The Puritans by Arlo Bates

A >> Arlo Bates >> The Puritans

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26

The speaker of the afternoon was already in her place when he entered,
and he examined her with curiosity. She was a woman who might have been
forty years of age, with a hard, eager, alert face; her forehead was
narrow, her lips thin and straight, her nostrils cut too high. Her eyes
were bold and sharp, dominating her face, and fixing upon the hearers
the look of a bird of prey. Mrs. Crapps's hair was tinged with gray,
and in her whole appearance there was a sharpness which seemed to speak
of one who had battled with the world. Ashe was struck by the
personality of the woman, yet strongly repelled. She was evidently a
creature of abundant vitality, and exultantly dominant of will. The
bold, black eyes sparkled with determination, and he could at once
understand that Mrs. Crapps was one to establish easily an influence
over any nature naturally weak or debilitated by disease.

Ashe listened with curiosity to the opening of the address. The voice
of the speaker had much of the vivacity of her glance. She spoke with
an air of candor and frankness, and yet Philip found himself
distrusting her from the outset. He said to himself that it was because
he was prejudiced, that he doubted; but he yet felt that her manner
would in any case have begotten repulsion. She had that air of
insistence, of determination to be believed, which belongs to the
speaker who is absorbed rather in the desire to prevail than in the
wish to be true. He felt that her air of conviction was no proof of her
conception of the truth of what she was saying; she protested too much.
He was at first so absorbed in watching the woman that he paid little
heed to her theories; but he soon began to flush with indignation. This
woman, with her bold air and masculine dominance, sat there talking of
herself as a present incarnation of Christ; of Christ as the
incarnation of the human will; of disease as a sin; and of death as a
mere figment of the imagination. The paganism of the Persian as he had
heard it at Mrs. Gore's seemed to him less offensive than this. He
moved uneasily in his seat, his cheeks flushing, and his lips pressed
together. Presently he felt the glance of Mrs. Fenton, who sat near
him, and looking up he encountered her eyes. She seemed to him to show
sympathy with his feeling, but to remind him that this was not the time
or place for protest. He regained instantly his self-control, and
perhaps from that time on thought less of Mrs. Crapps than of his
neighbor.

The talk of Mrs. Crapps was commonplace enough, and hackneyed enough,
could Ashe but have known it. There was the usual patter about
spiritual and physical freedom, about faith and perfection, "the Deific
principle as a rule of health," a jumble of things medical and things
physical, things profane and things holy mingled in a strange and
unintelligible jargon. By the time that the eager-eyed speaker had
talked for an hour Ashe felt his mind to be in confusion, and he could
not but feel that not a few of the hearers must be in a state of utter
mental bewilderment if the address had impressed at all.

"The end of the whole matter is," Mrs. Crapps said in closing, "that
mankind has for ages submitted to this cruel superstition of death. We
have bowed ourselves beneath the wheels of this Juggernaut; we have
sent to the dark tomb our best loved friends; we crouch and cower in
awful fear of the time when we shall follow. We hear ever thrilling in
our ears the quivering minor chord of human woe, voice of the burning
heart-pain of the race, launched rudderless upon a troubled sea of woe,
and undrowned even by the throbbing march-beats of the progression of
man down the vista of the ages. And yet there is no death. This fear is
only the terror of children frightened by ghosts of their own
invention. What we dread has no existence save in the fevered and
fancy-fed fear of blinded men. O my hearers, why can we not seize upon
the hem of this truth which the Messiah came to teach! Death is but
sin; and sin has been removed by atonement; the holiness of the soul is
immortal. There is, there can be no death! Receive the glad tidings,
and cry it aloud! There is no death! Let all the earth hear, until
there is none so base, so low, so poor, so ignorant, so sinful that he
shall not be immortal. It is his birthright, for we are all born to
eternal life."

The voice of Mrs. Crapps took on a more persuasive inflection as she
delivered this peroration; and it was easy to see that she had affected
the nerves if not the minds of her audience. There was a deep hush as
she concluded. She lifted for a moment her sharp black eyes toward
heaven, and then dropped her glance to earth, as if overcome by
feeling, or as if with awe she had caught sight of sacred mysteries
which it was not lawful to look upon. In a moment more she raised her
eyes, and invited any of her hearers to question her about anything
connected with the subject which troubled them. For a breathing time
there was silence, and then a lady asked with a puzzled air:--

"But do you Christian Scientists deny"--

"I beg your pardon," Mrs. Crapps interrupted, leaning forward with a
deprecatory smile, "but I am not a Christian Scientist."

