me. I would never have gone to him and\nasked his love; I would have struggled on till the end: but what could\nI do? It was he that came to me, and offered me the wealth of love his\nbeautiful soul possessed. How could I tell to such a nature as his the\nhideous picture the world would paint? Even as you saw him this\nevening, he has come to me night by night,\u2014how dare I disturb the\nsweet purity of his soul by hinting at the horrible suspicions his\npresence might arouse? I knew what I was doing. I have faced the world\nand set myself up against it. I have openly scoffed at its dictates. I\ndo not ask you to sympathize with me, nor do I pray you to stay your\nhand. Your eyes are blinded with a mental cataract. You are bound,\nbound with those miserable ties that have held you body and soul from\nthe cradle. You must do what you believe to be your duty. In God\u2019s\neyes we are martyrs, and we shall not shrink even from death in this\nstruggle against the idolatrous worship of convention.\u201d\n\nRonald Heatherington sank into a chair, hiding his face in his hands,\nand the rector left the room in silence.\n\nFor some minutes the young priest sat with his face buried in his\nhands. Then with a sigh he rose and crept across the garden till he\nstood beneath the open window of his darling.\n\n\u201cWilfred,\u201d he called very softly.\n\nThe beautiful face, pale and wet with tears, appeared at the window.\n\n\u201cI want you, my darling; Will you come?\u201d he whispered.\n\n\u201cYes, father,\u201d the boy softly answered.\n\nThe priest led him back to his room; then, taking him very gently in\nhis arms, he tried to warm the cold little feet with his hands.\n\n\u201cMy darling, it is all over.\u201d And he told him as gently as he could\nall that lay before them.\n\nThe boy hid his face on his shoulder, crying softly.\n\n\u201cCan I do nothing for you, dear father?\u201d\n\nHe was silent for a moment. \u201cYes, you can die for me; you can die with\nme.\u201d\n\nThe loving arms were about his neck once more, and the warm, loving\nlips were kissing his own. \u201cI will do any thing for you. O father, let\nus die together!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, my darling, it is best: we will.\u201d\n\nThen very quietly and very tenderly he prepared the little fellow for\nhis death; he heard his last confession and gave him his last\nabsolution. Then they knelt together, hand in hand, before the\ncrucifix.\n\n\u201cPray for me, my darling.\u201d\n\nThen together their prayers silently ascended that the dear Lord would\nhave pity on the priest who had fallen in the terrible battle of\nlife. There they knelt till midnight, when Ronald took the lad in his\narms and carried him to the little chapel.\n\n\u201cI will say mass for the repose of our souls,\u201d he said.\n\nOver his night-shirt the child arrayed himself in his little scarlet\ncassock and tiny lace cotta. He covered his naked feet with the\nscarlet sanctuary shoes; he lighted the tapers and reverently helped\nthe priest to vest. Then before they left the vestry the priest took\nhim in his arms and held him pressed closely to his breast; he stroked\nthe soft hair and whispered cheeringly to him. The child was weeping\nquietly, his slender frame trembling with the sobs he could scarcely\nsuppress. After a moment the tender embrace soothed him, and he raised\nhis beautiful mouth to the priest\u2019s. Their lips were pressed together,\nand their arms wrapped one another closely.\n\n\u201cOh, my darling, my own sweet darling!\u201d the priest whispered tenderly.\n\n\u201cWe shall be together for ever soon; nothing shall separate us now,\u201d\nthe child said.\n\n\u201cYes, it is far better so; far better to be together in death than\napart in life.\u201d\n\nThey knelt before the altar in the silent night, the glimmer of the\ntapers lighting up the features of the crucifix with strange\ndistinctness. Never had the priest\u2019s voice trembled with such\nwonderful earnestness, never had the acolyte responded with such\ndevotion, as at this midnight Mass for the peace of their own\ndeparting souls.\n\nJust before the consecration the priest took a tiny phial from the\npocket of his cassock, blessed it, and poured the contents into the\nchalice.\n\nWhen the time came for him to receive from the chalice, he raised it\nto his lips, but did not taste of it.\n\nHe administered the sacred wafer to the child, and then he took the\nbeautiful gold chalice, set with precious stones, in his hand; he\nturned towards him; but when he saw the light in the beautiful face\nhe turned again to the crucifix with a low moan. For one instant his\ncourage failed him; then he turned to the little fellow again, and\nheld the chalice to his lips:\n\n\u201c_The Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was shed for thee,\npreserve thy body and soul unto everlasting life._\u201d\n\nNever had the priest beheld such perfect love, such perfect trust, in\nthose dear eyes as shone from them now; now, as with face raised\nupwards he received his death from the loving hands of him that he\nloved best in the whole world.\n\nThe instant he had received, Ronald fell on his knees beside him and\ndrained the chalice to the last drop. He set it down and threw his\narms round the beautiful figure of his dearly loved acolyte. Their\nlips met in one last kiss of perfect love, and all was over.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen the sun was rising in the heavens it cast one broad ray upon the\naltar of the little chapel. The tapers were burning still, scarcely\nhalf-burnt through. The sad-faced figure of the crucifix hung there in\nits majestic calm. On the steps of the altar was stretched the long,\nascetic frame of the young priest, robed in the sacred vestments;\nclose beside him, with his curly head pillowed on the gorgeous\nembroideries that covered his breast, lay the beautiful boy in scarlet\nand lace. Their arms were round each other; a strange hush lay like a\nshroud over all.\n\n\u201c_And whomever shall fall on this stone shall be broken: but on\nwhomsoever it shall fall, it will grind him to powder._\u201d\n\n                                        X.\n  _June, 1894._","title":"The Priest and the Acolyte: With an Introductory Protest by Stuart Mason","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":7339}