"I mean do you Faith Healers"--

"That is not our title," Mrs. Crapps said with gentle insistence.

"Are you called Mind Curers, then?"

"No," the priestess responded, with an air lofty yet condescending;
"with those forms of error we have no dealing or sympathy. It is true
that those who teach faith-healing, mind-cure, or any sort of religious
rejuvenance, have in part taken our high tenets; but they have in each
case obscured them by errors and follies of their own. We are the
Christian Faith Healed,--not healers, you will observe, because we
believe that all mankind are really healed, and that all that is needed
is that they recognize and acknowledge this precious truth."

The ladies present looked at one another in some confusion, and Ashe
caught in the eyes of Mrs. Staggchase, who sat half facing him, a gleam
of amusement. This emboldened him to repeat the question which had been
abandoned by its first asker, who had evidently been overwhelmed by the
delicacy of the distinction of sects made by Mrs. Crapps.

"Do you then," he asked, "deny the existence of death?"

"Utterly," the seeress returned, bending upon him a bold look as if to
challenge him to differ from what she asserted. "It is as amazing as it
is melancholy that mankind should have submitted to the indignity of
death so long."

"How can they submit to that which does not exist?"

"It exists in seeming, but not in reality."

A murmur ran through the company, and Philip met the eyes of Mrs.
Fenton, who shook her head slightly, as who would say that discussion
was futile.

"But--but how"--one hearer began falteringly, and then stopped,
evidently too overwhelmed by the astounding nature of the proposition
laid down to be able even to frame a question.

"Indeed," Mrs. Crapps said, taking up the word, "we may well ask how.
It transcends the incredible that the monstrous delusion of death
should ever have been entertained for an instant. The explanation lies
in sin. Death is but the projection of a sin-burdened conscience upon
the mists of the unknown. Thank God that it has been given to our
generation to tear away the veil from this falsehood, and to recognize
the absolute unreality of the phantom which the ignorance and
superstition of guilty humanity have conjured up." The smooth,
deliberate voice of Mrs. Staggchase broke the silence which this
declaration produced.

"It is then your idea that death comes entirely from the belief of
mankind?"

"What we call death undoubtedly has that origin," Mrs. Crapps answered.

"How then could so extraordinary a delusion have had a beginning?"

A faint shade crossed the face of the seeress, but it merged instantly
into a smile of patient superiority.

"That is the question unbelief always asks," she said. "It seems so
difficult to answer, and yet it is really so simple. The idea of death
of course arose from a distorted projection of the condition of sleep
upon the diseased imagination. With sin came the bewilderment of human
reason, and the delusion followed as an inevitable morbid growth."

"Then the earlier generations of mankind were immortal?"

"Undoubtedly. We have traces of the fact in all the old mythologies."

"But what became of them?"

"Once the idea of death had entered the world," Mrs. Crapps said
impressively, "it spread like the plague until it had infected all
mankind. Even those who had lived for ages to prove it false were not
able to resist the prevalence of the thing they knew to be untrue,--any
more," she added, dropping her eyes, and speaking in a tone sad and
patient, "than we who to-day understand that there is no such thing as
death can resist the overwhelming power of the belief of the masses of
the race. The might of the will of the majority, directed by an
appalling delusion, compels us to submit to that which we yet know to
be an unreality."

Again there was a hush. The woman was appealing to the most fundamental
facts of human experience and the most poignant emotions of human life,
and boldly denying or confounding both. It seemed to Ashe that the only
possible answer to such talk was an accusation either of madness or
blasphemy. The silence was once more broken by Mrs. Staggchase.

"But if there is no such thing as death," she observed, with the
faintest touch of irony perceptible in her well-bred voice, "of course
you do not really die; and since you do not share the general delusion
in thinking yourselves to be dead, it would seem to follow that
although you may be dead for the world in general, you are still
immortal for yourselves and each other."

The black eyes of Mrs. Crapps sparkled, but she controlled herself, and
shook her head with an air of gentle remonstrance.

"It proves how strong is the hold upon mankind of this delusion," she
said, "that what I tell you appears incredible. The truth is always
incredible, because the blind eyes of humanity can see only half-truths
except by great effort. I have tried to enlighten you, and I can do no
more. It is for you and not for myself that I speak."

She rose from her chair, which seemed to be the signal for the breaking
up of the assembly, and that her cleverness in securing the last word
was not without its effect was apparent by the murmurs of the company.
In another moment, however, Ashe heard as at Mrs. Gore's the exchange
of greetings and bits of news, the making of appointments for shopping
or theatre-going, and all the trivial chat of daily life. He stood
aside until the crowd should thin, and in the mean time had the
felicity of being near Mrs. Fenton. He began to feel himself almost
overcome by the delight of being so near her, of meeting her clear
glance, frank and sympathetic, of hearing her voice, of noting the
ripples of her hair, the curve of nostril and neck. He was like a boy
in the first budding of passion before reason has softened the
extravagance of his feeling. The talk of the afternoon, his
indignation at the words of Mrs. Crapps, his feeling that he had been
assisting at a sacrament of impiety, were all forgotten as he stood
talking to his neighbor.

"Come," she said at length, "I must speak to Mrs. Frostwinch before I
go."

He bent forward to remove a chair which was in her way, and her gloved
hand brushed against his. He covered the spot with his other hand as if
he would preserve the precious touch.

"I found Mr. Ashe at the door," Mrs. Fenton said to the hostess, "and I
would not let him turn back. I was too much interested in his errand."

"I am sorry if he needed urging to come in," Mrs. Frostwinch responded
with graceful courtesy; "but what was the errand?"

"Mrs. Wilson asked me to see you in relation to the election," Ashe
answered.

"Elsie is having a beautiful time managing this election," commented
Mrs. Frostwinch. "She hasn't been so amused for a long time. She thinks
Father Frontford is a puppet in her hands, while he knows that she is
one in his."

"I hope," Mrs. Fenton put in, "that you may be able to help Mr. Ashe. I
can answer for it that he is not making the matter one of amusement."

Ashe could not help flushing. He thanked her with a glance, and turned
again to Mrs. Frostwinch.

"I do not know or like the electioneering of such affairs," he said
gravely; "but since there is a strong effort being made on the other
side it certainly seems necessary to do whatever can be done fairly."

A few last visitors who had been chatting among themselves now came
forward to say good-by. Mrs. Fenton also took leave, and Ashe found
himself alone with his hostess and Mrs. Crapps.

"Mrs. Crapps, Mr. Ashe," Mrs. Frostwinch said.

It seemed to him that there was in the manner of Mrs. Frostwinch
something of condescension, as if the Faith Healed was a sort of upper
servant. He had himself not outlived the ingenuous period wherein a
youth feels that the preservation of truth in the world depends upon
his not covering his impressions, and he was accordingly extremely cold
in his manner.

"Ah, a new disciple to our faith, I trust," Mrs. Crapps said, fixing
upon him her keen, bold eyes.

"I have never even heard of your doctrine until to-day," he answered.

"But surely it must strike you at once," she responded, with a manner
evidently meant to be insinuating.

He hesitated. He remembered that he had been expressly warned not to
say anything against the vagaries with which Mrs. Frostwinch was
concerned; but his conscience would not allow him to evade this direct
challenge.

"It struck me as being blasphemous," he responded with unnecessary
fervor.

Mrs. Crapps raised her eyes to the ceiling, and uttered a theatrical
sigh.

"Oh, sacred truth!" she exclaimed.

"Come, Mrs. Crapps," Mrs. Frostwinch interposed almost sharply, "you
know that Mr. Ashe is right. It is blasphemous, and I feel as if I'd
allowed my house to be used for a sacrifice to false gods. If you will
excuse us, I wish to speak with Mr. Ashe on business. Will you kindly
come to the library, Mr. Ashe."

As he followed, Philip caught sight in a mirror of the face of Mrs.
Crapps. It wore a singular smile, but whether of anger or contempt he
could not tell.

"I dare say, Mr. Ashe," Mrs. Frostwinch remarked, as soon as they were
seated in the library, "that it seems strange to you that I have that
woman speak in my parlors. Of course I don't mean to apologize, but I
am sorry that you should hear things that shocked you."

"Dear madam," he answered, leaning forward in his eagerness, "what I
heard does not matter; but it does seem to me a pity that such things
should be said, and said under your protection."

He was too much in earnest to be self-conscious, even when she regarded
him in silence a moment before replying.

"You are perhaps right," she said at length, "although you exaggerate
the influence of such things."

"I do not pretend to know whether they are influential or not," he
returned simply. "It is only that they do not seem to me to be right.
If they are wrong, they are wrong."

She smiled and sighed.

"Life is not so simple as that," was her reply. "The woman has saved my
life. I should have been in my grave months ago but for her. My
physician insists now that I haven't any real right to be out of it. I
cannot refuse to allow her to say the thing that she believes, since
that thing has a certain proof in my very life."

Philip shook his head.

"It is not for me to judge," said he, "but the way in which all sorts
of heresies and strange doctrines are taught and played with in Boston
seems to me monstrous. The persons of influence who lend their names
and aid"--

He broke off suddenly, recalled by the half-smile in her eyes to the
fact that he was condemning her.

"There is much in what you say," Mrs. Frostwinch assented. "I suppose
that the difficulty is that we have ceased to recognize any authority
in matters of belief."

"But the church!"

"Yes, there is the church," she said doubtfully, "but to many it has
ceased to be an authority, and modern thought allows so much individual
freedom. Our church has never claimed to be infallible like the
Catholic; and individual freedom of conscience has come pretty
generally to mean freedom from conscience."

"Then it is a pity that the authority which is exercised in the Roman
church is not exercised in ours."

"Ah, Mr. Ashe, you reckon without the spirit of the age in which we
live. But tell me what I can do for you in the matter of the election."

Mrs. Frostwinch was a devout churchwoman in her way, although she was
now in appearance following after strange gods. She readily promised
her aid in favor of Father Frontford.

"I agree with you, Mr. Ashe," she said, "that everything possible
should be done to stem the tide of laxness which seems advancing
everywhere. The mental reservations of Mr. Strathmore are certainly so
broad that they may cover anything. I know women who go to his church
and simply say the beginning of the creed: 'I believe in God;' and who
do not hesitate in private to explain that by the name God they mean
whatever force it is that moves the universe, whether it is intelligent
or not."

"How dreadful!" Philip exclaimed. "How can the church endure if this
goes on?"

They talked for some time longer, and Mrs. Frostwinch assured him that
she would do her best to secure the votes of the clergymen who were her
pensioners. Ashe left her with a pleasant feeling in his heart that he
had accomplished his mission without sacrificing his convictions. Yet
perhaps more potent still in warming his heart was the remembrance of
the pleasant words which Mrs. Fenton had spoken in his behalf. The
memory colored all his thoughts of elections, of bishops, and of
creeds, as a gleam of rosy light tinges all upon which it falls.

VII

THE SHOT OF ACCIDENT
Othello, iv. 1.

"I knew that she was to send me tickets," Maurice Wynne said, standing
with an open note in his hand. "She insisted upon that; but why should
she send parlor-car checks too?"

"It is all part of your temptation," Mrs. Staggchase responded,
smiling. "Of course if you go as the representative of Mrs. Wilson it
is fitting that you go in state. If you were to represent the church
now"--

"If I don't go as a representative of the church," he responded, as she
paused with a significant smile, "I go as nothing."

"Oh, I thought that it was Elsie that was sending you. However, it's no
matter. The point is that you are becoming acquainted with the luxuries
of life. You are being tried by the insidious softness of the world."

He regarded her with some inward irritation. He had a half-defined
conviction that she was mocking him, and that her words were more than
mere badinage. He was not without a suspicion that his cousin was
sometimes histrionic, and that many things which she said were to be
regarded as stage talk. He did not know how far to take her seriously,
and this gave him a feeling at once confused and uncomfortable. To be
played with as if he were not of discernment ripe enough to perceive
her raillery or as if he were not of consequence sufficient to be taken
seriously, offended his vanity; and the man whom the devil cannot
conquer through his vanity is invulnerable. Wynne had no answer now for
the words of Mrs. Staggchase. He contented himself with a glance not
entirely free from resentment, at which she laughed.

"I wonder, Cousin Maurice," she said, "if you realize how completely
you have changed in the ten days you have been here. It is like
bringing into light a plant that has been sprouting in the dark."

He did not answer for a moment, trying to find it possible to deny the
charge.

"The fact that you know me better makes me seem different," he answered
evasively.

"How much has the fact that you don't know yourself so well to do with
it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, anything you like. I merely suspect that you are not so sure of
your vocation as you were in the Clergy House. Even a deacon is human,
I suppose; and if life is alluring, he can't help feeling it. Are you
still sure that the clergy should be celibate, for instance?"

He felt her eyes piercing him as if his secret thoughts were open to
her, and he knew that he was flushing to his very hair. He hastened to
answer, not only that he might not think, but that she might not
perceive that he had admitted any doubt to his heart.

"More than ever," he responded. "It is impossible not to see that a
clergyman who is married must have his thoughts distracted from his
sacred calling."

Mrs. Staggchase leaned back in her chair and regarded him with the
smile which he found always so puzzling and so disconcerting.

"You did that very well," she said, "only you shouldn't have put in the
word 'sacred.' That made it all sound conventional. However, you
probably meant it. She is distracting."

The hot blood leaped into his face so that he knew that it was utterly
impossible to conceal his confusion.

"I don't know what you mean," he stammered.

Instantly his conscience reproached him with not speaking the truth. He
responded to his conscience that it was impossible in circumstances
like these to say the whole, and that what he had said was not untrue.
He could not know what his cousin meant by her pronoun, and if the
thought of Miss Morison had come instantly into his mind, it by no
means followed that it was she of whom Mrs. Staggchase was thinking.
Life seemed suddenly more complex than he had ever dreamed it possible;
and before this remark the unsophisticated deacon became so completely
confused that for the instant it was his instinctive wish to be once
more safely within the sheltering walls of the Clergy House, protected
from the temptations and vexations of the world. He was after all of a
nature which did not yield readily, however, and the next thought was
one of defiance. He would not yield up his secret, and he defied the
world to drag it from him. His companion smiled upon him with the
baffling look which her husband called her Mona Lisa expression, and
then she laughed outright.

"My dear boy," she said, "you are no more a priest than I am; and you
are as transparent as a piece of crystal. Well, I am fond of you, and
I'm glad to have a hand in proving to you that you are not meant for
the priesthood before it's too late."

"But it hasn't been proved to me," he cried, not without some
sternness.

"Oh, bless you, it's in train, and that's the same thing. 'Not poppy,
nor mandragora, nor all the drowsy syrups of the east' could put you to
sleep again in the dream you had in the Clergy House. It will take you
a little longer to find yourself out, but the thing is done
nevertheless."

As she spoke, a servant came to the door to announce the carriage. Mrs.
Staggchase held out her hand.

"Good-by," she said, as Maurice rose, and came forward to take it. "I
hope that we shall see you again in a couple of days. I have still a
good deal to show you."

He had recovered his self-possession a little, and answered her with a
smile:--

"You make it so delightful for me here that I am not sure you are not
right in saying that you are my temptation."

"Oh, I've already given up the office of tempter," she responded
quickly. "I found a rival, and that I never could endure. You'll have
your temptation with you."

It seemed to Maurice when he came to take his seat in the parlor car
that his cousin was little short of a witch. In the chair next to his
own sat Berenice Morison. She greeted him with a friendly nod and
smile.

"Mrs. Wilson told me that you were going on this train," she said,
"and she got a chair for you next to mine so that you should take care
of me."

He bowed rather confusedly, but with his heart full of delight.

"I shall be glad to do anything I can for you," he answered, vexed that
he had not a better reply at command.

He saw the dapper young man across the aisle regard him curiously, and
a feeling of dissatisfaction came over him as he reflected upon the
singularity of his garb, and the incongruity between the clerical dress
and the squiring of dames. Religious fervor is nourished by martyrdom,
but it is seldom proof against ridicule. It is not impossible that the
faint shade of amusement which Maurice fancied he detected in the eyes
of the stranger opposite was a more effective cause for discontent with
his calling than any of the influences to which he had been exposed
under the auspices of Mrs. Staggchase.

He could not help feeling, moreover, that there was a gleam of fun in
the clear dark eyes of Miss Morison. She was so completely at ease, so
entirely mistress of the situation, that Wynne, little accustomed to
the society of women, and secretly a little disconcerted by the
surprise, felt himself at a disadvantage. It touched his vanity that he
should be smiled at by the trimly appointed dandy opposite, and that he
should be in experience and self-possession inferior to the girl beside
him. He began vaguely to wonder what he had been doing all his life; he
reflected that he had not in his old college days been so ill at ease,
and it annoyed him to think that two years in the Clergy House should
have put him so out of touch with the simplest matters of life. He said
to himself scornfully that he was a monk already; and the thought,
which would once have given him satisfaction, was now fraught with
nothing but vexation and self-contempt. He had a subtile inclination to
give himself up to the impulse of the moment. He felt the intoxication
of the presence of Miss Morison, and he yielded to it with frank
unscrupulousness. He resolved that he would repent afterward; yet
instantly demanded of himself if this were really a sin. He was after
all a man, if he had chosen the ecclesiastic calling. If indeed he were
transgressing he told himself half contemptuously that as he did
penance doubly, once that imposed by his own spiritual director and
again that set by the Catholic at the North End, he might be held to
expiate amply the pleasure of this hour. He at least was determined to
forget for the once that he was a priest, and to remember only that he
was a man, and that he loved this beautiful creature beside him. He
noted the curve of her clear cheek and shell-like ear; the sweep of her
eyelashes and the liquid deeps of her dark eyes. He let his glance
follow the line of her neck below the rounded chin, and became suddenly
conscious that he was fascinated by the soft swell of her bosom. The
blood came into his cheeks, and he looked hastily out of the window.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26